Sometimes, I wish I had a desk job.
Not very often, because I mean, come on, my job kicks ass. Usually only at midnight, when I’m mopping the deck and I’m exhausted from running around all day and I smell bad because I’ve been sweating since 11am and my hands are covered in burns from hot lights and I’m itchy from working amongst the fiber glass and I still have a 40 minute drive ahead of me. Then a desk job sounds kind-of nice.
But right now, I’m kind-of yearning for the cubical farm. You see, Kyle and I went grocery shopping yesterday, and in preparation I planned out our meals for the week. I sat down with our calenders and figured out for each day if we would both be home for dinner. And what I saw made me sad. In the next two weeks, I will be home for dinner exactly twice. And that sucks.
See, for Kyle and I, dinner is very important. It’s more than just a chance to jam delicious things in our mouths. It’s a chance for us to cook together, something we both enjoy. It’s a chance for us to spend time together, talking and staring our days. It’s a chance for us to watch bad tv together. (Right now we’re working through the last season of Hell’s Kitchen.) It’s a precious time for us, one that we look forward to everyday.
However, my job more often than not has be taking my dinner in a much less warm and comfortable setting. Usually, at a table backstage with my lukewarm leftovers. (Our microwave kinda blows.) There’s no cuddly husband or begging kitties. There is a tv, but it’s usually showing Cops or the like. (I tried to change it to Toddlers and Tiaras once and my co-workers damn-near rioted.) It’s an okay place to chill; beats the hell out of bologna out of a paper bag. There’s a couch and a tv and awesome coworkers. But it’s not my kitchen, and the people I eat with are sure as hell not my husband. I miss dinner; not the meal, but the experience that strengthens my marriage and reinforces my spirit. There’s something about that meal with my little family that my heart needs.
I guess what I’m saying is that the next time you lament having to make dinner after a long day, remember that this girl would trade places with you in a heartbeat.
(Until after dinner. Then I’d like to go back to lighting rock shows, please.)