Sitting on the couch forcing myself to write this post. I don’t want to go from ‘Day one’ to ‘Nic’s back!’
I’m waiting for that moment that I come home or AM home and catch up on the rest that always alludes me.
I’ve come to the conclusion, that Nic was never the cause of my exhaustion. Well, not since he’s been able to dress, bathe, feed and relocate himself without my assistance.
So – work, pet and chores appear to be the culprits.
Other noticeable changes, when I go into the freezer for an ice cube, there ARE ice cubes. I haven’t been through a fast food drive through since he left. And from the looks of the laundry basket, I will only be occupying one washing machine tomorrow.
Butters has been very aware of Nic’s absence. When she barks, much to my chagrin, it’s now with an urgency and suspicion. Which is increasingly creeping me out at night. She’s ‘on guard’ without having been appointed the position.
Animals are so aware.
She was rewarded with a bath Friday night (okay, she didn’t see it that way) and this morning I sang her the theme song to the ‘Love Boat’. She was thrilled the first time.
The second time, I recorded it and shared it on Facebook. She had the audacity to yawn in the middle of my crooning.
Awoke to a Facebook IM from Nic, first actual contact, it said “Ello govna!” I did manage a mild eye roll even as sleepy as I was.
Of course, it was sent at 3:45 am my time, so I didn’t get to chat with him.
He and my mom and my uncle were off to Windsor today. Something sweet about my son going to the town where I was born.
I hope to share some photos when he posts them. So far, he photographed a couple shots from the plane’s window, two photos of his in flight food and one picture of the view from my uncles flat window. (Yes, I know windows are flat, I’m referring to his apartment window.)
I shall now watch my usual Saturday night English comedies, and bid you a good Saturday night.
So does Butters.
Did NOT sleep well last night.
Partly due to the excitement of the day – partly due to the Plane
Stalker Tracker website that I kept refreshing into the wee hours of the morning.
I watched a little picture of the plane my son was on traverse across the States and noted the altitude, speed and duration of his flight.
When I did sleep, my dreams were riddled with nightmares. Robberies, guns … probably due to the fact that there were several noises during the night that woke me and Butters up.
I have to admit, when she barked in the night, I startled. I usually don’t startle.
I am the one that checks out the ‘bumps in the night’. I’ll just walk right outside
stupidly bravely and see what the hell is going on.
I guess subconsciously, knowing no one is home to report my murder got to me.
Let’s face it – the dog is useless. For all her barking at everything that passes the house (cars, cats, rabbits, lizards, bicyclists, joggers, ants …) she has no bite.
Do I really expect THIS to be my guard dog?
I also kept swiping at my ipad during my waking moments as I now have two men that I adore (and was hoping to hear from), on a continent and time zone that is not mine.
This morning I faked ‘awake’ as best as I could and caught up on the work I missed yesterday.
Then spoke with my friend in the UK who was going to see my son and mom. l told him, “I want proof of life!” I begged for a picture – and I got one.
Here’s Nic in England proudly wearing an England Football shirt given to him by my friend Rory. (He’s the one in the photo that doesn’t look like he was just on a 10 hour plane ride.)
I was content then. My ‘baby’ was safe.
I delved back into work.
Then it happened.
For the first time ever.
During a thrilling power point presentation on the Home Equity Conversion Mortgage process. I nodded off.
Upright, in my chair.
I startled awake and finished the presentation.
My boss: “You struggling over there?”
Me: “Yeah … oh my god, is it only 3 o’clock??”
My boss: “Yup.”
I decided the only thing to do was to stumble over to the gas station across the street and get some coffee.
And a hot dog.
Because I’m still comfort eating. Besides, I planned to immediately become intimate with the couch when I got home, and knew I wouldn’t have dinner.
I make great excuses for eating crap.
There was a little post-it note on my calendar in my bosses handwriting that he ninja-like managed to sneak there without me noticing.
“That isn’t just coffee”
I was a little punchy after my nap, so I just eye balled him as I bit into my hot dog.
And the couch is waiting.
So the word for day one is: TIRED!
I haven’t reached ‘lonely’ status yet – so the dog is safe from conversation and pestering.
But I’m sure when I do, it will go like this:
I am tired.
I am tired and actually wondered if there is a nice family with a farm somewhere, with miles of soft fenced in grass for Butters to run and pounce in – and wi-fi so my son will visit her.
9pm is ‘official’ bedtime in our house. Meaning, the Goodnight sleep tights are said – hugs are had and we hit our rooms.
Usually about 9:30 or 10 is when I switch off the tv or call it a night and let my Nook rest.
Then it begins.
From approximately 10-11 I’m scratching, tossing, turning and peeking at the clock. No, for the record – no bed bugs – it’s dry out here in the desert and with the heater on in the house I have an itchy epidermis that presents only at night – I need some of those little baby mittens:
Anyway – last night the dog was actually sleeping … good sign.
Midnight. I hear a noise in the kitchen. Someone trying to be quiet in the kitchen. Hmmm … process of elimination.
1) Only two other breathing things live here other than me
is not capable of being quiet would not be the kitchen
I’ve coined the phrase ‘Church mousing’. Don’t ask me why – considering the church mouse is supposed to be quiet. But, it works around here. I’ll hear him usually scrounging around and call out ‘I hear you church mousin’ around out there!’ To which a laugh and response of ‘Good night mom’ is followed by him taking his foraged items back to his room.
But midnight? Midnight snack yeah – but he had school today for crying out loud.
I spend another 15 minutes trying to get comfy.
1am – another noise from the kitchen.
Really? Jeez!!!!!!! I’m too tired to get up and call him out on it, too tired to call out and frankly, a little concerned that if I respond in any way vocally or physically, my arse is not going to be able to fall back to sleep.
More tossing and turning.
2am – Butters has now evolved from her perfected ‘stare’ and thump of tail to a new move. The front leg pounce – landing right on the 1/2 foot of mattress space between me and the edge of the bed.
Wonderful. Sort of like this guy, but with her hind legs on the floor.
OKAY! Up I get. Let her out … stumble back to my room, the front door is open but I’m used to this
routine by now, she’ll come back in a few minutes, plop down on the floor, or the bed and up I get again to go back to close and lock the door.
Half an hour later – pounce.
Up I get – let her out – wait – in she comes. Get up, shut and lock door.
God only knows how much later – pounce (and a thump thump).
This time I’m glaring at her, quickly realize I’ve got my eyes open far too wide and walk with my eyes completely closed to the door. (that old trick of if I don’t open my eyes, I won’t wake all the way up) Let her out and back to bed.
I decide then and there that the door will remain open. I weigh the pros and cons of a serial killer just waltzing in.
1) I’ll be too tired to really feel much pain
2) Maybe he can let the flipping dog out next
Pounce. Thump, thump. I almost don’t get up. I almost don’t. Then I remember she had an upset stomach just this weekend and oh hell no am I going to wake up and step in something.
Up I get.
Now – the door is still open – not WIDE open, but at least 3 inches cracked open. Even I could nose a door completely open with 3 inches to work with!!! She’s screwing with me now.
Out she goes again.
My mind is mush – my body begging for some REM. Back to bed I go, but it’s too late.
I startle at 5:55 am – after a brief slip into unconsciousness and give up. The alarm is set to go off at 6.
You can imagine the mood I’m in.
BUT! I had already planned to cook Nic a hot breakfast. Eggs and maple sausages. Because, and I quote “I love it at Tylers house, his mom makes maple sausages and pancakes”
I think I responded at the time with a “Pffft” but of course it stuck in my mind.
I make the damn food.
Take it in to my child.
Grab my coffee and check Facebook.
My son’s last post “5 hours ago”. It’s now 6. Which means, he didn’t just wake up and need a drink or a snack. His arse was on his ipad.
I head to my room – brush my teeth, come back out and there – on the counter – is a plate with one egg and 4 1/2 out of 5 sausages.
“Why didn’t you eat your breakfast?”
“I’ve never liked sausages … you know that.”
Anyone have a farm with a fenced in expanse of soft grass? Never mind the dog and the boy – I want to come sleep on it.