Published by admin on 08 Sep 2009 at 09:31 pm
One morning we both were putting on our shoes and assembling last bits of detritus to shove in our respective shoulder bags before we double locked and double checked and double-you-tee-effed our way out the door and Seth said something like, “Look at us, two little worker bees, on our way to work.” And I said, “Two stupid douchebags, ‘living the dream.’”
I sometimes wish I could be one of the thousands of people I see on my way to work, the people who live in LA and don’t seem to have to make a living while they’re here. They can afford to sit at Intellegentsia and sip fancy coffee with their designer ‘rescue’ mutts, and their unwashed expensive haircuts. While I drive my dented Civic in one direction and my boyfriend drives his tank in the other, I wonder what I’m going to forget to do that day and how many late fees it will accrue.
One night, after a long lonely stretch waiting for Seth to come home, I’d gone for my run, I’d done my stupid pilates tape, I’d walked the dog, and I’d refused to turn on the TV (watching TV alone now is just depressing to me, way too many memories of Louie in one room doing whatever it was he was doing, and me in another mindlessly watching crap television I’d Tivo’d for no reason except to avoid having Louie in the same room with me) when he finally walked in the door I wanted to punch him. I told him I was sick of being the first one home. I AM sick of it. It’s been 6 weeks. I miss my stay at home husband. I know that makes me selfish. I enjoy the benefits of him working, but I would take a smaller house, I’d take the bus to work, I’d give up Sunday brunch at Dusty’s if I had 10 more waking hours a week with him. But when you’re in this business that we’re in, you have a lot of time for solitary reflection while your life partner gets the first cut done, or finishes the first draft, or hands in the notes addressed version, or sits with producers, or is on location, or is whatever it is they’re doing that you hope isn’t, in fact, just ‘doing’ someone else, so I’m sitting here trying to reflect. And all that’s coming up is some kind of lame analogy to me being a vampire when it comes to self reflection these days - the mirror is empty. Which is fucking sad. I need to get my reflection mojo back.
So here I sit. I ate dinner alone. I walked Lula alone. I tap tap tap the keys alone. Hoping he’ll get home soon, knowing I’ll be deep in a xanax inspired alternate reality when he finally slides into bed next to me and pulls my body close to his. And the alarm will ring and I’ll have to hop out of bed and watch as he takes over my pillow and rests for another couple of minutes. It’s not exactly Ladyhawke, but then again, it’s kind of close.
*I think it’s hilarious to make references to movies that Seth actually worked on. When I was 9…
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