Riley flew up to Oregon yesterday. He is gone until Monday. I hate it.
Blog confessional...I was almost excited about this alone time. I don't remember what it is like to be by myself. It has occurred to me lately that I might not mind remembering. This weekend was to be the perfect walk down memory lane. (Yes, I still have a 22mo old at home with me, but Margaret sleeps nearly four hours a day and then goes to bed at 7:30 each night. That is a lot of Megan time.)
There was considerable determination to be ultra productive in Riley's absence. I was going to make serious headway on my writing, acquaint myself with a yet to be determined literary classic and maybe master some basics of the french culinary tradition. You know, nothing much.
Riley has been gone for just over 24 hours. Margaret has been napping like it is her job. The weekend of Megan is well underway. And...the writing is pedestrian, I can't focus on reading and, let's face it, french food is just a titch trendy right now.
My bed is empty. Margaret doesn't get my jokes. The "i am lonely" self pity eating has gotten out of control. I am currently consuming my body weight in popcorn...I made yesterday.
I remember now what it is like to be by myself and I cannot believe it is only Friday night.