Pajamas In The Daytime

I pad downstairs to the mailbox, and the package room, hair wet from a shower, in my afternoon uniform of fleece lounge pants, a giant t-shirt, and slippers. Mostly, I am self-contained, oblivious to others’ opinions on my appearance. Yes, I am walking around, in semi-public, essentially in my pajamas, in the middle of the afternoon. Who does that?

Well, I do. For me, 4pm might as well be 10, since at midnight, I will be at work.

But today, in my post-shower, pajama-clad state, I am reminded of a very different time when I was home all day. Then, I was self-conscious about my appearance—in fact, about my whole presence. Then, I was longing desperately to find new work that would deliver me from being home all day. Then, my trips to the mailbox were full of hope that there might be a check, and dread that there would almost certainly be a bill.

But now, my pajamas in the daytime fill me with a certain sense of peace. They are a part of my daily normal, part of a routine that makes my upside down schedule doable, and part of my reward each day for the previous night of work.

I suspect that there are people in my building who know my drill (“oh, she looks like she just got up because she works overnight”), and people who wonder if I’m sick or unemployed or just a little crazy. But these days, when I don my pajamas in the afternoon, I find that it doesn’t really matter to me what they think. A little fleece in the afternoon, and I am reminded of how lucky I am. And I am reminded that it is almost time for my next nap.