Well, Jeopardy! was a rerun from the Ken Jennings series, which I had no desire to watch, which means I’ve spent approximately the last hour trolling the internet doing nothing.  I complain to Mr. Apron I have no time to blog, but I could have written a novella in the past hour instead of looking for strange things on Craigslist. 

Sometimes I get stuck.  It’s usually a weeknight, usually when Mr. Apron is working late, or an evening after a slow day at work, and I just don’t feel like doing anything.  I’ve plugged back in my sewing machine after we rearranged the office post-painting, and even set up a full-size ironing board to replace the little travel-size dealie my mother complained about when she came to visit.  The new board is, appropriately, a house-warming gift from her.  I used to tutor in the evenings, sometimes 2 nights a week and often Sundays as well.  I would grumble and groan as I left the cozy couch, fuzzy dog, and company of my husband, to brave the cold evenings of tutoring.  I just wanted to be home, or just not to have to be somewhere.  Now, as the days get shorter, and I worry, like a lame-O suburbanite, about my precious prime parking spot, I’m reluctant to leave the house once it’s dark.  A far cry from my college student self, who would think nothing of getting on the 9:30pm shuttle to Boston just to walk around, and catch the 2:30am shuttle back to campus.  Not that I was a partier in anyway, but now I feel like I shouldn’t go out on a weeknight, like there’s a karmic prohibition on doing so. 

Tonight Mr. Apron is working late.  He came home for dinner, and now he’s back at work for a late meeting.  Unable to motivate myself to finish sewing a cute baby romper I constructed out of one of Mr. Apron’s old oxford shirts (what is it with all the babies being born?), even though I only have to sew on 2 buttons, make 4 button-holes, and hem the sleeves, I find myself floating between the two screens in our home — the TV and the computer.  At least I get exercise running up and down the steps between the office and the living room.  The bugger is, I don’t depend on Mr. Apron to entertain me.  I don’t need him to play Skip-Bo or Scrabble with me just to keep me busy.  There are many nights when I’m the one  frantically finishing “just one more step” of whatever project I’m invested in.  Yet I don’t want to relearn buttonholes on my fancy sewing machine.  I don’t want to bake cookies for the pre-wedding potluck we’re going to this weekend.  I don’t want to pick out a dress for the wedding.  I don’t want to read my new Japanese craft books or start the new novel Mr. Apron’s librarian mother picked out for me.  I don’t want to load the dishwasher or make my lunch for tomorrow.  I don’t want to do anything.

Melancholy?  Depression?  Agita?  Pick one.  I find myself lacking the motivation even to take a walk around the block in this safe neighborhood I told myself would be a boon to the lethargy I felt when we lived in the city and didn’t feel comfortable walking around at night.  I’m just stuck. 

I don’t often whine, moan, or bitch on this blog.  I’ve tried to keep it light, funny, heart-warming (where appropriate, but not too Chicken Soupy), and interesting.  Maybe a little snarky.  All blogs are supposed to be snarky.  But sometimes, when I’m stuck, the only thing I can do is realize that I am stuck.  I wonder when Mr. Apron will get home, and then I get sad that, as it’s already past 8:30, we’ll be starting to bed soon after he comes home, whenever that is, and I have to go to work tomorrow.  And that, I really don’t want to do.  An elderly seamstress named Amy, with whom I worked one summer, wisely told me, “That’s why they call it work.”

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