, , ,

Here is a fairly regular occurrence at our house. HP plans some social outing for Friday evening. On Tuesday, I say, “sure, that will be super fun!” On Friday, around one in the afternoon, I start to get this strange feeling in my stomach. The formerly-fun thing we had planned starts to take the shape of a menacing, thirty-foot tall teddy bear in my brain. I  pace around. He then asks me what’s going on, and I tell him how exhausting the week has been and how much I SO don’t want to go do the super fun thing (eventually…this part always takes much longer than I think it should. My girlfriends report similar experiences with their SOs). He then offers me an out, either we cancel or he goes and takes the girls, and I get time alone, one of my favorite and least-frequent pastimes. I breathe a sigh of relief. Five minutes later I become guilty and angry at myself for being such a hermit, and, no matter what state of emotional or physical exhaustion I am in, I strap on my jeans and boots and say “Let’s Go Do The Super Fun Thing!!! Yea! I Am Excited Now About the Super Fun Thing!”.  Then we go do the fun thing, and I like it, but secretly believe I would’ve had just as much fun hiding in my office in my pajamas and writing sad poems.

It takes some of us longer, I believe, to recover from the events of the week. And this was an incredibly shitty week, so I took a little longer than normal to come around to the idea of being social. I always dread social outings, even if they are my own damn idea, and even if they have proven super fun in the past, and I typically enjoy them in the end. It is strange, and it must be bewildering to my incredibly easygoing HP.  He loves me the way that I am, but I’m sure I am a confusing creature with whom to live.

So, we have decided to begin scheduling most of our super fun things on Saturdays. That gives me at least one day to hermit before I have to be social.

It also means I have to poem fast so we can get going. But I don’t know what.

For Those Who Require Solitude (Especially in Autumn)

For those who require solitude, especially in Autumn,
or in winter when the afternoon is still and blue,
or in spring when the birds wake early,
or in the heavy summer, don’t fear.  

You are not alone. A loner, maybe, or maybe just someone who knows
that quiet, now, is the endangered species of moment. You are not alone.
We are an army, uniformed in comfort, armed with tea and pages.
Our rations are buttered toast and jam.

Our thoughts are perfectly fine munitions, effective
and sometimes destructive, but on the whole infinitely more peaceful
than all the shouted conversations over loud music,
just as jolly as drinks and games, and just as necessary.

Ourselves are just as necessary to ourselves,
and if we want to sit and spin wool, or sit and crochet,
or just sit,

well now, that’s fine too.


This isn’t finished. But, I have to go have the fun, because I said I would. I hope to come home and clean this one up later. I hope you are having fun, poem friends, no matter what you are doing.