If I could make myself tiny. Like Alice in Wonderland. And I was small enough to crawl into my loving husband’s ear. Into his head. To make myself comfortable sitting on his brain. Like sitting on a bean bag. I imagine it would be like a bean bag. And I would use my hands to manipulate it, to make a comfy chair and then fall into it. Sinking in as it surrounded me. I would sit there, silently, just hanging out and listening to his thoughts. I imagine I would hear him think, ‘I have lost my wife to blahtober!’ And I would laugh.
Yes he would have a nickname for my latest project. And then I imagine I would hear, echoing inside his mind, his thoughts about Blogtober, a daily blog post challenge for every day of October, a challenge I have chosen to take on board to stretch my writing self. And man, am I loving it. But, I imagine he would be thinking something like...
‘Where the hell has she gone? She was here last week. And now. We have lost her. I have lost her. To her writing. To her thing. Yeah, I have my thing. I make bikes, recycled bikes. Alongside my photography. But today, I came in, my hands all greasy and it was clear I couldn’t make myself lunch. I worked my eyes, made them big puppy dog eyes, they were good ones, but she didn’t even look up from her computer. Didn’t even notice them. It was like I wasn’t even there. I know! What the hell is going on?
And the other night. I got into bed, on my own. Yep, that’s right, she wasn’t there. I fell asleep before she came to bed. I missed my hug. It felt really lonely. Although, the dog did give me some company. But the dog is way grumpier, and if I moved in bed, she growled and let me know she wasn’t happy. I fell asleep, my arm outstretched onto the other side of the bed, the vacant side. Waiting for her, my wife, to return. I think I was snoring by the time she stumbled into bed, after posting on her blog, just in time to make the deadline.
If that night wasn’t bad enough, this morning the alarm went off at some crazy time. I think it was 4am. She had it set to radio, and some head banging thing woke us both up with a start. She jumped out, turned it off, and was gone. The corner of her dressing gown waving to me, as I lay in bed, dazed, and watched as she disappeared out the bedroom door on a mission to write.
There is definitely less food in the house, and I have definitely had to do more than my share of dishes. She gets lost in her writing, and has ruined more than one dinner. She does seem happy though. Satisfied. And I am supporting her. I am liking her posts on social media. Making sure she knows I have noticed them. That I appreciate her art. Although, I don’t click on the link and read them. She caught me the other day. She wrote something about me, apparently, and I failed her test questions to work out if I had read it. Damn it. Might have to find some time to read that one. But I did use all my social media accounts to like her next post and was the first to do so, I am hoping that made up for it.
There is only 22 days to go. I have put it in my calendar. Alongside her period. You can never be too careful. Pretty sure I can make it. Pretty sure I can survive this “latest thing”. Just gotta be patient with her. Not long now and I will have her in my arms, all mine to enjoy. Blogtober a distant memory. The burnt tacos never mentioned.’