Today my husband went shopping and me and our son went to the pool with a friend of ours and her little boy and we had a little kid kinda time. They drove us nutz and we wouldn't have wanted to do anything else. We returned home and said our goodbyes and than I was wondering where JC was. I usually don't give his saturday shopping a second thought and was surprised he was so late. I called and left a message. Than I called and left a second message and by the third call I was really concerned. Suddenly perhaps something terrible had happened and I was a potential American widow in France wondering how to manuever the system if he was in trouble.
Finally he arrived home safe and sound at 7PM and blythley unaware of my worried state. He had not received my messages and had been delayed looking for a necklace for me as the starfish Palama Picasso I normally wear was in repair and he wanted to get me something special. Because of the sales in Paris everything was really jammed and he ended up going to three rather overcrowded jewlery stores looking for just the right necklace, he wanted something with a pearl and a diamond and couldn't find anything that had both. All faux stuff of course.
I actually kissed him on the head. The necklace is nice and I will wear it tomorrow at church. What freaked me out was my realization that I am 46 and my husband is 52 and if he suddenly died I would have to deal with that and all in French plus the complex french system in general. Just the thought made me feel like locking the door, packing a bag of toys for Fred, giving the rabbit to the neighbor and putting the Corgi in a crate and get the next plane home. JC mentioned that he should be late more often as usually I am not so happy to see him.
He immediately started bugging me as he stirred his yougurt a lot and that really annoys me. Although I still feel this lingering fear. I soppose part of my blogging is out of this fear of death and wanting my kid to have something in writing so he would know me a little. Basically this blog is two fold, writing and fear of death. Wonderful like cigarettes and coffee to people with mood disorders or low level depressions. Blogging and fear. Anyhoo, it all was over nothing and immediately we are back to a two middle aged people watching TV.
I have been blogging about close to a month now and really find it interesting although my preference would be that I put my energies toward my novel revisions. Now if I begin blogging a bit less and perhaps intermittently. The funny thing about being creative is that so often I find myself being creative doing one thing while something much more interesting to me is off to the side. To me it is this weird schism where I contantly need to be unhappy with what I am doing creatively instead of just doing my best and enjoying it. Gawd. Jeese.