On Being a Chickenshit While the Spouse Is Away

Song Lyric of the Day:

And it starts … / Sometime around midnight / Or at least that’s when / You lose yourself / For a minute or two

The Airborne Toxic Event
/ “Sometime Around Midnight

Rich has been in Portland since Saturday. As usual, while I miss him, I’ve enjoyed having the house to myself. I’ve kept busy, like I always do when he’s out of town: a lunch date on Saturday afternoon; Samantha, Michael, and baby Stephen over for dinner and a movie Saturday night; staying housebound all day yesterday, alternating between housework and catching up on TiVoed Shark Week specials (or, as Rich calls it, “shark porn”); work and grocery shopping today; a planned lunch date with Vanessa and Elliott later this week. AND I’ve even managed to work on my (newer) book a wee little bit; I need some new pages to show him or I’ll never hear the end of it (love you, baby!).

Unlike the last few times Rich has been out of town, I’ve been exceptionally paranoid – even for me – this time around. Like wedging a chair against the front door every night paranoid. Like jumping at the slightest noise paranoid. Like checking under the beds and in the closets paranoid. (OK, I do that last one every time he’s out of town.) I’m not sure exactly why I’ve been so jittery this time around. Well, actually, I do know why I was so nervous on Saturday night after my family went home. We’d watched the Spanish horror movie, [REC] (remade stateside as Quarantine), so I was a bit on edge after that. And being the genius I am and a complete scaredy-cat about being home alone after watching a scary movie, what did I do after they left? I started watching another horror movie, Nightwatch. See? I told you: genius. Between those two movies, it’s a miracle I didn’t have nightmares about plague-infected apartment dwellers who worked in and were chased through morgues by a serial killer. Or wake up in a puddle of pee upon hearing a mysterious noise from the upstairs floors. Have I mentioned it’s fuck-all creepy being alone at night in a three-story house? It’s uncanny how much a cat or a dog can sound like a person stomping across the top floors of the house. Spooooooky.

And so how are the dogs handling Rich being away? (The cats? Yeah, they don’t care.) Caleb is of course missing his poppa a bit; he was mopey by last night, although he’s perked up today. Troubadour, on the other hand, well, I’m not sure he’s really noticed. Because, after all, his mommy is here and he has me pretty much to himself. Oddly enough, he’s also been behaving like an angel. Well, as close to being an angel as he can get. Go figure.

Tonight I’ve been a good monkey and avoided watching anything remotely scary. To that end, I finally watched Kinky Boots, which I loved. I’ve always liked Chiwetel Ejiofor, but now I love him all the more after watching his turn as the amazing Lola. Yes, Lola. And now I really, really want thigh-high stiletto boots. Although I would settle for robbing a high-end designer shoe store.

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