I don’t eat dinner. (Well, that’s not entirely true. I don’t cook dinner, because I don’t know how to cook for only one person.)
I practise the running man every time I look in the mirror. (I still can’t do it, and I look in the mirror lots.)
I spray Exit Mould on the bathroom tiles and watch the mould disappear.
I turn my own electric blanket on.
I sleep late.
I sleep with a hammer next to my pillow, in case of intruders. Every time I hear a noise, I pull out my phone in case I need to dial “000”.
I sleep diagonally across the bed, ’cause I can.
I wake up late.
I leave from the front door, so I don’t forget my keys.
I take the rubbish out (although I haven’t yet. But I will!)
I could go on, but I won’t.
I’ve not really ever been the kind of girl to cry over boy. Except, maybe, when I’m married to that boy, and he goes away for a while. And it’s only really 10 days (2 down! 8 to go).
I acted like a 4 year old before he left. I got cranky and complained about his hair, the kitchen, the bed, the car. And then he was so nice, and apologised, and fixed things, and I felt terrible. And then I followed him around the house, and talked to him when he was busy, and annoyed him ’cause I could. And then I cried, because the crankiness and annoyingness was really just sadness. And then he kept trying to make me laugh, and then I laugh-cried, awkwardly, while he rubbed my back and said things like “it’s okay, it’s only 10 days. I’ll miss you too. It’s okay.”
And he’s right, but it still makes me sad.