Ruth put up a thirty-second video of Cricket on Facebook this weekend; he’s not walking like a baby anymore, instead totally confidently wandering around. I watched it, and I felt sad and for some reason angry, and I thought, Don’t come here. So clearly no hormonal problems here. Part of what’s going on, I suspect, is that it’s been two and a half weeks since I sent her that longish, explanatory email, and I haven’t heard anything back. Because my husband and I are wicked people, we actually placed bets on how long it would take her to write back, but she’s passed both those dates now (mine was Monday). We’re picking new ones—the winner gets to add something frivolous to the grocery list!
Part of the problem is surely in my head: I crave Sour Patch Kids, I threw up a few times, I got really upset about a documentary last night, and on Saturday I spent several minutes trying to unlock our mailbox. The hormones, they are affecting me. But it usually worse-case takes them two weeks to respond to an email, and now that we’re past that, I am feeling pretty grouchy. Facebook has been the opposite of helpful in this respect: I can see “Ruth is now friends with Tubby Stallone! (one hour ago)” and “Ruth likes Sandwiches without Borders (eight minutes ago)” and know that she is online, doing internet things, and not emailing me. She OF COURSE has a perfect right to spend her time as she pleases, whether that be on internet Sudoku or picking her nose, but right now I don’t know whether I believe in the June visit, and would like to hear something from them on the topic of me/us/them/him. Our visit was tentatively scheduled for the 26th—my new date for the bet with Mr. Book will be June 20. And if we don’t hear anything by then, I’ll assume the visit is cancelled.
I keep thinking that I should ask readers for movie recommendations, but I’m awfully picky and unpredictable; my loved ones have mostly given up. It’s worse than just knowing that I may hate whatever you picked—at least with the family and close friends, I feel compelled to explain to you why I hated it, not in a mean way, but in sort of an earnest, apologetic, detailed kind of way. And sometimes I want to have that conversation five or six times. But if anyone wants to risk it, here are three movies I love—Girl on the Bridge, 3 Iron, and The Five Obstructions—and three movies I hate—Harold and Maude, My Fair Lady, and Dead Poets Society.
Endure for a Night 