Thursday, March 22, 2012

midnight.

I look up at the clock, then back at the computer screen. I think, "I'll go to bed right after I check this one last website." I look at the clock again 30 minutes later and I think, "I'll just check my email once more then I'll lay down." My mouse clicks, the clock ticks.

I delay rest, though I know my eyes will close like a baby-doll's, because I don't want to miss the moment he comes home. I can sleep without him here. But usually I refuse.

Last night I spied "midnight" written in clock-hands and turned my body away from the world that is the computer. I was shocked to notice that it was brighter outside than in. I walked out into the yard and considered packing everyone up for whatever the Second Coming would entail. It just doesn't snow here like this. I was giddy, watching the skies.

Late at night when my husband is gone my superstitious side surfaces. I see unusual ques and exaggerate their significance. The other night he was working late and I kept noticing doors open that I thought I'd shut. I thought the house was haunted.

So, I'm at home responding unreasonably to all stimuli. Ghost hunting in my pajamas. And he's among the living-dead at work. Unaware of the golden midnights. We need one another. Together we equal one sane, happy person.

25 days. We can last 25 more days of winter. I know we can last because he built a porch snowman at 6 in the morning just to brighten my day. Plus I made him zuppa toscana soup and orange julius while seven kids swarmed me in the kitchen. We can do anything.

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