I have a problem with planning. It’s not that I’m bad at making plans. It’s that when I have plans set in my head and those plans go awry, I tend to get very annoyed. Okay, let’s be real–I tend to mentally freak the hell out. Take this weekend: Saturday night we were going to see a movie. We hadn’t chosen one to see, but I figured we would chose one together Saturday afternoon after my husband got home from work. Instead we took a walk.
During our walk, we discussed the weather report. Another six inches of snow was being predicted for our area. I knew my husband would most likely be called into work for another long stretch of overtime at who knows what hour. So my husband asked if it would be all right to cancel our date so he could rest up for the long shift he was bound to be called in to work. So we watched hockey–or rather I did as he fell asleep on the couch next to me.
Sunday morning came and I made breakfast. A quick morning stop to Target was followed by a date in our driveway to wash the salt off of my car. Dinner went in the crock pot and I made my husband an apple pie for dessert. Another walk, some painting and evening came before we knew it. I began to wait for the first snowflakes to fall and the dreaded phone call that my husband was being called in for a midnight shift and I’d be once again left alone. The snow widow.
Soft snowflakes fell without accumulation. Was I thankful or was I pissed that our newly reinstated date night was ruined by a constantly changing forecast? I was thankful that my husband got to sleep at home–to sleep in general. I was pissed that I sat next to a warm man, asleep, while I watched hockey instead of sitting next to a warm man in a dark theater watching 2 1/2 hours of action and adventure.
But I am learning to get over these little interruptions. Slowly but surely I will calm the wild banshee inside of me. Of course I was content in knowing that my husband was safe and warm at home, able to sleep in our bed while snowflakes softly fell and fucked off, leaving the faintest trace of their arrival to be stomped away as he left for a normal shift the next morning.
There will be other weekends. Warmer ones. We turn the clocks ahead this weekend. That’s got to count for something.
No Comments