Some people go to therapy to stay calm and sane, some take Prozac or do yoga. For me, I've found that perusing the San Francisco apartment rentals on Craigslist calms me down, though god knows why, as it's fairly clear from the prices that we'll have to share a 300-square-foot studio in the Tenderloin with two crack whores and a small army of cockroaches when we finally do move out there.
It's been a very solitary weekend. Sean has been in Connecticut visiting his family, and I've been doing things like eating Triscuits with peanut butter for dinner because when you really start thinking about it, making an actual meal for one person seems like such a hassle, and why dirty a saucepan—nay, why dirty a plate? This paper towel will do just fine!—when you'll only have to clean it up again afterwards? This afternoon I had a bag of microwaved popcorn for lunch. When I was younger, I used to think being able to make a bag of microwaved popcorn whenever you wanted to in place of a meal was The Height Of Independence. This afternoon, sadly, it was just The Height Of Nothing Else In The Cupboard.
Aside from a few interactions with the woman manning the desk at the gym, an encounter with Lovely Neighbor Stacy in which she borrowed my ladder and I used her printer, and a one-sided conversation with Thespian Libby's cat, whom I'm feeding this weekend while she's out of town---although whose existence I am actually beginning to doubt, since he has yet to make himself visible---I've kept pretty much to myself. I've been working on this book (did I tell you I was working on a book?), the deadline for which is May 15, which also happens to be the day I'm leaving for England. This means that as well as two suitcases being packed by this time, one job must be quit, one party must be held, one car must be sold, and twelve chapters must be written, and thus I struggled this whole weekend with eight, nine, and ten. It's all about weddings, this book, a glossy coffee table affair for a local event planner who was recently named one of Modern Bride's Top 25 Trendsetters. As such, I'm having dreams about save-the-date cards and clear-topped tents, champagne flutes with orchids in them, and butler cards hung on miniature trees constructed from the branches of blooming cherry blossoms. I could make a fortune with this information, you realize, if I ran off somewhere and started a wedding planning business. I know exactly how to make beribboned pew markers.
I like the solitude, though. I get a lot done, and when I'm not getting a lot done, I can channel surf with impunity, because that jerky, stilted noise the TV makes when you flick through each station---"soIsaid...andnexton....applepiethat....comingup...toherbut...butwhatabout...lastweekon" ---doesn't bother me at all, though it drives Sean insane with irritation. Without him around, I'm also becoming dangerously close to Crazy Cat Lady status, letting both kittens sleep in the bed with me, my arm draped over them while all three of us sigh in contentment as we snooze through the alarm.
He's home tomorrow, and I'm excited to see how well he's been able to complete the assignment I issued to him before he left---Mission: Buy As Much Of The Trader Joe's Inventory As You Can Carry. More than anything else, though, I'm really just looking forward to having him around again; to the great relief of having him to talk to.