Leaving on a Jet Plane

P's business trip this week is just a short one-nighter with him leaving this morning.  Although I miss him when he is gone, I was kinda hoping for three or four days. Or maybe even five days because, you know,  that's a good, solid number of days.  No seriously, I miss him. I do.

One of the hardest things about a relationship and marriage for me was that I had to give up a lot of my alone time and personal space. When P and I moved in together I had spent the previous five years in my own apartment in one of the coolest neighborhoods in Denver. I spent hours on end alone and got so used to that space in my head, that place I could go to find balance and calm and quiet.

Upon moving in with P several years ago, I initially felt suffocated by the lack of control I had regarding where things went and my comings and goings and my ability to tap out endless paragraphs on my old laptop while smoking cigarettes without any interruption or commentary, without someone inquiring about the location of his wallet or ski helmet. After a childhood sharing everything with my sisters, I had experienced the Utopia that comes with being the owner and controller of everything around you, and I wanted that back. Like a whiny little baby.  Mine! Mine! Mine!

I no longer smoke, so I don't need time alone to hide that nasty little habit from anyone. I have learned to write at Panera Bread or Starbucks when I require the quiet time, although I have to force myself to quit my endless gawking and people watching in order to actually put something on the page. I have also adjusted to cohabitation and sharing  fairly well, minus the occasional knock-down drag-out over the organization of the Tupperware cabinet. (who cares?!  The answer to that question is P. He cares very much.)  The fact that P travels for work is, however, a huge relationship bonus. I love, love, love him, but I need, crave, require some time away for a recharge. So as long as he is not using his business trips the way Tiger Woods or Anthony Weiner might, (it just occurred to me that BOTH of their names are penis euphemisms..seriously, I am on to something here) I am all for his traveling to exotic locales such as Milwaukee, Wisconsin and Montgomery, Alabama. I'll be happy right here in Denver, thank you very much.

So for my special day today, I am working from home, then I am going to walk the dogs and go to the gym to swim laps until I earn two glasses of wine. Then I am going to loiter in the steam room, pick up takeout sushi, come home and pour myself those glasses of wine and work on my Levi's. I am also going to read Real Simple Magazine on the patio with the dogs.

And the wine.

Hopefully I can fit it all in.

For those few hours, I will say very few words and spend very little time wondering what anyone else thinks of me and I won't even stick my foot in my mouth once. Eventually I will find the old Schmenver quiet place somewhere under all of the career and domestic goddess and marriage layers, and I will spend a little time hanging out there.

And then, I will use my long, tall body to create a giant X across our queen-sized bed, and I will sleep my ass off, snore- and cuddle-free.

Tomorrow evening when P returns, I will kiss his face and love him just a little bit more because of my chance to miss him, if only for a day. We will live happily ever after until his next work travel itinerary pops up in my inbox. And then it will be Schmenver-time once again.

Bad at Date Night

I am in a total daze today after getting up at five to swim before heading to work.  We had our golf league last night, too, so I was up later than anticipated.  I need to be in bed by 9:30 these days it seems. Old lady, here.

I didn't even want to do golf league this year, mostly because it is almost impossible for me to get all the way from my office to the golf course in less than an hour and a half or so, given that I have to drive there at rush hour to make a tee-time between four and six in the afternoon. I end up needing to leave work more than two hours early, which is hard when you are important, or more correctly, would like to be someday.  I told P I would pass on golf this year, dreaming of the quiet solo Tuesday evenings I would enjoy drinking wine, reading, weeding the garden, playing with the dogs, etc., etc.  But he signed me up anyway, stating that it was his treat. I am always getting treated to things I don't especially want.  

At least I know that he wants to spend time with me. 

That being said, I had a really good time with P last night.  We are both terrible golfers who have occasional shining moments on the course. We had very few of those moments last night. Luckily the team we were supposed to be playing no-showed, so it ended up being more like a date than a regular league night.  It was actually nice.  We caught up and drank beer and made derogatory Tiger Woods jokes at each other's expense.

Sadly though, for us on a date, this can be a rarity.

We get way too few dates.  Mostly this is because we are slaves to our jobs and constantly booked with social stuff.  However, sometimes I think we avoid dates because we frequently end up in fights while we are in public together, just the two of us.  Does this happen to anyone else?  Or are we doomed?

I feel like most couples happily plan and look forward to dates with each other, many even making cutesy references to "Date Night" in front of other couples, or marking their calendars with red heart stickers or some other ridiculousness like that.  I dread it. We argue over where to go and what to do, or sometimes we just argue over who's turn it is to choose where to go or what to do.  Then we get there, settle in to dinner at some restaurant that only one of us is really into due to the fact that we are complete polar opposites, and then we sit and make small talk until the shit hits the fan. Because it is often the first chance we've had in days or weeks to really sit down and talk, it starts to seem like as good a time as any to air some grievances. Then someone gets pissed, someone cries (ok, that would be me) and someone begins the silent treatment. Of course, we end up having a terrible time.  Seriously, is there something wrong with us? 

We argue normally, sure.  But most days, over dinner or laying in bed or during any other average moment of an average day, we engage in real and interesting conversation.  And we make each other laugh and smile and we goof off and flirt. All of this happens regularly around the house, in the midst of the daily grind.  But sit us down in a French restaurant with a couple hours on our hands and force us to "relax", and it isn't long before we are at it.  Quietly and through gritted teeth, of course, to maintain the appearance of being a happy couple out on adorable, red-heart-sticker, cutesy effing Date Night.  

What is that?