January 16, 2008
the s is for sad

Yesterday I got up at 4:45 to mark my final 8 essays (I just go crazy like the good old days). At about 6, I heard a little voice coming from the next bedroom.

"The S is for socks! (clap clap) The S is for socks! (clap clap)"

Hee! Only Blake truly understands why I need to listen to a good Homestar song over and over, because he wants to do the same thing. And in honour of our earworm, I changed the banner.

Things are pretty static around here. The Boy & I have switched to email negotiations, as talking to him in person about anything of importance makes me pretty angry pretty fast. He showed up on Sunday to drop off Blake and he wasn't wearing his wedding ring. As soon as he was gone, mine went into the china hutch. I find myself touching the place it used to be on my finger a lot.

I'm having a hard week. I keep waking up and wondering who I am. I wonder if this is supposed to be my life. I wonder if I'll always feel this dislocated. I wonder how long the Boy was faking it. I wonder if this is for real or if I just have to be patient a little longer. My hands stay in motion, ringless. Busy is all I have.

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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*