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Well, the second day on my own was Monday, and to be honest, the wife and I don’t see eachother too much during the week as it is. Mondays she typically has an evening class, so the only difference was there was nobody to vent to at the end of the day.
Beside the faceless internet, of course, so thanks for that.
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Just like in any relationship, our marriage has had its ups and downs. Some of the ups have been especially great, and some of the downs have been really down there. While we’re in a good place now, and have been for a while, there have been times when phrases like “Why am I still here? Your life wouldn’t be any different if I were gone” have been uttered, from both sides.
I’m not proud of that, but it’s true.
Well, as some of you know, my wife flew to London Sunday morning, with three of her friends. They like think of themselves as a Phoenix version of the “Sex in the City” women, except that none of them want to be the slutty one. So I guess that means there are two of another one, but anyway, that’s beside the point.
The point is that I’m on my own for a week. I thought it would be fun to chronicle the adventures of the pseudo-bachelor, someone who hasn’t been truly left to their own devices in so long that it may prove difficult to snap back from the inherent dependency into which marriage plops a person.
Now is when I really see if my life would be different without her. And then on Monday I’ll pick her up at the airport and she’ll have photos and souvenirs and jet lag, but I’ll have the knowledge that yes, my life is entwined with hers, for better or for worse.
Since Sunday was the day she flew out, I’ll start there.
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First Fridays in Phoenix is a community art walk that is hosted by the local businesses and galleries in the downtown area. I used to go when I was in college, back when my course schedule consisted entirely of various art classes and more free time than I care to remember. Now in my thirties, it’s taken me a few days to recover from my first First Friday event in years, and I’ve had a chance to reflect on the experience.
Standing in the gravel driveway behind what is now a home-turned-art gallery, surrounded by a whirling mass of eclectics, with their unkempt hair, earth-friendly woven fabrics, and exhaling a strange, unfamiliar smoke, a realization came to me:
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As I sit here in the juror holding pen, trying to ignore the mediocre morning info-tainment blaring through the televisions, I have a chance to reflect on this whole lottery we have going here.
First off, it’s not as, um, sexy, as it is on Law & Order. Even though the juries on TV are overly diverse, the group that I’m in looks to have been selected from the WASP database. There are a couple of other ethnicities here, but not a whole lot.
Secondly - While some of these folks seem like they were on their way to the office when they got sucked into service, others seem to have been pulled from under a rock. Seriously - who wears a Muʻumuʻu to, well, anywhere? And who has their phone ringer on max right after the bailiff told us to turn them off?
The bright spot is that the court system really has made the effort to make this less painful. Free wireless internet, free coffee and donuts, yogurt and assorted snacks. Movies in one of the other rooms, it’s almost a pleasurable experience. Not at all miserable like the trips to the Motor Vehicle Department that this used to be.
When they call my number I may actually wish they hadn’t. Maybe.
You can catch my updates at Twitter.
So today I started my new car pool program. The plan was to meet at this person’s home at 6:00 AM, and ride in together, taking advantage of the carpool lane and generally avoiding all the normal traffic pitfalls. Only having to gas up the car once during the week will save some cash, too.
I’ve said on more than one occasion that I’m not a morning person. Really, really, the opposite, actually. Last night, in an effort to not make my new carpool mate late for work, I went to bed early, forgoing my typical late night cup of coffee for fear of oversleeping this morning. I went to be before 11, and true to form, my sleep reservoir was full at 4:00 AM, so I got up, spent some time in the home office, had a pot of coffee, and left on time.
We’d had a ton of rain yesterday and last night, so the roads were slick and flooded. Phoenix isn’t known for the great way it handles the occasional deluge when it comes to the city streets. When I found her road, there was some sort of flooded wash that I had to cross. Those of you who’ve been on here for a while know my car is not made for crossing washes…in fact the bottom of the car sits about four inches off the ground. Illuminated by my headlights in the pre-dawn darkness I thought that it probably looked more dangerous than it really was, I decided to chance it. The idiot’s last words, right?
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FourBux