Thursday, September 8, 2011
Life with Bob
First, thank you all for your lovely comments welcoming me back to the Internet. You all are like the USO, only you don't have to wait around the airport waving miniature flags looking for me to show up in camo. I am glad to be back, and it feels good to know you haven't written me off, deadbeat blogger that I am.
I am working hard to guard the solitude, which here on day two is proving difficult, mainly because of my distractibility, which I wrote about here, but also because I am sharing a space with a husband who is Trying To Be Quiet. Nothing's louder, I'm certain. Presently, he is Quietly Emptying the dishwasher in the style of someone slowly unwrapping her Starlight Mint in the middle of the staff meeting. Sigh.
I suppose I should be grateful I have a friend and partner who is so efficient, whose strengths balance my shortcomings. Sometimes, though, during this, the off-season, I long for him to have a little army of his own to manage-a project requiring his absence, but only during certain hours. Of course, I would choose and sign off on those hours, and this schedule would be completely malleable to my every whim. Selfish, right? I'm mostly joking. I love my husband with the breath, smiles, and tears of my life--but am just as fierce in my independence. I also know my limits. In the last few hours, while trying to write this post, I have googled garden gnome costumes, warmed up some leftover rice for breakfast, stared at myself in the mirror trying to ascertain the likelihood that I have some irreversible ocular disease, and finally, taken a shower in effort to literally wash the preoccupation away. Surprisingly, this last maneuver will occasionally do the trick. A therapist once told me that this made sense, water being a conductor. I thought that sounded a little new age-y for me but find myself believing it, just a little. Today it seemed to work out okay for a while, but I will eventually either have to relocate, or find a way to manage my proclivities. Earplugs? A white noise machine?
This time at home is a gift, I know. I want to be productive, and ever-grateful. I have a lovely life, distractions and all. There must be a balance between indulging my weaknesses, my need for stillness--and my love for the one-man-band that is my spouse. Who else in my life can lead us all in an impromptu tap lesson? Can your husband buck and wing? Still-when he came in a few moments ago to inquire about my "plans", I couldn't help but feel a little bothered.
Do you think you should take a few minutes to jot down your supply list for the children's garden? he asked.
No, I said, tartly.
Man. And I was just getting somewhere, too. Children's garden? My mind took off down a rabbit hole to elsewhere, so I shook my head to bring back focus. The opposite of what happens with a snowglobe. I turned back to my computer to indicate my level of busy-ness, my dedication to my craft. I was hoping he'd get the idea. Then, out of nowhere, he's posing. Hands clasped together, bending at the waist, then straightening, now a lunge.
What's happening? I said Why is there now yoga?
Come on, honey. he said. Let's salute the cow. Don't we have a DVD somewhere?
This is my office, I whispered in a very small voice. And right now it's starting to look more like jazz hands. This was louder, and made him smile. He switched abruptly to something more Fosse-esque.
I waved. See you later, Big Spender.
He's left me alone now for thirty minutes. I'm starting to hope he comes back soon. Just a little.