Monica Bielanko
That's What She Said
Just A Junk Drawer Dream
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The Fort

So this week has been a nightmare at work. I'm pulling ten hour days, getting to bed around midnight and then I'm up with Violet at 6:00 or so to see Serge off to work. I see him for approximately one minute in the afternoon when we do The Violet Shuffle in the parking lot of my work. He's asleep when I get home.

Somebody make it stop.

I promise I'll quit linking you to Serge's blog because how annoying, right? Some smug chick yammering on about how great her husband is. If it's any consolation, we aren't sleeping in the same room lately.


Does that make you feel better? Okay, so the Not Sleeping In The Same Room thing is a really long story and I'd be interested in hearing your opinion on it all but I need a spare second to tell you. As I type this Violet is trying to back into my lap, ass first, with a tattered copy of that goddamn Cat In The Hat who's probably up to no good somewhere in Seussville.

In the meantime:

And sure as hell, I'm not out in the kitchen fifteen seconds when I hear the little stumblings of her sock feet on the linoleum. I keep my hand way down my side so its easy to find.

A long moment passes. I don't dare peek.

Then, I feel her fingers on mine. Tugging again.

And we roll back towards the fort where we hang in the long western afternoon.