Part of what sucks so hard about your significant other being goddoesn'tknowhowmanythousandsofmiles away is how it just absolutely screws with your life. It's like being in a really awful sitcom, where you're sure that someone is pointing and laughing at you, and if you find that someone you're going to punch them until you can't lift your arm anymore. I would imagine that if Nancy from Weeds was a real person, this is how she would feel in almost every episode. And I admit, when she realizes her new dude works for the DEA I howled with laughter.
Aside from what can only be described as rips in the space/time continuum (more on that in a minute), there is an unbelievable amount of stuff that I take for granted while S is here. I'm a self-sufficient human being, I have to be to have made it this far, but life truly is easier when there's someone else you can lay a burden or two on. He does the yard work, he knows how to work our thermostat (which is harder to program than a nuclear missile), and computer stuff...don't get me started on all the problems I've had with the computers.
There's also the here-I-just-saved-you-from-something-unpleasant factor that comes with living with him. A couple weeks before he left he came up to me and handed me my iPod. "Look what I almost washed. Good thing I checked your pockets." Good thing indeed. About three weeks after he was gone, there was a mysterious thudding, banging noise coming from the dryer. An inspection of the contents revealed nothing. That would be because my iPod was securely contained in the zippered pocket of my jacket. Three days after that my first thought on waking was, "I WASHED MY IPOD." The realization was sickeningly clear, and as I blearily pawed through the clothes in the dryer I felt it. When I unzipped the pocket little pieces of the headphones tumbled out, and my iPod refused to come to life. Dead, dead, dead. And nobody to blame but myself. Sure, I got a shiny new iPod out of it, one that I like infinitely more than my old one, but I would have rather spent that money on something else, something that didn't make me feel like a complete waste.
And then the time thing. I don't even know what we do when we're together, but my days usually end with me going to bed two hours later than I had planned. Sometimes I wonder why we even have a house, because we'll spend hours away from home doing...what? I don't even know. When he's gone all that busy-ness goes with him, and I have nothing but obscene amounts of time on my hands. I remedied this by registering for a couple classes, giving myself some big knitting projects, loading my Netflix queue with mindless brain candy, and making some new non-work-related friends. In spite of this there are still weird spaces in my days. I look at the clock and think to myself, "I need to leave in an hour." I don't know where this hour goes, I don't even move, but I suddenly look up and see that I should have left ten minutes ago, and I'm not any closer to being ready than I was when I told myself what time I should leave. I have more time, but I'm doing less with it, and so it escapes me in big amnesiac gaps. Not all the time, though. More often than not I'm looking at the clock and screaming, "OH MY GOD IT'S ONLY FEBRUARY???????"
I get really tired of people telling me the time will go by quickly. Maybe they should be more specific about what part of time they're referencing.
For James Vance, and his family
2 months ago