Some people spend their time wondering what it would be like to be a movie star, or the president, or rich… or any other dream a dreamer may dream.
Not many people, though, dream about something so many people take for granted.
Here is where I could go into wishing I had my father alive – and believe me, I wish that every day – but that is not the particular dream I’m talking about right now.
Very few days pass when I don’t ask myself what it might be like to have a normal relationship and a normal job. You know, the kind of thing where you get up in the morning, go to work for a specific number of hours and then go home at about the same time every day. And when you get home, your boyfriend (or, hey, girlfriend or wife or husband or whatever) is either already there or will be shortly. And yanno? You have dinner together. Maybe watch some TV. You can bitch about how he never helps with the dishes while you load the dishwasher and he can bitch about how you’re always bitching.
Instead, I go home at the end of the day (which is usually closer to 11 p.m. than 5 p.m.) to be alone. Until 1 or 2 (or 3… or 4…) a.m., when Pete gets home. And by then? I’m in bed.
We don’t see each other every day, unless you count me kissing him on the cheek before I leave for work. We’re lucky to have a five-minute conversation each day. We don’t cook meals together – hell, we don’t even get to do the stereotypical I cook while he watches TV gig. We don’t hang out in front of the TV at night.
My days off are Friday and Saturday. His are Saturday and Sunday… nights. He works nights, remember? And it’s not uncommon for him to have to work Saturday.
So, on a normal week, we’ll get Saturday together… and it’s more like, just Saturday afternoon/evening, because he sleeps until the afternoon (he works nights!) and I’m almost always tired and ready for bed hours before him. Some weeks, we don’t get to even get that.
And you know what?
I’m tired of it.