bear weekend

So yeah: Oona and I were on our own this weekend, while C was away at a Toastmasters jamboree (can you imagine?). Oona and I were fine. We made bears out of plasticine. We made the computer talk to us. We tortured Dora. We ate our weight in butter.

C came home on Sunday afternoon. That night, even though we were both exhausted and low-key (she watched tv while I read), I tried to stick close, ask her about her weekend -- you know, be *present*. Why are you talking so much? C asked. Could you just shut up for awhile?

Tonight she's going to be late getting home, as she has a manicure/pedicure appointment. But I'll be home in time for supper, she said. Although I don't what you're going to make because there's fuck all in the fridge. When are you going to do the grocery shopping?

Then tomorrow night I can't attend my writer's group because she has another Toastmaster's gig (she's the area governor, whatever that hell that means).

On Thursday I might get to go to my studio after work, but only if I make sure there's left-overs (or pizza) for the ladies' supper.

Oh, and I still have my fun cough/cold. God, your cough sounds terrible, C said last night, turning up the volume on the tv.