Richelle and I have opposing views of our Saturdays. She looks at Saturday as the perfect chance to get things done. I look at Saturday as a day to not get things done. You can see how this may lead to conflict.
I woke up this morning, very pleased with myself for having somehow miraculously made myself sleep till 11:00. Richelle was standing by my bedside like an Olympic track star after a steroid injection. I was hoping she would say something pleasant like “Good morning, you want some breakfast?” or “How did you sleep?”
“We need to go to Costco,” she said. She was serious. I knew what she meant, but already my mind was rejecting any thought of the type of day she was wanting to have.
“Don’t do that,” I said and she laughed. “I want coffee. That’s all I’m thinking about, right now.”
I wanted my day to be filled with little exciting accomplishments. Get out of bed. Put sweats on. Make coffee. Read the newspaper (okay- I never read the newspaper but it’s one of those cliché lazy things people always mention).
But she can’t help herself. For the last two hours, I’ve been enduring these verbal missiles of “Let’s go!” and “Hurry up! Get ready! We gotta’ goooooo!”
She was pleasant about it. She had the little girl sound to her voice which I was appreciating. It meant she wasn’t on the verge of attacking me with something heavy and metallic. But I could tell when the little girl started to dissipate and the sad, disappointed tone was starting to develop. I was the only one available to be the cause of this. The sound of her movements were slow and deliberate as though she was running out of things to accomplish in the house and she was in desperate need to broaden her horizons toward cleaning up other parts of the world.
“I guess I’ll just go then,” she said in a defeated tone.
What she wanted was for me to go with her. I, of course, was very willing to go with her but I was fighting at every level the idea of having to rush out of the door like we need as much time as possible to avoid confusion between the red and yellow wires while dismantling the bomb.
So she’s gone, but I no longer have any possibility of the peaceful Saturday feeling. Because she’s coming back. She’s going to accomplish three of the errands. Or maybe four. She listed them off for me, but I don’t know if I can name them exactly. I just got the message that those things were definitely needing to get done.
I’ll join her for round two. My brain is sending threatening messages to my body that it will need to be prematurely forcing my legs into jeans very soon. But, of course, my body is not taking the news well at all. In fact, not much progress has been made toward the jeans as of yet. It’s a bit of a civil war going on in here.
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2 comments:
Favorite line: "The sound of her movements were slow and deliberate as though she was running out of things to accomplish in the house and she was in desperate need to broaden her horizons toward cleaning up other parts of the world." I read it a couple times. I like to savor well-thought-out sentences.
This piece was good. Loved it.
Feel for Richelle, I must say, though. She and I should live closer because I would have gone with her, and the both of us would have helped each other check off our world-clean-up lists together.
I left a post last night and then it didn't show up. Huh? Anyway, I said something like -- I identify with both of you. I love the lazy-stay-in-your-slippers-all-day kind of day, but then there's the other side of me that identifies with the list-making-and-checking-it-off-get-it-all-done-right-now kind of day. I'm conflicted. The older I get, the more the initial one wins out.
I loved the title "Little civil Wars"
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