Last Thursday marked the end of summer school and the end of The Mister's work assignment. The heyday of my wifely vacations is gone (oh, how I miss them!). The three of us are home, together ALL.THE.TIME.
It's a shock to my system. My day is no longer my own. It's noisier and messier and I am filled with regret that I didn't take advantage of each and every day that, from 7:15 am until 3:00 pm, belonged just to me. Sigh.
I am convinced that over the past week, the number of hours in a day has increased exponentially from 24 to some number with several commas. You know, like the National Debt clock.
The difference here at home is that the second hand barely moves, and the hour and minute hands are loath to rock around the clock.
If it weren't for therapy appointments, I'd have no time pressures (or frame of reference) at all. I click the clock in the desktop tray on my laptop to see what day of the week it is. Every single day seems like Saturday. Know I know how Bill Murray felt in Groundhog Day.
It's SSDD*, people. Rinse and repeat. I know how glamorous it sounds, and that you all wish you were me - I get that all the time. But really, when I have loads of unstructured time in addition to the constant demands and perpetual disapproval and disappointment of my loved ones, there's not a lot of sunshine in my life.
I seem to spend a lot of time rinsing dishes and loading the dishwasher now that we're all home. I think the silverware dives into the sink when I'm not looking...who knew that three people could use all of our spoons between lunch and dinner?
August has yet to be august, but I remain hopeful. Could that be the delusions talking?
Lucky for me, school starts again in twelve more days (but who's counting?); The Mister is job hunting and I am continuing to work on my goal of avoiding any and all domestic responsibilities, as I am often wont to do.
I peruse the online job boards and apply for jobs that I won't hear a reply to, since I've been out of the job market for so long now. I daydream of having a reason to get dressed up like an actual grownup and coming home to a delicious well-balanced dinner and a clean house, thanks to the efforts of The Mister.
But until one of us gets a job offer, we'll be ingesting plenty of Ramen noodles (the favorite food of poor college students and unemployed folks). The Boy informed me that they're also the favorite food of prostitutes, as they are "fast, cheap and easy". It's good to know that I wouldn't lack for lunch companions if I ever decide to explore a new career in "customer satisfaction".
*SSDD, Same Shit Different Day