the two-sock thing is just a fad

Since I have a more-than-slight interest in Marilyn – am planning to write a novel about her, own a dozen books about her, etc. – I find these results pretty ironic. And, actually, they’re more accurate than not about my personality.

Y’all, I’m sorry for not finishing the story of last week’s wedding trip, but you have no idea what’s going down here in my life. I am dealing with major work stress. What I told BF the other night is that when I work really hard all day long, and then look at my billables before I go home, I feel like I’m losing, like I’m losing, like there are dozens of backs jogging away from me and I’m panting, bent over with my hands on my thighs. On top of the usual billable stress, I’m also dealing with some more unusual work stress that ultimately is not my business so I can’t talk about it, but it’s really goddamned frustrating and I want a conclusion, soon.

Instead of spending more time that I don’t have writing a real post, I want to memorialize something funny that happened between me and BF some weeks back. We went outside late one afternoon to take a picture of me in pigeon pose so that I’d have a bio picture for my yoga studio’s website, and during the approximately three or four minutes we were out there, I received two mosquito bites: one on my calf and one on the top of my foot. BF found this unbelievable, but it’s just how I am; I have sweet blood or something, they zero in on me no matter what.

The following day, BF came home from work to find me upstairs, working on a story so furiously that I sounded asleep when I acknowledged him, and he went downstairs to play games and otherwise amuse himself until I was ready to surface. When I was, I came downstairs and announced, “I dress myself!”

He looked at me. I was wearing the button-down shirt I’d worn to work, no pants, and one sock. He cracked up, and so did I. We chatted a little bit about our respective days, and then I started again. “There’s a very good explanation for why I’m dressed like this,” I began to say, but laughter got the better of me before I’d finished. The explanation was that the pants and the missing sock were whispering against the mosquito bites on my leg and foot, and had been driving me nuts all day, so the first thing I did when I got home was to remove them. Because I was eager to get to work on my story, I did not think to remove the other sock, or to put on shorts of some kind.

Perhaps it’s a good thing that I’m not a full-time writer as of yet. I might be so deep into the work that I’d end up with eight cats (that I’m allergic to) and an additional boyfriend without even realizing it.