The TV is on. I'm not watching it. I like the noise. I won't let chickadee watch TV, not that she really tries, but I won't even turn it on when she's awake. When she goes to bed. I cook. We eat dinner, chicken tikka marsala. We plug in. TV. Computer. Phones. Baby monitor. The room glows. I turn the TV off. It's too much. I turn off my phone. I write.
My brain is overloaded. My legs are tired. I ran today. I've been running more or at least I'm trying to. Esposo is washing the dishes. I hardly ever do all the dishes. I leave the silverware until the end. And then don't wash them because I forget, or I don't want to because dirty silverware is gross, all those little bits of food stuck in there, yuck. I wait for someone else to wash them. Someone else being my husband. In the meantime I just keep washing the same fork and spoon over and over again. That's also kind of gross. So yes I ran. My skin is salty, covered in dried sweat, I have crazy hair and my legs, they're tired, but that good kind of tired. The I-worked-hard-and-used-my-body kind of tired. The blanket my grandma knitted for me it wrapped around me. She made a red foot pocket in it just for me. Foot pockets are genius. I highly recommend them besides grandma blankets make everything better. They make me feel cozy and loved and relaxed and good tired. Tired and ready to crawl into bed between Esposo and Chickadee and sleep.
And she wakes up.
This is my sixth post for Just Write. You can see my other posts, here, here, here, here and here.