It’s not that I was so unbearable to my family last night that I have to apologize publicly, I just sometimes think better on my blog.

Someone who checked out my site last night had googled House wife repair.  I don’t know if that was some lazy guy seeking advice on how to get his wife to fix the house.  Or a man looking to fix his irritable housewife so she makes better meatloaf and has a more amenable demeanor.  I’m not sure why a woman would search those terms.  Feel free to pursue your own line of conjecture, but do share with us if you think of something good.

I don’t need repair as much as I need some time to drift.  To be freed from the tethers of my family’s schedule for just a few hours.  Drifting time, in case you’re unfamiliar with the concept is like this:  some stare at clouds, some walk beaches, some stare at trails of ants making their way up the stairs while carrying the carcass of a honeybee.  I wander through bookstores, sit in cafes and roam streets.  I carry a notebook, pen and book of poetry.  I’ve been doing this since I was 18 and moved to NYC.  If it’s daytime, I also carry sunglasses.

At some point in the drifting process, I’ll take a stab at writing or editing a poem.  This is usually in a cafe and a little bit forced and I don’t get far.  I abandon said attempt and look around at good looking men.  Then I read for a bit before paying the check.

Drifting is not all that exciting.  There’s always some point when I think I should be spending my time more productively.  I debate going home early to make sure the kitchen is cleaned up for the next day.  I hate myself for thinking this.  I consider getting outrageously drunk and cabbing it home.  I walk more.

In the end, it’s been a great night.  It’s not that I had an awe-inspired moment of revelation, but I made a deposit into the bank of future poems.

Do you think House. Wife. Repair. will work for a book title?

(I already feel nicer.  This is good news for the family.)