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.)