Loving You Differently

Forty

Aria Adkins

After what my therapist donned my "breakthrough moment" during our first session together, the following days felt a lot less tense and a whole lot lighter. The days bled together one after another, mostly consisting of working intermittent morning shifts at RJ's and weekend nights only at Vice. The new schedule went a lot smoother now that I had begun getting more rest and better sleep at night.

Days slowly ebbed by quietly, save for more movie nights with Savannah (another perk of the new schedule) where she wailed at the loss of one of her favorite characters, threw popcorn at the old box TV in frustration because "Oh my God, just kiss already!", or screamed during a jump scare (she ended up sleeping in my bed that night. Thanks, Pennywise.) and subsequently trickled into weeks.

Memphis had finally gotten the memo that summer was over, the last week in October inviting the first chill of the fall season. Two weeks into November, it seemed like autumn had screamed "Sike!" and sidestepped so that winter could make an exaggerated appearance — something that Savannah and Sidney would not let me forget as we walked the outside aisles of Midtown Plant Nursery, rows of plants and flowers lined up in planters placed strategically on wood pallets on either side of us.

"You picked the absolute worst time to go plant shopping," Savannah grumbles from behind me.

"Not like she doesn't have enough of them already," Sidney says over the sound of the wagon I pull behind me, the wheels squawking as they scrape against the asphalt.

I roll my eyes in jest and open my mouth to retort before getting distracted by a tiger plant to my right. I make my way towards it, nearly tripping Savannah when my wagon stops abruptly in front of her.

"I should've waited in the car," She groans, burying her hands in the pockets of her jacket.

Okay, so it was cold. Below 40 degrees, I would have to guess.

And yeah, I have a problem. A plant problem.

That newly allotted free time I'd been granted due to dialing back my work schedule? Yeah, it led to me realizing something. I have no hobbies. None. Zilch, zero.

It was when I walked to the kitchen on my day off, prepared to clean, when I realized that the smell of off brand Pine-Sol still lingered on the floor from the night before. I kid you not, the cracked, stained linoleum fucking winked at me it was so shiny. So yeah, with nothing left to clean, and nothing to do but sit quietly with my thoughts until Savannah got home from school — which sounded like a nightmare — I came to the conclusion that I literally did nothing with my time other than work myself to the bone and worry myself sick with stress and anxiety.

The trait to extend myself mentally, emotionally, and physically over the years in order to provide for Savannah and I had sadly become the main focal point in my life, and without our parents knocking down the door to wreak chaos into our lives anymore, I found that I had no other purpose in life.

It was a sad realization. I'd spent all these years foregoing my youth in order to grow up when I shouldn't have had to, and now that my sister and I were finally at the most stable points in our life and I no longer had the mindset that the other shoe was sure to drop and mess that up before we could enjoy it, I had no choice but to recognize that my life had no direction. No end goal. No fucking purpose.