what would it be?

It was so hot yesterday when I got in the car after work I touched the metal bit on the seatbelt and burnt myself.  That’s hot.

Sharaun is asleep on the couch; has been since 9pm.  Early, even for her.  I’ve got the home theater PC playing a nice random shuffle from the collection, right now I’m jamming to part of Colosseum’s 1969 The Valentyne Suite.  It’s good Sharaun is asleep, actually, she would absolutely revolt if she had to listen to this frenetic mess of stabby organ.  Actually it’s good for more reasons than simply sparing her the Colosseum’s psychedelic-prog-jazz – she really needs the rest.  I have to remember she’s up three times during the night, and at about forty minutes a piece she’s getting two full hours less sleep than I am.  Combine that with eight hours spent at home with Keaton and Cohen and I’m surprised she wasn’t out before 9pm.

Despite her exhaustion, or maybe in defiance of it, she really helped me today.  My alarm went off around 5:45am and I arose intending to go to the gym for my morning workout.  But when I sat up in bed, something was wrong.  Well, two things were wrong: 1) I had stayed up far too late the night before and was in no mood to sacrifice an hour of sleep to the elliptical and 2) I immediately remembered something.  That something was the fact that, the afternoon before, I’d printed out a bunch of paperwork before leaving the office – with designs on reviewing it in the evening for a back-to-back string of important meetings I had at work the next day.  That night, however, I completely forgot about the printouts and the need to review them.  Waking the following morning then and remembering that my meetings started at 8am and went solid through 3pm… I became quickly horrified that I’d entirely forgotten to review and prepare.

I sat in bed agog.  How could I forget something so important?  It was now 6am and just a couple hours stood between me and those meetings.  I told Sharaun what I’d done (or not done) – she was awake feeding Cohen – and, deciding, said, “I’m going in.”  I was at work by 6:30am and spent the wee hours preparing and readying and am happy to say those meetings went quite well.  My wife though… and this is where it gets good… my wife had obviously read perfectly the stress and slight panic in my face as I sat bolt-upright in bed.  Around 9am she texted, “I’m thinking about you, I hope your day is going well.”  Then around noon she e-mailed, “Hope your day is still going well. I wanted to know, if there was one thing that you would like to see get done while you’re at work, what would it be?”

And even though my day hadn’t gone even remotely close to being “bad,” I think that if it had she’d have turned it all around with those couple of notes.

Too bad I’m such a jerk of a husband though, I responded with, “Israeli–Palestinian peace accord.”

Not really.  But that would have been funny.

I love my wife.

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