i've been reading novels

It's Friday night, and I've just returned from a long day at work. I am looking forward to a night of solitude, rain on the roof , dinner on the stove, and nowhere to be. But there is much to do, boxes still unpacked from the move, new purchases to be removed from their packaging, committing themselves to be a part of my new place. While I wait for the ring of the timer that tells me the brown jasmine rice is done, I turn on some music and begin putting together my sleek new bookshelf. Something about assembling furniture makes me feel self-sufficient, glancing over the directions but then deciding that I could probably do it without them.

I turn a glass of Cabernet in my hand, considering the angles of the shelf, and then get to work with the bolts and screws, admiring the smooth, dark finish of the wood. I have a fleeting thought of asking this cute boy that I know to come over and help, but quickly decide that would be silly and a little forward. "Hi, would you like to come over to my empty apartment, drink wine, and put together furniture?" That sounds like the stuff of marriages. I have had that sort of relationship before, and am choosing not to go back.

The timer goes off and I leave my bookshelf, heading toward the earthy smell of rice in the kitchen. I lift the lid, steam burning my hand as I curse and throw the lid on the stove. Glad my angelic roommate wasn't here for that. The pork tenderloin stir-fry is a perfect topping for the steamy rice, and though I'm not sure that Cabernet pairs with pork, it seems like a good combination to me, the oil from the meal leaving a slick film on top of the wine. I study my glass and wonder why I've never bought real stem wear to replace the thick Dollar General goblets I bought for my first Birmingham apartment. Something more delicate is in order.

I finish the bookshelf and lean it against the wall. It really is beautiful, and I am strangely proud of the fact that it is my first purchase from Crate & Barrel. One of those stores I thought I'd never buy anything from. I get to work assembling shelves for the kitchen, charging up the drill, unsure if I'm ready for tackling plaster walls and power tools. That might require a cute boy.

Deciding that's enough productivity for one night, it's time to crawl onto my fluffy new mattress and curl up with my book, which has me constantly narrating life in my head.