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May 13, 2006

baby you're crawling way past your speed

Herself and I are watching Lost. She sighs and says to me "I wish Sawyer lived on our street. Then maybe he'd be working in his yard and his shirt would come off."

The weather pattern for the past couple of days has been for the day to begin sunny, like it is now, blue, blue sky overhead and the light shining on the firs in the back yard; and then gradually the clouds cover the blue and by late afternoon or early evening it rains. Last night it rained and thundered, and this morning the squirrels leap from tree to tree and water patters down from the leaves as they jump.

The Husband returned from a business trip to Colorado yesterday afternoon. He text-messaged me "I'm lonely," which is something I don't remember him ever saying before, and he drove down to our house and ended up spending the night here, to my surprise; consequently I didn't sleep very well. I'm not used any more to having somebody else in my bed--unless it's Herself, who regularly dreams about zombies and bad guys and worries about noises in the night--and the rhythmic breathing of another person, instead of soothing my brain, just agitated me.

I am a creature of habit. My Friday nights are spent with the kids, more or less; maybe we go someplace for dinner, maybe we get take-out, maybe we go to Borders or Best Buy, but we are usually home by 9:00 and then I find it extremely luxurious to stretch out fully clothed on my bed with the TV and the lights on and let the work week ebb away as I drift to sleep to the background noise of Law and Order: SVU.

I am out of practice with regard to the marital requirements of making conversation with another adult and having to consider that a television show about sex crimes is definitely not what The Husband considers quality programming. Consequently, I had no idea what to do with myself last night. I was embarrassed for him to see how rabidly I pursue the mundane but too used to my Friday night ritual to be able to do anything else but long for bed, once ten o'clock came around.

I can count on the fingers of two hands the number of nights The Husband has spent at our home in the past year and a half; it's not like he suddenly finds himself here, unplanned, and thinks "Gosh, I'm tired; I'll stay over." I kept wondering Why Are You Here? but couldn't bring myself to ask, mostly because I knew the answer I got wouldn't be The Answer.

So here I am this morning and he is sleeping upstairs and my perception is a little bit skewed and my weekend seems not-mine, and I've forgotten what it was that I meant to do today, so I sit here and type and look out the window at the morning, which continues on as if everything was perfectly normal.

Posted by JudyLa at 07:00 AM | Comments (0)