Mr. Bump is off helping out our dear friend C tonight, who is loading up his remaining possessions in Colorado for shipment back to San Diego. And so I have myself a free night. I can watch whatever crap TV I want, I can eat whatever I want for dinner, I can spend another night in denial about what is rapidly becoming known as Situation Laundry on my half of the bedroom.
Here's how much of a grown-up I am: I got home and took Ms. Ru bear for a walk first thing. I made myself a spaghetti dinner with a appetizer of bread dipped in the most delicious, fragrant, decadent olive oil you can get for $4.00 a bottle. Calabria. You can get it on most King Soopers, Vons(?), Kroger type shelves. It comes in a littler bottle and a bigger bottle, depending on how much you indulge. I highly recommend it for the occasional good fat indulgence.
Anyway, after that dinner--the spaghetti was eh, but I ate it anyway, like a grownup--I sorted through a pile of old bank statements, receipts and deposit slips, investment statements, etc. It has been an ongoing project that is finished with the sorting phase. Now I can move on to thoughts about what needs to be shred (I know it should be shredded but I like shred better) and what needs to be organized in some kind of neat and tidy filing system. People, this stuff dated back to at least 2003. And I found a couple of old high school ids in there--whew, that was some big hair. Maybe if you play your cards right I'll scan them in and share them with y'all. Then again maybe not. I'm a grown-up, after all.
Then I watched House, and read my Maybe Baby book, drug 6 garbage bags worth of too big clothes out for "Jane from ARC," (again exhibiting my grown-upness) and then did some blog surfing and some blogging. And now my husband and our friend C are at least an hour from here and they haven't called to say they've left yet. And we are approaching my bedtime. And for all my grown-upness I don't like to go to bed without my husband. In fact, since we got married we haven't spent more than maybe 5 nights apart. And I know he'll be home, but I won't really go to sleep until he's home. There's no point. Right now my insides are jangly and tense without him in the house at this hour. I'm not scared exactly, but I sure hear every little noise when I'm on my own. I'm more restless. Caged tiger in the zoo restless.
So how much of a grown up am I, then, if I can't go to sleep without my husband by my side? I don't know, but I can still argue that I've gotten old and set in my ways. Or I could argue the opposite and say that he's my security blanket. Either way, he's my sounding board, my best friend, by devil's advocate, my back scratcher, the guy who does silly dances around the bedroom with me in his underwear, my better, more cautious, thoughtful half. And the simple truth is that I can't sleep without him. Although it appears that the dog has no such troubles. She's on her way up to bed without me as I speak. I best turn in.
G'night y'all. Sleep tight. Don't let Ruby bite. Owait, that last one's for me.