Ed’s out of town on business. Whenever he travels, I have a ritual I like to perform: I go 36 hours without human contact, from after work one day until the start of work two days out. I arrange to work from home in the middle, order food in, and don’t speak to anyone that isn’t also behind a keyboard. It is a serious hardship to have to acknowledge the delivery person, so sometimes I’ll cook my favourite foods that Ed isn’t crazy about and go the whole time not wearing clothes. It’s awesome.
I’m not the most social person, but I was an isolated only child. As the years passed, I grew up into an emotionally stunted adult – I do enjoy people time, but having only my lonesome (and the cats) in my home does wonders to reset my brain. Plus, I get to eat all the things I like. My palate is as sophisticated as my social skills, so I can eat the same things over and over and over again – but Ed often gets sick of my favourites and insists we branch out. Pfft.
Back to today. It’s premature November outside, so I happily arranged to work from home today so I could get some quiet work done, then planned to order food in. It was right about then that things started to go wrong:
- The place I wanted to order from has a broken website and app, so I couldn’t order online
- I called the restaurant to place an order for delivery, but the number wasn’t in service – they’re in the no-power zone
- I called the place that’s technically closer to me, but they won’t deliver to my address because they’re a block into Burnaby and I’m a block outside of Burnaby
- I decided to pick up the order, since I’m a creature of habit and I really wanted that exact food
- The elevator is broken (again), so I had to take ten doors to get to my car
- I decided to get a Diet Coke from McDonald’s on my way home instead of my way out, but when I arrived the Mack truck had just arrived and was blocking everything
- LIFE IS HARD
I’m finally at home, in my PJs, with some Diet Coke and a cat trying to eat my dinner. I barely survived that harrowing ordeal in the real world, and I am kind of petulant that my 36-hour Me Time was interrupted by outside. I have to go back into the office for the rest of the week and Ed gets home on Thursday night, so this was my only chance. BOO. I WANTED TO HERMIT.
All of my ridiculous non-problems aside, it is officially September and three weeks away from my trip. I am now “allowed” to pack, but I am teasing myself by drawing it out a little. Oh, yeah. You leave yourself only 18 days to pack, you filthy whore. You’re so bad.
If you need me, that’s too bad. I do not exist until tomorrow morning at 9.