skot AT izzlepfaff DOT com
Thursday, 14 July
As I Lay Blogging
The wife, I am miserable to report, is absent for the next six days or so. Turns out her brother's family in Connecticut is undergoing some real turmoil--everything is okay, everyone is fine, but there are medical issues going on--and she heroically flew out there to help with her bro, his wife, and their two small boys. I talked with her briefly today from work, and also my little nephews-in-law, who had this to say about seeing their aunt: "Peanut butter sandwiches are good." Good to know. My bitter heart did just about break, I must say, though, when little A. breathlessly spoke to me: "Hi I am reading Harry Potter now and I am going to be Harry Potter I think because I have all the books!" And I said, because I'm worthless on the phone even with adults, much less little kids, "Wow! You have a lot of reading to do. I should let you get back to it!" (Read: Please put my wife back on the phone.) And he said, "Okay! Goodbye! I love you!"
The damn kid has met me once, when he was the ringbearer at our wedding. I doubt he could pick me out of a lineup. I know that it's a rote thing that little kids are trained to say, especially to "family," but Jesus Christ if I didn't feel like a frozen turd all day for just gaping into the receiver, even though the damned tot almost certainly threw the phone back at the wife's head and went off to go spear frogs or something. Stupid adorable kids. This is kind of why I don't want any. My mind is already horribly bent. I don't need any help.
And anyway, the wife has a lot to answer for. For one thing, the garbage is really piling up. Who's going to take this shit out? I might call the condo board. I assume they have a service.
For another thing, it took less than twenty-four hours to confirm that I simply cannot take care of myself. I mean, at all. Last night, when I went to bed, I set on the alarm. Good show, old bean! Corking! Too bad it was set for the wife's normal waking hour, which is a good hour later than mine. So I got to work an hour late. I emailed the department: "Sorry, I'm an hour late getting into work today, thanks to my suck-ass wife, who is in Connecticut, and failing to take care of me."
Not a good way to start the day. Even worse was ending it: on the way home, I walked by two--two!--old ladies rummaging through garbage cans. Is there anything worse than seeing little old ladies scavenging through trash for . . . I don't even know, really. One of the women surfaced with a bus schedule. This depressed me even further. It horrifies me to see shit like this. That's why I normally make the wife go out fishing for dumpster treasures. But she's not here! You see my situation.
Then I bought a book about rats. It is called "Rats." This should improve my lot.
Clearly, I am going to be dead before my wife comes back. Devoured by rats, and surrounded by substandard garbage. It's going to be a rough weekend, particularly for my neighbors, since I suspect that I am going to be one smelly-ass corpse.
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It's really pathetic, isn't it? I'm the exact same way when my wife leaves town. I don't understand how I got to be this helpless. I lived for a good long while without a wife; one assumes that I'd remember how I got along then. But no, I mostly just feel old and feeble when she's gone. *deep sigh*
YES!!! I can't wait until my husband is man enough to admit that he can't live without me!!
(well, at least I KNOW that day is coming..) ;-)
Oh, and Skot, for the record: ladies DON'T feel the same way when their cavemen break loose from confinement. (EVEN FOR THE EVENING)
Sure, I *could* take care of myself without the Spousal Unit, but why bother? Bleakness descends, and I'd rather just slug soda, order pizza, and sit around in my pyjamas.
So really, I'm just as helpless. And stinky.
My heart fibrillates, and not in a good way, when I contemplate Magda's upcoming absence. It's not that I can't take care of myself, but that when she's away I can't really see the point. No. I take that back. I can't take care of myself. I resign myself to two weeks of waking up sideways, as my toes look fruitlessly for hers all the way across the bed.
When my sister came back from her whirlwind North American Medical School Interview Tour a few years ago, she found teeth marks in the cheese of her and her husband's refrigerator. And piles upon piles of his underwear scattered about the place.
When I came back from Girlfriends Weekend in Vegas, my boyfriend hand run out of the pump-action hand soap we use in the bathroom and replaced it with the bar soap we use for our bodies. Not a huge sin, but it grossed me out enough.
Ya'll are farging helpless.
My mother is a fish.
hahaha u rawk
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