I've just worked out why I find nights in without the hubby so relaxing - it's because the bloody TV isn't blaring the whole time. I mean, in his defence he's only ever watching horizon-broadening, mind -expanding stuff like Countdown with Keith Olberman (ok, that and endless reruns of the Star Wars Trilogy lately. Will it never end?) but there's something impossible to resist about the TV, even if you aren't remotely interested in what's on. And so if he's in, like a moth to the flame I find myself collapsing, enervated, on the couch and getting nothing done.
So tonight, in his absence and with the TV turned off, I was wildly productive - or at least I straightened out the house in double-quick time - and able to think clearly. And as I washed up bottles and baby spoons while waiting for my brown rice and tofu (really) to boil, what I thought was, if I could be more *something* in this life (you know, sexy, witty, tall, thin, clever, rich, whatever) the thing I would want to be more is decisive. Or single-minded; i think they're the same thing, aren't they? Well aren't they?
Ahem. You see, I've been plagued my whole life by indecision. It's the reason I've never been sure about whether I was with the right man (till I met the hubby, natch), where to live, what colour to paint my room, whether to get a fringe (bangs) whether I was in the right job, whether I should move home and so on.
Today was a case in point.
The hubby wanted to meet friends at five at a pub just round the corner from our old apartment so we agreed to meet there for the Dot handover. As I got off the subway in the West Village a mere 15 minutes after I'd left the office and walked to the pub the way I'd walked to our apartment every weekday for three years prior to our move upstate, I thought, 'wow, I got here so quickly. If we still lived here or hereabouts, I could leave work at 5.30 and be home before six, and that 30 minutes off my commute twice a day would mean an extra hour daily with little Dot. And on my days off, the majority of my baby friends would be walking distance away. So why did we move to Brooklyn, again?' This after several weeks of congratulating myself for having made a great move to a much calmer, cleaner, greener, more family-friendly borough.
Then as I got to the pub to find said poor little Dot about to blow a gasket for no reason other than that she just needed me RIGHT NOW (I know this because within five minutes of my arrival she'd stopped squirming and squawking and the steam had stopped rising from her ears) the conviction I'd been smugly harbouring for a while now, confirmed after a very gratifying day at the office last thursday, that what my work life thus far had been leading up to was being a green planner and that actually I was quite lucky that our financial situation meant I'd had to return to work with none of the agonising choosing to do so might have brought and that my days of indecision were over, went right out of the window and I began fretting terribly about what my absence might do to her in the long term. And the idea that going back to work was much easier than I'd anticipated floundered.
Aargh. It'll all be fine in the morning because by then I will have changed my mind again. But surely life would be so much easier if I was one of those people who made up their mind and then stuck to it?