company

After a week of being on my own (more or less) and developing an angry, painful eye infection about which I had no one to whom I could complain, Saturday rolled around and it was time to pick up S & J from the airport.  But not before I removed my belongings from their kitchen floor, transferred a week's worth of dishes from the sink to the dishwasher and attempted to make it seem as though I'd kept a tidy household all week long.  

By that time, I was well ensconced in my nephew's room.  I really know how to make myself feel at home; it's always been a talent of mine.  My laptop had found a temporary home on the desk, with every spare inch covered in papers and bills I'd yet to pay from an apartment I'd moved out of nearly two months earlier. Throw in a few empty water bottles and the wrappers from a bunch of granola bars and you have the idea.  Piles of clothing dominated the limited floor space.  The "too summery to pack, but useful for now" pile, the "definitely coming with me" pile and the "need to get rid of" pile.  It's remarkable how easy it becomes to toss articles of clothing, once deemed necessary, when space becomes a real issue.  Every time I had enough stuff to fill a bag, I felt proud of myself.  Certainly better than the initial rush of pleasure felt upon the purchasing of those things, mostly on credit and all more than I should have been spending at the time.

So, with a made bed and some semi-organization, I headed to the airport and realized it was the first time I'd ever done that.  An airport pick-up on my own.  I'd never even had to navigate a parking garage on my own.  Such excitement!  And I was excited.  But mostly about welcoming S & J home; I hadn't seen them in months and I was looking forward to having some company.  And I think they were happy to be back after a week of the rest/eat/relax/eat again schedule involved with a visit to my parents.  

And J never noticed anything amiss with the disposal.  Until he started reading this.  And then again when I actually DID screw it up.  Who would have guessed potato skins would cause a clog? My guilt didn't even allow me to laugh when J had a pipe full of watery garbage spew out into his face.  S didn't have similar reservations; she laughed plenty.