Back to the Grind
The planes have all landed. The bags are open and clothes and toiletries are strewn everywhere. Something died in the fridge. The dog is licking his ass.These are the signs. They're how you know your vacation is over. And that life, as you remembered it, waited for you to return.
The house is cool but not too cold -- yeah global warming. The mail is filled with assorted crap from big sales circulars to bills. Luckily, bills that arrived too soon to have any of the most recent holiday expenses on them. Those can be next month's migraines.
The machine is blinking furiously at me. I pretend I don't see it.
The sniping and poking and criticisms have ramped up. Why are these shoes here? Who put this on my bed? Where is my toothbrush? Did you leave the car unlocked? Why did you leave food in the fridge?
Ah, the moody melody of the modern marriage and family. The sweet sounds of surliness from a group of people way too tired to communicate before tomorrow's coffee has been consumed. Shhhh.
