The Constant

I'm in the same chair 24 hours later. There's the same warm glow in the house. Everyone who was asleep as I was writing the SOC last night is currently asleep as I'm writing this right now. It's quiet again, and I can hear the same clock ticking on the wall.

In between those two moments, the most glorious day imaginable. It's almost surreal to think of it right now. I wrote the SOC, I went to bed, I drove a fire truck to the stadium, I tailgated on the most perfect day, I watched my team exorcise the Michigan demons from 2000, I celebrated on the field, I returned to the fire truck, I lit the I, I drank a little, I danced to a little, and now I've returned to the same chair at end of the kitchen island to type more words. And I only have one thought in my head: did all of that just happen?

Like, when it's quiet like this, it's hard to picture the last 15 hours. It was such a whirlwind. The tailgate and the game and everything else. My brain was on overload for 15 consecutive hours. My ears are still ringing. And now that it's perfectly quiet, I'm left with this feeling that... it might not have happened?

But it happened. I was there.

Do you want to know what I did to get myself back to reality? I watched a video of my granddaughter that my son sent me on Thursday. For whatever reason, in this quiet house, I needed to be snapped back to "nothing you're currently remembering was a dream."