Some days I really, really miss my office--that room that my college student son is currently living in and doesn't seem in a hurry to leave. Silly me. I though they left home.
Real life event, taking place as we speak.
Me--trying to edit a poem for class--a poem that is part of a much larger paper--a formal poem which requires every ounce of concentration I've got. I'm actually working on the closing line. I just need a word that says what I mean and rhymes with . . .
Gary enters, wanders back to our bedroom, smooth the covers on the bed and sits down behind me. "What are you doing?"
"Writing." Bed (as in river bed). Rhymes with bed. red, said, fled . . .
"Oh. What are you writing?"
Barely disguised sigh. "A poem. For my final paper." Rhymes with bed--hanging on by a THREAD . . .
"Can I read it?"
"Not yet." Crap. What was the word again? Bed. Rhymes with Bed. Must resist wringing my husband's NECK. Oooh. Slant rhyme.
"Okay. I'll just lay here for a while then."
I am already struggling to concentrate just because there's another person in the room. And then . . .
He starts to snore. Rhymes with bed. "I want to beat my HEAD on my desk."
I give up, leave the room to get a drink of water. I state to my oldest son. "I miss my office."
"You can't have it back yet."
Sam, who is doing dishes, pipes up. "And when he moves out, I'm moving in there. You said so."
Sort of rhymes with bed. I must count to TEN before I speak to my teenage son. I do remember this. I must have been feeling really generous that day. Glaring, I remind him that I have a great deal of say in this decision. "You'd better be very, very nice to me."
He beams. "Of course. Would you like me to throw Daniel out for you?"
I return to our bedroom, glass of water in hand. Gary continues to snore. Rhymes with bed. Where I'm going INSTEAD of finishing this paper tonight.