Ryan is out of town.
But it's ok.
I have my blogs.
For the last couple weeks, Ryan and I have managed to eat dinner together every night. This habit has been facilitated by his unprecedented and much-reinforced willingness to make the dinner. While I am out fretting around town, cursing the day I applied to my Masters program instead of getting knocked up like a normal person, he is home making vegan split pea. I come home in a panic; he washes the salad. We sit down to eat and I light candles because this, this is special, and who knows how long it will last.
Having a wife rocks.
Tonight I am sitting at the table alone. I made my own salad, and I candied the nuts to make up for the hug that wasn't there when I walked in the door. I sat down to my dinner, and lit the candles. And then I busted out my computer. I'm not one to eat alone.
In high school and college I had things just as I liked them. It was All Friends All the Time. I love friends. I love facebook, superficiality be damned. I love reading blogs. I like to know where you people are. Some of the time, I even like updates on how the toilet-training is going, although I maintain you should keep those posts to a minimum. I read your blogs, even though you most likely don't read mine. I read about your Valentine's Day traditions, your job frustrations, your recipes. I read what you're reading about and why. I read about Ryan's cousins, hobbies I'll never take up, people I hardly know. I read all of it and I read it every day. I love it.
It is only now, in this moment, as I chew my spinach and miss my man, that I realize very nearly all the blogs I follow are written by women. I'm not surpised. I do so love the women.
One day I hope to live in what bell hooks calls beloved community. I want to live intentionally, and I want to live with all of you. In a giant cul-de-sac. We can have potlucks. Ryan will bring the split pea soup.
Until then, ladies, keep blogging.