This week has felt long, measured in kicks from my hot, parched feet strangling under blankets at night. The upside and downside of living in one room is that the bed is always right, right there. I've taken more incidental naps than usual. I can take a nap on the way from the table to the sink. I don't sleep well at night.
I've been using up scrap yarn, and I've been flailing in the mornings, sometimes (but not today), trying to come up with something akin to running. I've been irrationally annoyed by evening visitors and irrationally afraid of being abandoned. I am all about goldfish crackers these days, and am being very reluctant about getting back in the habit of lunches at work.
Three weekends in a row I've missed my Saturday morning zen, which leaves me less room to miss the sunny mornings in the old apartment. Tomorrow it'll come, though, the zen, the missing. I plan on filling the freezer, because I'm out of practice.
Two weekends ago S and I were in NY at a lake and it was absolutely lovely and I try to legitimately picture us all as 50 year olds, keeping the tradition. I can't quite believe it yet, because I know how things pull apart, and how people change, but, oh, I hope this is the end result anyway: a joint 50th birthday party, on a lake, with kayaks and sunlight and burgers on the grill and staying up way too late drinking tequila (I don't even like tequila) and wine (I do like wine) and sob-laughing and spooning on the ottoman. The trip home from NY was a bubble being popped and some despair in the fact that my happiness is forever--voluntarily--tied into another's happiness, and all the bizarre mixed results that come from levels misaligning. I think sometimes that this is how the next two or three years will be.
We were gone again last weekend, driving up and around to the tip of New Jersey, and arriving just minutes before a wedding that was creaky and a little awkward and a little gorgeous, and featured S's cousin as maybe the most beautiful, and the most kind, and the most radiantly happy bride I've ever seen, and the rest of the weekend was spent with S's extended family. I always like being a niece. It's one of my favorite self-descriptors. I married into another family full of aunts and uncles. I know it's all complicated, and there are always undercurrents and gossip and flaws, but I still try very hard (and sometimes it's not hard at all) to fall in love with this whole new stack of family. It was a thick and busy weekend. I had a crick in my neck the whole time and I spent a lot of time criticizing S over things. But I also stood in a blowing, billowing long dress with my feet in the ocean underneath an inky night and a full, bright moon, and I also really, really loved my man's family and my man, too, even if we've reached the stage in our relationship where we're stressed and in close quarters and at different levels of happiness and my pickiness is rollicking.
There's a lot going on/been going on is what I'm saying, I guess, and I'm grateful to have tomorrow to look forward to as a break in the bustle, and a Saturday to myself, at home, with a long book breakfast and manufactured sunlight.
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