Liar Liar

I know.  I said I was going to write a little bit every day, it's been three days since I started writing, and I already missed a day.

But....

In my defense, I was experimenting with the other intentions I laid out in my first post.  I actually sat down and talked to my husband.  I gave him my undivided attention, with no television on, no magazine or stack of bills on my lap, no phone in sight.  I looked into his eyes and listened to his random stories of the week, his views on the people and places he encounters in all his mini adventures at work, and all the little stuff I usually rush him through or past so I can get to the next to-do on my list.

Spend time with husband: check.

At first, it was actually quite difficult.  Really?  Difficult to listen to the man you love and have dedicated the rest of your life to?  Yes.  Difficult to just sit, just be, just listen.

I had this flash of all of the fictional and nonfictional accounts of what it is like to be a telepath, how at first it sounds like a flood of voices attacking you all at once.
In the beginning, I was sitting, with my glass of wine, fresh from my bath and relaxed, sitting on my bed, and Carlos came in with his glass of wine and started talking.
The voices in my head would not shut up.  What I had to do tomorrow, what I still had to do tonight, is my dad coming over for dinner on Sunday, this article I'm in the middle of in Parents magazine is interesting because..., and on and on.

I had to look, right into his eyes, listen, only to his voice, and enjoy the moment.  I had to push all the other noise out of my head and savor the sound of my husband's voice, appreciate the expression changes on his face as his passions rise and fall over a particular situation at work or an experience with our daughter.

It worked.  We visited, we laughed, we had serious discussions, we had light banter.

At one point my brother came in with the announcement that a cat had climbed five flights of stairs, found his way through a locked door and to Teno's window in an attempt to adopt him.  But that's a story for another night.

The point of this apology for not writing last night is that I don't apologize.  For a rare change of pace, I put my husband above all else, above myself, above my writing, above all the mundane tasks of my days and nights.  I fell asleep happy, sated, and not sorry for a moment that I missed a night of writing.