I have this aggravating cold, with an utterly charming cough that keeps me and others up at night and makes my voice David Caruso-deep. (I’ve been trying to think of David Caruso lines, a la CSI Miami to tell Husband, like, “Turns out the son did. Happy Father’s day.” Husband: He was Oedipus Wrecked. That round goes to Husband.). These recent bad nights add up to me wandering around the office in a crooked body, in the shell-shocked state of no sleep-deprivation.
The apartment is a jungle of boxes and recycling and clothing that’s not quite dirty enough to be laundry, as we try to put some effort into finding a new place to live. I mostly feel calm about the whole endeavor, in a way, because it’s too much to worry, but once in a while, I can feel that old anxiety just waiting to come in and sweep me off my feet.
Still, I have to remember these random moments. Husband, Baby, and I were all home these recent nights, unusual due to Husband/mine Lady Hawke hours (we work opposite hours. Never saw the movie myself, just heard about the concept.) In the middle of this chaos, Husband lifts Baby up with some Airplane, Mechanic, or whatever game it is men play. They both giggle. The tiny place smells good because of Husband’s cooking and feels homey because it’s dark outside and we’ve got great lamps here. Suddenly, I am seized with a deep sense of contentment. I did not know you could feel happy while being so bloody tired at the same time. Huh.