Monday, January 31, 2005

404 ass error

"My ass is broken!" wailed the husband, not 5 minutes ago. As one gets older, we have both discovered, it is now possible to wake up in the morning with bruises and contusions one has no idea how one gained. The husband woke up this morning and his hip hurt. I'm guessing his hip is hurt because of the late night wrestling match we had when he tried to sing me a Wierd Al song in bed, and I would have none of it. The wrestling wasn't violent or anything, but at some point he must have hurt his hip a bit and then slept on it funny. Surprizingly enough, the husband's ass has managed to get broken not over sex but over pop culture cheese. Life is strange and beautiful.

"I don't think your ass is broken." I replied to him after careful hip inspection. "I think your ass is temporarily unavailable. You have a 404 ass error."

This never would have happened had Atlanta not been covered in ice this weekend. As Max will show you over on his page, we were iced in from Friday night onward. This meant that the husband and I had all weekend trapped inside the apartment together instead of spending a couple of days apart, as we had intended. He was to go to Nashville and I had all these grand plans for cleaning the house and getting some professional writing done for work. I feel very behind on my everyday tasks after being so sick last week. Some of the writing happened. The cleaning? Not so much.

Atlanta incased in ice is beautiful; Atlanta's one small snow of the year was mixed in with tiny granules of ice. Everything was glazed and deadly. Locked in together during the storm, our desires for independant entertainment thwarted, I suppose it is a healthy sign that the husband and I were only mock-wrestling by Sunday night.

I feel immobilized by the winter, by the ice, by the waiting for the stars to align so that we can get out of this tiny apartment and into a home of our own. Every winter I can't believe how long I have to wait for Spring.

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