the ocean

Ian has been out of town this weekend, which is always kind of strange. Unlike when I travel without him, which is completely normal and fine. There are definitely things I enjoy about being on my own, such as the ability to do whatever I want without thinking about someone else's needs. (It is well know that normally I am painfully selfless.) Now I'm a colossal nerd, so the things I want to do are less "opening a home brothel a la Risky Business" or even "comically fighting off burglars a la Home Alone" and more reading quietly on the couch while YouTubing Bartok. Which obviously Ian is in no way preventing me from doing when he's in town. But if I want to order Arby's without judgment, a weekend alone is definitely my chance. (Chicken Cordon Bleu sandwich for life.) 

Anyway, he's only been gone for two days and I'm already talking to the dogs. Which is not super rewarding conversationally, but on the other hand I feel like I'm saying some pretty witty things. I wish I didn't also have to take the dogs out approximately sixteen thousand times a day or give them an array of pills that rivals Anna Nicole Smith in her heyday, but unfortunately they need these things to stay alive, which I support. 

Fortunately, I haven't been on my own all weekend, as I had a pre-planned dinner engagement with some friends last night, which gave me a full four hours away from my canine supervisors. We had a nice time, within the range of acceptable middle-aged revelry. I had cava sangria.

And I managed to get in some solid hammock time before the season is over for the year. Tragically, cooler weather is moving in and Ian's new Halloween Home Depot selections are already waiting in the garage. I have drawn a red line that we are not to be the first on our block to put them out, however. That's a slippery slope to giant inflatables.