Well, thank you. It is nice of you to try to cheer me up. If I follow you (and I do! like a lynx!) either a) everyone is boring and I am therefore in excellent albeit mixed company or b) I am not boring but perhaps my mother just doesn't like being called at the office every 15 minutes. Good to know.
I don't feel bored, for what it is worth. I feel as if every day is packed like an olive, full of exciting challenges (you know, if challenges were pimentos or, better yet, cloves of garlic.) Obviously, I have a very low threshold for feeling breathtakingly accomplished with minimal effort, which is why I rarely feel dissatisfied with myself or ask how come I dropped out of all those graduate programs or if this is what I want to be doing at 40. Heavens, just today I re-organized the troublesome tea/spice cupboard to the left of the stove and have felt like the Shah of the Universe ever since. All of my spices are now in a drawer to the right of the stove (very handy) and the loose teas, as you can see, are neatly stacked with the black teas to the left and tisanes to the right. Infusers and tea pots on top and measuring cups and, hey look at that! garlic! we were just talking about garlic, in the middle. Oh, and the dry erase board where I write out the weekly menus and note that we need more American cheese hangs inside the cupboard door, out of view but quickly accessible. Isn't it lovely?
OK. So I have some time on my hands, it is true. Naptime, specifically. I blame Steve, or I would blame him if I could find him. What's the deal with my husband? I am utterly bewildered. When we started dating he played ALL THE TIME. He traveled. He went running. He was always willing to go look at living room furniture in the middle of the day.
Then... then I don't know what happened. Somewhere along the line he decided he needed a purpose or something and now I can no longer ignore the fact that he officially works all of the fucking time. I married this lovable slacker and in a few short years he has morphed into a steely-eyed executive who is always taking a business call in the middle of dinner. It's eerie. It has also gotten so bad in the past month or two I find myself sending him emails to ask for an appointment when I need to talk during the day. His office, in case you were wondering, is located about thirty feet north-north-west from where I am sitting but apparently he no longer welcomes walk-ins.
It has not escaped my notice that I am the passive beneficiary of all this industry so I certainly do not want to sound like I am complaining, I just wish that someone had given me a heads-up first. Is this his version of a mid-life crisis? He already has a fast red car and, please, what would he do with a mistress? Get some rest, most likely. Anyway, do all men (people, excuse me. just because I do not have an ambitious bone is my whole body does not mean that I should resort to stupid gender stereotypes) hit 35 and start building empires? Is he going to snap out of it anytime soon or do I need to finally put some effort into finding a female friend to take his place at the lamp store?
I kinda miss him, but don't tell him I said so. I prefer to let him think he is expendable so that he lives in fear I will one day take these divine organizational skills and depart. And then what will happen to the teas and spices and outgoing mail? Chaos and anarchy. Apres moi, le deluge. And whatnot.