Monday, June 21, 2010
I Might Be Turning into a Hermit
I knew I wouldn't spending yesterday with the man who loves me. I knew it at 6 a.m. or so when we awoke in my bed. I knew it while I was making toast for us and when we kissed good-bye at my front door and he handed me my newspaper the way he always does. We don't spend every day and every night together and it's better that way, really it is. We have our separate lives. And I like the way being separate feeds the togetherness.
So knowing what I knew, I thought I should do something with my day--like have old friends over for dinner. Cook some meat on my barbeque. Mix up a pitcher of margaritas and make some delicious side dishes. Change the CDs in my CD player to something that would say "Party" or "The Day Before the First Day of Summer." I thought about it for hours until it was too late to pick up the phone.
So when evening came I thought I might go for a walk and have a glass of wine at a table on the sidewalk of my favorite bistro. Just so I could say a sentence or two to another human being. But I didn't.
The only in-person conversation I had all day was with my dogs and cats.
I didn't turn on the TV or the radio. Or listen to the same 5 CDs I've had in my CD player for months.
I lay on the couch and read.
The only voices were in my head.