Tonight a strange thing happened.
I get home from work, and Rob's car is here, so I think he's here as usual, before I am. Then I go inside and realize he's not here, because he biked to work today. I start cooking spaghetti, reheating the sauce from a couple of days ago, and Rob comes home.
"Herro?" he greets me, warmly, sweaty and glowing from his bike ride.
I say hello brightly and give him a peck on the lips, and go about my spaghetti-making, and I chat with him about my workday and his workday, and he tells me about his boss's new project for him. So far, pretty normal--I'm in a better mood than usual for after work. It's a beautiful day, and I actually left the office at ten after five.
We eat spaghetti, then watch the special features on "The Gods Must Be Crazy" DVD that we bought on Sunday, then we retreat to the back porch to enjoy the remaining sun. It's been since April 2nd, and I'm still not used to the Daylight Savings Time
change. It's nice to have sunshine in the evening, enough to sit outside and enjoy.
Rob quietly went back inside, did the dinner dishes and plugged in his headphones to play multiplayer internet Star Wars. I felt like staying outside, so I went in and scanned our modest book collection in the office closet, and came out with
Cien Años de Soledad, which I've started and stopped too many times to care where I start now. It's always a literary treat.
Finally I become aware that I have become an all-you-can-eat buffet for the first round of mosquitos this year, so I retreat to the great indoors to finish the chapter by lamplight.
Chapter finished, I decide I don't have anything better to do, and Rob's still gaming away in his own world, so I start making tuna salad for tomorrow's lunches.
Rob hears me clanging pots and dishes.
"I thought I did the dishes already," he remarked, confused.
"You did. I'm making tuna." This is my boring daily life, you know. This is all the drama and excitement I need during the week. Drama Queen I am not.
He chuckles and joins me in the kitchen. "Shouldn't I be doing something else?"
"I don't know, babe. Do whatever you feel like doing." I reply, cheerfully.
He chats me up for a few minutes. "I haven't had a cigarette since I left work today."
"I thought you were going to hold off on quitting for the time being." We discussed this yesterday. My curiosity was piqued.
"Well, riding the bike made me feel like not smoking," he continued. He's not really quitting, just taking a brief hiatus. "I ran out of smokes at work, and I don't feel like going out to get a pack."
Just now, as I was finishing round 2 of the dishes, after mixing up the tuna, I catch Rob looking at me through the look-through between the living room and kitchen. He seems to be staring at me with some interest.
Is it because I'm doing the dishes? I wonder.
The dishes have not been a source of upset, so much as a mildly awkward dance. We've never lived together before. "Who does what when" is still unsure at this point, though we're enjoying figuring out our division of labor.
"I can't take it!" he exclaims.
You can't take what? I can't figure out what he can't take. The Ten Commandments on TV? He's too sleepy, and he can't stay awake anymore?
Finally, as he is walking out the door, I figure out what he's talking about. He is overcome with the need to smoke a cigarette, and he has to go out at 9PM (hey, we're living on old people time these days) to buy a pack, when ordinarily he would be lounging, gaming, watching TV or going to bed.
The weird thing, to me, was that I didn't realize what he was talking about. I haven't even been off the smokes for a year yet, and already I am that far from it, on a day-to-day mental basis. Bizarre.
It's a bit of a warning to me--a warning to not forget how time- and life-consuming this habit is/was. A warning to avoid complacency.
For me, the blog has been a great help. It's my anchor. But if I couldn't ever get on to Blogger again, I would just have to go back to regular pen-and-paper journaling. Which is fine--the goal is to stay smoke free, and the end almost always justifies the means.
