Let's start with the new book. In the last two days, I've written nearly 5,000 words. This morning, I hit 20,000… and I'm back in some familiar territory. It is January 2000 and the final signs of a marriage that has gone on for too long and been through too much are beginning to show:
And this is where everything took a completely unimaginable turn.
Rosa could have done any of a hundred things in response to my not cheating on her. She decided to begin telling me I should do just that. That's right. She started telling me that I should, that I ought to, that she would prefer it if I would sleep with another woman.
Segue, then, to sleeping with the woman with whom I'm about to be wed… so very much has changed in just five years!
I've noticed something over those years. There are different kinds of sleeping. Among the many ways you can subdivide sleep, there is "single" sleep and "married" sleep. In nearly a year with Vicky, we always had the sleep of single people - sleep with distinct boundaries, lines of demarcation, no-man's lands, mine fields, and, yes, moats. (We have an interesting bed.) But last night, something remarkable happened and I felt the sleep of married people for the first time. (Okay, so we're not married yet. Piss off!) Vicky didn't lay her mines or set up her razor-wire and I could feel two, individual sets of personal space merge into one.
(No, this isn't a sexual reference.)
When I told Vicky this morning, she thought I was crazy. "It doesn't mean anything," she said. Maybe not to her, but I take it as a sign. See, I'm a big fan of "married" sleep and look forward to a lifetime of it.
… or however long I have before Vicky kills me in my sleep to stop my snoring…
… which is still counted as a lifetime…
Vicky also says she moved close because Suki, our dog, pushed her over. But she can't fool me. She digs me. As a woman, she can't help it. (Ken ducks.)
Segue, then, to Suki and walking her yesterday.
As we were out on the street, I noticed a car of high school aged boys, all wearing their baseball caps to the side… and I had to laugh. It makes sense, of course, what else do they have? They can't wear it face-front and they can't turn it around - after all, that was in their uncle's day, wasn't it? And they wear it to the right or left, leaving very little choice for future generations.
And so, for the next generation, I provide this advice: Berets! Think of it! Berets! It'll be completely different from your father, your uncle, and your older brother - all worthy of rebelling against - while totally cool with your grandfather, who will then leave you money when he dies, which could be in minutes!
Or, better yet, go Dutch! That's right! Dutch! That way, you'll be rebelling against your entire nation. The US has always hated the Dutch. Ever hear of Dutch Fries? Or Dutch Toast? Hell, no!
And multiple, complete abdominal piercing with attached, cloned appendages!
(Let's hurry up this bizarre turn so when my kid's turn comes they'll just go back to wearing long hair…)