dry

I’m not feeling very inspired lately. I think I’ve hit a dry spot. Only it’s dryer than any spot I’ve hit before — the kind of dry that takes your breath away and sucks all of the moisture from your chest. Today, it hurts to breathe.

Valentine’s Day wasn’t easy. We went to the gym and ate leftovers and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We watched the Olympics and played with Gus. We usually go out to a fancy restaurant or cook an elaborate meal with recipes borrowed from the food network or from epicurious.com. Last night, we didn’t even eat dinner until 9p.m., and by then, we weren’t really hungry anyway.

We weren’t going to get each other anything. And so, I didn’t buy a card or a gift or even chocolate. That was the agreement. But when I left for work, I found chocolate bark and a new dryfit Nike running tank waiting for me. I cried and felt like a monster and so, I visited Andre’s and chose a selection of different small perfectly decorated cakes filled with hazelnut and chocolate and cream and rum and then I bought a small bag of chocolate hearts and I told Nick to meet me at home for lunch. I gave him the gift and he acted so excited. He even took a picture of it because really, the pastries were perfection and then took it to work to show it off. It was $20. It wasn’t a big deal. I’m not sure the excitement was warranted, and then, I felt even more like a monster and confused and afraid and part of me wanted to wake up today because Valentine’s Day would be over and expectations would be gone and we’d have another 364 days to try to get it right.

So, I’ve hit a dry spot, and I’m not sure what it is going to take to bring the rain. But I am anticipating it with the kind of longing that is so deep and buried that it’s kind of hard to recognize, but you still know it’s there. And when the rain does come, I’m not going to have patience for sprinkles or mist or even dew. Because it's going to take a massive storm to quench this heart's soil.