So one of my good work friends and fellow bloggers, just had her offer accepted to buy a house yesterday. I am very proud and happy for her, but part of me feels a little jealous and green with envy. Another co-worker and I--whose age is a little closer to mine--were talking over our cubicle wall about the joyous news of our fellow, younger, co-worker and were asking ourselves what had we done wrong with ourselves that we were much older and still renting our abodes.
Well, I know my answer, two things: 1) Law School and 2) Wasband.
He had his own reasons why he hadn't yet bought a place, but we kind of kept on with this wallowing conversation and about how we felt we were missing things in our lives that our contemporaries had held for some time. My co-worker tried to compare me to a fine bottle of wine that is not yet "ready to be opened, still waiting." I, immediately told him that if I was wine, then I was the grapes that had just been stomped on.
After much more of this discussion, my little group and I decided that perhaps last year I was the grapes that were just stomped on and that now, maybe I was the grape juice that was inside the dark oak barrel, still simmering or whatever wine does, before its bottled.
The analogy seemed the best way to describe my currant situation, and I am not sure why. I know I am not at the point of being so recently "crushed", but I also know that I am not quite ready to be on the store shelf, the wine makers' bottling rack, ready for shipment, or on someone else's rack still awaiting perfection.
I also liked the idea of being locked away in a dark, wooden barrel, in a musty basement somewhere. Mostly because it felt very spunk ransom, edwardian, for me to be there, not quite gleaming in new found happiness. Not just yet.... Soon.
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