Heat

Hello. I am Tired. And also wrapped up in the LT and maybe a little neurotic.

But really, what else is new?

Also, it is Monday, and I am Broke and looking ahead to the next four months of being Broke, and it is very hot, like it is everywhere, and I am Tired.

And there is a lot of negative energy in the world. People are uptight, I suppose because of the heat; although it’s unlikely that Seattle will have a drought, I suppose we can’t help, as humans, looking at available resources and looking at the number of hungry, thirsty humans, and thinking, suddenly, in our darkest moments, What if there isn’t enough for me?

Also I do not have air conditioning. My apartment stayed 95 degrees. All weekend. Just sayin’.

My two favorite bloggers in the world have written several posts over the weekend, and not like we’re in a race or anything, but I feel lazy because I haven’t. Because I have basically dived into this relationship headfirst and refuse to come up for air. Because although apparently I can write whole posts about alone time, in the end, at the same time after long, lazy weekends like the lovely one I just had, I think, I haven’t done anything in months except hang with the LT.

But—and here’s the kicker—that’s just not true.

Three day weekend this week—don’t hate me, I work nine hour days so I can have the occasional three-day-weekend—and I spent a solid third, almost a half, NOT with the LT at all.

I took a road trip with Titan, just spending time in the Jeep in the sunshine with the windows down and the radio on, and we cruised up the Kitsap Peninsula and crossed the Hood Canal onto the Olympic Peninsula, also known as one of the most beautiful places in the world—and I LIVE here—and then took a cute little ferry onto Whidbey Island, also known as the longest island in the world, top to bottom, and I drove down to the southern tip to a dog park with beach access and met one of my very best friends and her daughter, my niece, and if there’s anything in this world more wonderful than watching Titan be gentle with my darling niece, than I don’t know what it is.

(Not that my niece isn’t still the best birth control ever. Good LAWD I am not ready for kids!)

I called my mother on the way home. “How DO you do it?” I asked. “How do you wrangle a two-year-old and a car seat and a dog and food and towels and dirty baby parts and diapers and dog poop and dog poop bags and your own sanity and everything?”

“You just do it,” she replied, and because she is wise beyond her years, she did not say, “And fathers who don’t help can go fuck themselves.”

Anyway, after this I had just enough time to get home, except I didn’t because some very unfortunate person had run over a police car, and traffic was at a standstill getting off the ferry, and then there was a goose in the road, just standing there and honking back at the cars who honked at him, and so I called the LT, who happens to be an effin’ NAVIGATOR for the Navy, and he took me on back roads and such until I got home in only an hour and ten minutes, not bad for 20 miles in Friday rush hour traffic, and I had just enough time to throw on a little black dress and the hottest wrap-up-the-leg sandals ever before my date (Hi, K!) came and picked me up for Friday Night’s Booze Cruise.

AND THEN I was on a boat with a bunch of really, really crazy B engineers, mainly male, and if there’s one thing that engineers do well, it is drink. I have no memory past midnight. My signature on the taxi receipt—that I discovered, many days later—was a thing of beauty.

AND THEN I got up and played tennis the next morning, not even that badly, and then drank coffee with my neighbor and went with him to go get a haircut, and then the LT came over and we got Titan defurred and walked around Greenlake, and had just enough time to eat and shower before driving to Tacoma to see eight or nine old friends at a great slide guitar show, and one of my friends took a guest spot on vocals and she was effin’ incredible, and then later we (where we = me) went on and sang karaoke.

AND THEN the LT and I and Titan all slept in, not surprising after two days of heat, beach, lake, tennis, and drinking, and went to REI and attempted to climb the 65-foot pinnacle and went swimming in Greenlake with Titan and ate a homecooked vegan meal (watch me go!) and watched the worst movie I’ve seen lately, (kidding, baby) and...and...and. Sleep, blessed sleep.

SO. The POINT of all this writing was to convince myself that I have done something besides just hang with the LT all weekend, and indeed I have.

So the question becomes: what is it in women’s minds that picks out the only things we have NOT done—in this case, the annual shopping trip with my mother and aunt at the Nordstrom’s Half-Yearly Sale, which you may notice is NOT on the list above—and beats ourselves up about that?

Why do I feel like I am letting down “the side” by hanging with my own boyfriend, someone who I generally like and care about and with whom I have a relationship that I would like to continue, thankyouverymuch, and sure I haven’t done chores but let’s get real, I probably wouldn’t have done those ANYWAY, and the only thing I missed was family related, and frankly when it comes to my friends I’m seeing them fairly regularly, so WHY DO I FEEL THIS HUGE BURDEN OF GUILT?

And I think the answer is: I don’t.