First . . .
My dear, dear husband has been working himself into the ground lately. I got a voicemail from him Monday, partway through the day, in which he reported that he was going to have to work all night. I thought this was the stuff of exaggeration, the same way I'd say I'm starving to death or I'm so mad at her that I could just kill her or some such nonsense.
Little did I know that he really meant all night.
He came home at about 9:30. Now, I think that most people would consider working until 9:30 a pretty late night. The thing is, he wasn't coming home to just, you know, be at home; he was coming home to change out of his work clothes, pack a duffel bag of work clothes for today, and head back into the office.
I kid you not. Let's all just pause for a little moment of silence for David.
I woke up at about 6:20 Tuesday morning when he fell into the bed beside me. When I woke up half an hour later, I saw a post-it asking me to set the alarm clock for 10:00. Because, you know, three-and-a-half hours' sleep is just fine.
Oh, it is so not fine.
The thing is, David has to work late-- really, truly late-- on a regular basis. It's totally normal for him to get off work after 8:00 (after leaving for the office between 7:30 and 8:00 in the morning), and past-midnight nights are not infrequent.
Which leaves me a lot of evenings at home alone. And which brings me to the first weird thing about myself.
When David is working late, I almost never eat a proper dinner. I don't re-heat leftovers, or pop a Lean Cuisine in the microwave, or even make a sandwich. (I don't think any of these things is truly a "proper dinner," but I think any of them would be adequate for an evening at home alone.) Instead, my "dinner" will generally consist of some combination of the following items: pepperoni; crackers with garlic and herb spreadable cheese; chips and salsa; Kalamata olives; wine; and maybe some kind of fruit (blueberries and raspberries have made recent appearances).
David never fails to make fun of me for it. Am I the only one who would prefer to eat a bunch of snacks instead of supper?
Second . . .
I have a minor paranoia about leaving the lid on the toilet up. It's not just that I don't want to look at the inside of a commode when I walk into the bathroom (and, yes, my toilet is clean!). That would probably be a pretty normal reason to insist on keeping all toilet lids down. Rather, I have an unreasonable fear that, if the lid is up, I will drop something into the toilet.
You'd think that this fear would perhaps be based on a previous bad experience. It's not. It's just a random, unshakable feeling that I'm somehow going to end up having to fish my wedding ring or my hairbrush or something out of the bowl. It's not a justified fear; it's just my minor craziness.
It did, at least, prevent David and I from having the "seat up/seat down" debate that married people always joke about.
Third . . .
I'm sort of obsessed with Sex and the City. I used to watch it when it was on HBO, and now I work the entire DVD collection. In fact, when David and I were living in Florida, I would go over to his apartment to watch the show, and he would make me Cosmopolitans.
I've probably watched the entire series at least four times all the way through. I'm not really proud of it; I recognize that the show is completely morally corrupt. I have a theory that at least the corruption is really out there, so that anyone who is offended can simply choose not to watch (and any halfway intelligent parent can recognize with no deep thought that his/her children should not be watching this show).
I'm trying to break myself of the habit of mindlessly turning on the television when I'm bored in the evenings (see David working late all the time, supra). Instead I'm trying to pick up a book or pick up the phone to call a friend or relative or do a few chores around the house. Or play on the shiny new computer! Like I'm doing now . . . as David spends Saturday at the office.
Maybe now I'll go make myself some "lunch"-- chips and salsa, of course.