The husband is off traveling again for work. This time he's in Oregon, and he'll be gone for two weeks. Now, I'm a strong, independent woman and all that other new age mumbo jumbo, but that's a long time to be home alone talking to the dog. You might think I'm kidding, but I'm not. Coco and I get into deep philosophical conversations on a variety of topics, like what to watch on tv or what exactly I should cook for dinner. I'm cooking for one, after all. Coco keeps hoping I'm going to fall further into my home alone psychosis and start inviting her to sit at the table and serve her people food. It hasn't happened yet, but I'm not ruling it out. I get a little loopy by Day 7.
To make matters worse, I work from home. I know, everyone is getting out their tiny violins and playing me a sad tune. Poor Brooke, she works from home.
Let me tell you something about working from home. It's awesome, for the most part. But some days I don't change out of my pajamas. Some days I go to the gym in the morning and don't change out of my disgusting, smelly gym clothes until I am about to go to bed. I don't put on makeup for days at a time, and I am probably known around town as the Smelly Girl who frequents Trader Joes and Target in the same clothes every day, all day. I have become totally undisciplined, and sometimes the tv is on all day just to keep me company. Well Good Morning, Real Housewives of (Insert city here - I watch them all), how are you today? I will watch your lives and feel better about myself because while I am a tad unhinged, I am no trainwreck. Not yet, anyway.
I have started talking to myself. I have always had conversations with myself in my head, but since the husband is never home and I always am, these conversations have manifested into full fledged discussions with myself. Out loud. Once in the parking lot of Target while loading my trunk full of things I didn't need but bought just because. Well, I did need the bird feeder. Now I have a backyard full of happy little birds who don't mind that I talk to myself because I feed them. I realize how crazy I sound. No comments are necessary here.
On a side note, Jeremiah will be gone on Valentine's Day. While I am not particularly fond of this holiday, I would like to pose this question: What is the point of being married if you have to be alone on a greeting card holiday? That is blasphemy, pure and simple.
This is Day 1 of exile. Stay tuned.
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| Photo Courtesy of NatalieDee.com |
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