Jammies

Class is postponed. I'm tired. I feel an urge to shop with accrued gift cards. I think about a manicure. Instead I creep home in traffic. Upon arrival, I change into actual pair of pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt. I hardly ever wear true pajamas to sleep in, versus some make shift outfit of tank tops and workout shorts. 

I make dinner and sit Indian style on the couch. I'm conflicted and flip channels between Big Bang Theory and Grey's Anatomy (Grey's eventually won). My biggest responsibility of the night came in the form of adjusting the color on my TV and taking my dishes to the sink. Oddly, it was one of the best "me" nights ever. 

When I thought about what was so peaceful about, and what made this night so different than others spent alone, my thoughts centered on my bottoms. The warm, fleecey comfort of my jammie bottoms. Something about them brought me back to a younger year, and a simpler time. Perhaps a reminder of days of old when I lay sick on the couch and was cared for by my mother. Perhaps just being snuggly warm was it's own comfort? Whatever the reason, I found a new appreciation for my jammie bottoms.