Monday, April 16, 2012

wish i was there

Because when you're not here [or maybe even when you are] I sit up eating chips and onion dip at 11:30pm [or cheese fries and sweet tea at 1am] while I catch up on what I've missed in the blog-o-sphere. Who does that stuff? Only the crazies. That's who.

I tell myself I'm doing us a favor because none of the littles eat plain chips unless there's dip around [which they may or may not know is currently in the fridge.]  But that's what I tell myself anyway.  Really, I should be prepping for this party.  Cleaning, dusting, straightening.  Nope, it's not happening.  Not here.  Not now.  Just my pathetic little party of chips and dip and I ain't gettin any younger.  It's catchin up to me, ya know?

Sometimes I wonder, am I the only one whose clothes shrink every summer?  I tell myself this's happening everywhere.  All over the country, women are trying on their shorts and saying, "Oh dang.  Somebody dried these on high heat just before I put them up for the winter."  Yep, and the sad part about that is, I don't even care.  I keep thinking it'd be great to get back to the gym.  To pop in the spinning class and pump out 20 miles.  To get back on the yoga mat and stretch my very inflexible body in the Yin & Yang class.  Come out, feeling peaceful and...stretchy?  Yes, yes, that's all fun for awhile, but then it gets old.  And really, when would I have time for that?  No, seriously?

You not being here means our house has gone up in a tornado.  The yard looks nice.  The weed eatin's done.  The chicken house's finally clean.  It all looks fine and dandy from the outside.  Step on in.  The desk, as it always is, is a whirlwind of dishes [mine, of course], papers, bills, and notes.  There's an odd bottle of baby powder, a ton of books, an assortment of every kind of paper imaginable.  Desk-top-madness.  It's a recipe for bill/schedule disaster, I tell ya.  You're lucky I do the bills online, huh?

Oddly, I miss taking our clothes to the laundry mat there.  Laundry mats have always scared me.  Sketchy people, thinking you're gonna steal their detergent or something.  Not this laundry.  The folks were nice, quiet and there was nothing but the sweet smell of cleanliness and the soothing sound of whirring machines.  Even with the missing floor tiles, I felt almost at home.  OK, not really.  Anyway, it calmed me.  Reminded me that we were happy there with you. 

Now we're here.  And you're there.  I feel like we're awaiting trial.  The days drag on.  Time stands still.  Everybody wears their sadness just under the collar.  It's only Monday.  What ever happened to "time flies"?  Where's all that?  I tell myself this is temporary.  Things won't be like this for long, but then I count the weeks, the days and it just seems like an eternity.  I feel guilty complaining, seeing as I have a million things to keep me busy around here.  I'll quit.  No thank you, no cheese with my whine, I've had two little bags of chips and dip, thankyouverymuch.