Yeah, I suck. Sorry about it.
Here’s the thing: I either don’t have anything to write about or I don’t have time to write. I mean when I have the time I have nothing meaningful to say. Do you want to read about how I cleaned off the balcony of my apartment so I could sit there on the nice days? Or the fact that today was a nice day and I sat out there? Or the fact that I need to get a little table so I can sit out there more because even though they call it a laptop if you keep it on your lap for something along the lines of four hours it will melt your leg skin into a single sheet of leg? (God, I really hope you don’t want to read about that stuff, because honestly I’d really rather not write it. I am so not kidding.)
Why don’t I have other stuff to write about? Because my life has, of late, become a fairly two-dimensional existence. There’s work, which takes about 10 or 11 hours of the day (if you count the hour in the morning where I’m getting up and showered and dressed and stuff. And I do. Because god knows if I didn’t have to be someplace at 7am to do the work I’d definitely NOT be up at 6am to get ready.) There’s sleeping, which should take 6 hours but sometimes only takes 5 and a half hours, (which then leads to my needing to find an additional 45 min. for my best friends to all give me grief on how I don’t get enough sleep, which frankly eats into the sleep time because what other flexible time do I have to give up, people?) and there’s working out which is taking about an hour a day or so. Doing the math (and by the way, I have a standing rule where I don’t DO math on the weekends, people, so I hope you appreciate the sacrifice I’m making right here!) That leaves around 6 hours of time. And in that time we must carve out about 4 hours. For T.E.
That sounds bad. Like he demands four hours, or like I’m doing it out of obligation or doing it for his enjoyment only. It’s 4 hours (sometimes more!!) of time for he and I to talk and laugh and he sometimes sings to me (no, he’s not a great singer, but he sings to me anyway and I think it’s just so cool that he does, so you can just shut it, Mr. Fourth Tenor!) and we watch stuff together through the wonder of the interwebs and we have those gooey moments where one of us just spontaneously tells the other that we think they’re pretty close to perfect and we kind of can’t believe that we got lucky enough to connect and stuff… These things are all wonderful and lovely and excellent. And they all take time. Time I’m happy and eager and lucky to spend, but time none the less.
But then, at the end of the day, that’s all there is. Sneak in dinner and the odd load of laundry or changing the litter pan and I’m done! I don’t have time for other cool things, much as I’d like to. I’m living a bit of a hermitted experience despite both T.E. and I having said on a few occasions that we really don’t want either of us to become socially stunted. (look at my fancy head-shrinky terms -- heard about them on Oprah.) It doesn’t help that these four hour windows are between the hours of 4:30 and 8:30pm, so it’s a nice little chunk of the day earmarked for being at home and comfy. It’s hard to be motivated to go out and do other things, especially given that the end of our conversations are pretty much just me listening to him sleep and trying not to do the same thing. (you think it’s hard not to yawn when hear someone yawning? Try not sleeping when sitting next to someone who is cuddled and breathing that long, slow rhythm of the totally asleep…)
So when I squirrel away some time with my laptop and my thoughts and my quick little tippy-tappy fingers and want to write to you guys I’m honestly stuck more often than not for what the hell to say.
So today? I cleaned off my balcony in my fancy big-city apartment and made a place to sit and watched the sun set while I talked to T.E., my laptop slowly burning a rectangular patch on my lap. If I’m lucky I’ll get to do it again tomorrow. If you’re unlucky, it’s what I’ll write about. Bear with me for just a little while…