My husband and I sat in a booth, waiting for our food to arrive. He chatted with my dad on the phone; I played words with friends until the battery in my phone went absolutely dead. The TV hovered far into the distance; I could hardly make out the speck of pixels running down the hardwood. The nearest table seemed far too absorbed in their conversation to take interest in conversing with me. I took a bite of my chicken wing and as I snapped the bone from my teeth, it flew across the table, ricocheted against the wall, and sunk behind the booth. Locating the errant wing occupied my attention for a solid five minutes, then I decided to glance across the room at the wall paint. This seemed interesting for a moment, but ultimately, after counting 8 sets of drips and fifteen smudges, I decided to come up with plan B.
I retrieved a spiral pad of paper from my bag. Frayed edges and several coffee stains greeted me. I bid them hello, before fetching a pen and making my correspondence.
"Ideas" I wrote at the top of the page. Then I listed airport travel, Jared's grandma, and back pain. Beneath my initial list, I tossed in some bulleted points and decided that once we made our way back to the condo, I'd have plenty of material from which to choose. Then my husband hung up the phone.
Two hours of conversation later, I walked into my condo, flipped open my computer and realized it was past 10 pm. My ideas seemed to deserve more than the time I had to write, and if I gave those ideas that time, I'd be absolutely exhausted in the morning.
And so alas, I found myself staring at the blank screen I tried to avoid by covering my small, spiral notepad with strained streaks of waning black ink.
Sometimes, our plans don't plan out. Sometimes, our ideas have to wait. Sometimes, suspense lives in real life. Sometimes, you just need to spend time with your husband.
I promise tomorrow will be better.