Monday

Well, Spencer came home this morning...and left again a short time ago.
Back to Kip's, to watch wrestling [yuk] and drink beer--again. I'm not surprised, and I shouldn't be miffed; it's all par for the course, really. Something I might as well be resigned to. It often feels more like I'm in charge of a teenaged son than have a spouse/partner. We ate dinner together this evening, and watched one hour of a historical drama, but I didn't get to tell him about my day, or yesterday, or...whatever I'd wanted to talk about. Kip calls, "I need to talk to you about something" [yeah, while watching wrestling and downing beers] and off he goes. Harumph, I say, harumph.

I want my own night out, either with Cary, or with a girlfriend. I had promised a great friend at work that I'd treat us both to margaritas if her hubby would drive us to the Mexican restaurant. Gotta save my pennies, but I'm going to do it!

Ole!
~Pym