Herself: Took new glasses back. Finished rewriting the LA trip into an essay about friendship. Read it to class. They liked it. I don’t know if it is strong enough. The new browser allows me to go places and do things I haven’t been able to do in years. I had thought it was something wrong with my computer. Feeling guilty that I read while he worked. Lessa’s Christmas present arrived.
Reading: Finished the Castillo “Going Missing.” A very well written yet horrifying look into the life of an Amish murder. Yes, I will read the rest in that series.
Balance: Reading as usual.
When he was out there on the road, tho I knew he was over achieving, I didn’t see it. Now that he’s at home, there he is, right next to me, his incomprehensible charts filling his monitors and his time filled with making sure everybody has the right info in those charts. Once I’ve written what I am going to produce for the day, entered the photos from the store, or read a few of you, I leave my computer. No matter where I am in the house after that, I am aware that he is upstairs working hard.
Over the years, I have perfected being lazy. My allergies to dust encourage me to let someone else dust my house. No matter the meds I take, dust slows me down. My laziness extends to cooking. Not only did I cook my way through college the first four years, I’ve been preparing meals since I was a kid. That’s almost seventy years of cooking. My recently discovered joy in eating out has now been tempered by my newly gained width…his too. So now I am perfecting the art of the lazy meal.
If we are eating at home, I start the entre, perhaps a baked potatoe or squash, then retreat to my chair and read. Oh, I set a timer. Otherwize I read right through the potatoe. Perhaps there’s a roasted or steamed veggie. I like eating it, but being lazy I even begrudge the time to pop the veggies in the broiler.
Usually right at five, the Geezer will come down the stairs calling out, “Honey I’m home.” We laugh. The laughter doesn’t make me feel any better about the core of laziness that feeds my guilt.
It’s a good thing I am only home two full weekdays anymore. If I were home all day every day, think of the guilt I could work up.