Crunch, crunch goes his cereal as he eats breakfast over his computer. Since I go to the gym with him this week, I get to find out the little details of his life I wasn’t privy to before like “Crunch, crunch.”
He wear’s sweats all day as he works. Comfort first. Today I will emulate him. Marta is here to clean, and I am writing a poem. Somehow the balance seems off. We sit; she works. No Yin and Yang in that. I can’t hide from her either. With G right here working at his computer, it isn’t right that I run away just so I can’t feel guilty.
He talks too. Did he do that when I wasn’t here? I’ll never know. Every day our lives are restructured and recreated. Dinner is now at five. No flexibility. Before, sometimes I would call instead of guessing what time he would be home. Now it’s five.
“I really don’t want to make that corn chowder tonight,” I told him.
“Ok, we will go out,” he said with a laugh.
I didn’t remind him that tomorrow will be out too because of a five forty five meeting. We will make it work. I laugh back.