Alright, so I know there’s been the sound of crickets coming from over here lately, but I have to tell you that things are a little off. Companion’s contract at Giant Local Software Company ended last month; he was supposed to segue into a new contract with a new company after a well-deserved four-day weekend off, and that four-day weekend has turned into about three weeks.

They kept him on the hook, waiting, without a peep about his status or contract, for about a week-and-a-half. Then we had that flu, and then, damn, three weeks had gone by. I was so used to the rhythm we had fallen into when he was working, where I took care of the Strudel all day, and cleaned, and cooked most nights. You know, full-on Beaver Cleaver style housewifery. It’s been a little jarring to have that disrupted after a year.

I don’t think full-on housewifery is my ultimate dream. This website has seen me go through a few transformations, from student, to graduate student, to psychotic divorcee, to wage slave, and I imagine someday it will see me go back to work. But I did like my routine. Not everyone knows this, but one of the rewards of being a stay-at-home mom is that most people and older children go back to work on school on Monday, so you can have a few minutes to furtively flip through a trashy magazine, eat the rest of Saturday’s cheesecake, or masturbate, without anyone interrupting.

Now I don’t necessarily know what day it is, which is something that used to keep me on a writing schedule. But I always know where my companion is now, because I can follow the trail of partly-cleaned up Strudel snack, living-room soda cans, and dirty socks, which only used to plague my obsessively-orderly ass on the weekends. Pots on the stove don’t go unstirred for more than thirty seconds, even if I’ve said I’LL BE RIGHT BACK. SERIOUSLY.

But for all the stir-craziness (heh) over here, there are always some good parts to this break. I have someone home with me who likes to go for walks as much as I do. I have someone who will say, “I want to hang out with you,” instead of “You always want to hang out with me,” like when I was married. I have someone around who may not clean up after the baby as well as I do, but puts his whole self into playing with her and taking care of her, instead of just planting himself on the couch in a half-assed fashion like so many fathers I’ve seen.

And very soon, like Monday, he will go back to work, and I will be happy with the special quiet of just me and a tower-building Strudel, but I will start to look around at about 11:30 or so and wish he was here to take a walk with me.

ALSO, God I’m enjoying this. Moustache tattoos. You can carry your disguise with you wherever you go. And stick around for the commentary at the end…more insipidly hilarious than usual.