Posted by: emjb | September 23, 2007

eeerily quiet

Matt jetted off to his geek-gankery in New York this morning, visiting friends and preparing to go to the Genesis Old Farts Tour concert, where he will yell “ABACAB! ABACAB!” over and over until they play it or security escorts him out.

Meanwhile, Nathan and I shift for ourselves for a few days, most of which, thankfully, involve him being in daycare. Which is the only reason Matt got to go.

We went to see my mom today and Nathan played and played and PLAYED, and would NOT go down for a nap, although by the end, he was staggering around drunkenly, alternately snarly and shrieking with laughter. Ah, my son, who will sleep in Only His Bed, Dammit. Or the Car. Which he did, conking out on the drive home and staying conked out for what I hope is the rest of the night. Yes, he skipped dinner. Which is the greater sin…letting him sleep and miss a meal, or making him miss sleep and getting him up for food he probably won’t eat anyway? I don’t care, actually, because I’m tired and I’m not getting him up.

No Matt in the house also means no CLOMP CLOMP CLOMP CLOMP when he moves from one room into another. He’s 6’4″ and his feet are size 13s, and he favors big clonky Man Shoes, so you always know when he’s home, especially if you live in a small pier-and-beam house with wood floors. Actually, last night, he came in late and was walking around, getting ready for his flight this morning, and the CLOMPING dear God. If I hadn’t been mostly asleep I would have leaped up and yelled “TAKE OFF YOUR CLOMPY SHOES, DAMMIT!” because, dang. It’s like sleeping next to a dryer running a full load of sneakers. Walking quietly is just not his bailiwick.

But I find, while he’s gone, I miss the ratatat of the computer keys down the hall, the clomping, the loud “phhhhbuk” of spitting out toothpaste, the gargling mouthwash, all his little rituals of bedtime. It’s hard to get ready for bed myself without them.

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Responses

  1. As you are well aware, I lived with Matthew for quite a while, and am now enjoying his company in the big city. Matthew is probably my best friend in the world, and I love him dearly. And yet, I can think of no conceivable circumstance or, indeed, possible universe where I would long for his size 13s in Doc Martens cloppety-fucking-clopping all over the floor while I’m trying to sleep and put some fucking boxers on you hairy, shameless sonofabitch and could you use a fork and a knife for Christ’s sake while you’re eating that entire chicken! sigh

    All the same, debauchery is so much more fun when he’s around. Just don’t put him around anything he can trip over.

  2. clonk clonk clonk Clonk CLonk CLOnk CLONk CLONK CLONK TTTTHUNKK SLLLOOORP PFFFFFTT… “Aaaahhh. So, y’all talking about me?” SCRATCH…

  3. Ya’ll did see my animated version of said clomping up top, yes? It is teh awesome.

    To be fair, Dean, unless I missed it, he always wore boxers. But never a knife and fork. NEVER.

    (love ya, honey!)

  4. Well, before you two were married, there was a time when I lived with him, and he seemed incapable of wearing underwear to bed. One might walk down the hall going to one’s own bedroom and accidentally see the horrifying sight of a sleeping Matthew buck naked in front of a window with the curtains open where children played in the cul-de-sac outside.

    Or then there’s winter Matthew, thinking that not-quite-opaque thermal underwear do the same job as real underwear, changing out of work clothes in the open doorway of his studio while I sit on the couch six feet away watching TV.

    But I still think the guy’s pretty swell otherwise.

  5. Caaaan you feeeeeel the loooooove toniiiiiight…


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