Tuesday, March 9, 2010
I was sitting here trying to figure out why I'm so freakin' exhausted and then I remembered. Houseguest. Duh. I LOVE having company. It's not the company per se that wears me out. It's the build up to the visit followed by the partying during the visit that ultimately lead to the letdown proceeding the visit. You may as well just take the three days leading up to the company arriving and the day of their departure and throw them out the speeding car window of life like the passing blur that they were. The panicked cleaning preceeding the visit is a given. Unless you have a cleaning lady, in which case I am no longer speaking to you. And yes, I'm just jealous. Guilty as charged. And go ahead and count on the "throw the covers over your head and don't come out until tomorrow" thing when they leave. It's inevitable. Don't try to fight it. With some guests you have to be "on" all the time. Skippy is so not like that. You can rip one in front of Skip. Not that I, as a proper lady, would ever rip one. It was Dave. Dave did it. Or the dog. SOMEBODY did it. It was a non-event. He barely even looked up. Unlike the dog, who when falsely accused had the good sense to look somewhat disgusted. But even with low-maintenance guests, you don't have the downtime that you have during "regular" life. Checking email, sitting down and reading a chapter of a book, etc. And that's part of the fun. It's not regular life. Having company is like an exclamation point. If the punctuation of your life was ALL exclamation points, you'd be pretty fucking spent from the very excitement of it all. Life needs some commas. And apostrophes. You need colons too. And semi-colons, for when a full-on colon is just too much. And I need a nap. Period.