Wednesdays are probably the toughest school days of my week. I’m in class non stop from noon until nine fifty at night, after which I must rush to a meeting at ten that usually lets out after an hour (occasionally less). It’s really not a bad day but the classes themselves wear me out. Going from Political Studies (probably my favorite class this semester) to Statistics and then to Criticism of Mass Media… it’s a long day, and I am not one for math nor do I have the attention span for a (seemingly endless) four hour class.
Guilty: snatching another strawberry out of the basket. I’ve been devouring strawberries since I’ve gotten home (half an hour ago) and have nearly finished an entire container (no regrets). Day two of my uncontrollable *need* to consume fruit. Is this how the cookie monster feels? Except I’m eating fruit.
One more strawberry and I’m content with life. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been living off flavorless pasta for so long that I’ve got such a hankering for fruit. Anyhow, it’s Wednesday night and I’m happy to be home.
Wednesdays, though they are the toughest day -as far as classes go- they have made me so overwhelmingly grateful. The short [skate] back to the house, warm lights welcoming me in. Propping up my board, I throw off my shoes and crawl to the fridge for water and fruit. Usually I’m without my laptop so my thanks-giving is all done in my mind but on this rare occasion it’s here, so I figure, why not type it out? Perhaps my thanks will enable others to feel the same.
Filling up my water I glance around at the unkempt kitchen. Crumbs stick to my feet and boxes of pancake mix fall from above if you attempt to open the freezer. On any other day I would be filled with irritability, grumbling as I swept up the crumbs and pushed back the boxes atop the freezer. Today, however, is Wednesday and Wednesdays are different. A grin crept across my face. Crumbs on the floor meant we had plenty to eat. A messy kitchen – besides the obvious “messy” state, we have a kitchen. With new appliances, electricity and running water. These simple necessities one often takes for granted, but for some reason, coming home late makes me thankful.
The sound of a keypad erupt from the back door. The chirping pattern surprised me, I wasn’t the only one getting home so late. At this moment I am most thankful for who I live with. The thoughtful one, the hip one, the one who’s always there, the adventurous one, the spontaneous one… and then there’s me. I’ve known these people for two years now, and in some ways it irks me that they’ve not once stumbled across my blog (maybe they have?), but not once have they brought it up… and it’s been a rather *surprisingly* large part of my life for the past five years of my life (well, blogging). Perhaps it’s why I’m more comfortable talking about them here.
It’s a bit strange to me. I usually don’t find myself writing about people but considering these people I am thankful for, maybe it’s different. I am thankful that I can come back, and want to come back. To know that as much as you have their backs, they have yours too. Each one of them you can count on, have fun with and still be comfortable enough to be a bit snarky as to tell them to do their dishes. Well. Not as comfortable as with family (thankfully). It’s a happy medium place and relative to my housing situation last year, I could not be more thankful.
Strangely enough, as I look to publish this post, it’s become Thursday and my thankful Wednesday evening is no more. Perhaps you’ll get a bit of insight from my sappy thoughts (and strawberries). But more than that you do have something to be grateful for.