Where We Go At Night

A few days ago, earlier in the week, I came home from work and I felt an inward part of myself completely shutting down. My husband was talking to me but I wasn’t hearing anything. I didn’t want to cook dinner. I didn’t want to fold laundry. I didn’t want to make sure the dogs went pee, or that the cats had attention. I simply wanted to curl in on myself. Introvert. Hide. Retreat. Pretend none if it was there. Pretend I lived alone, that this place was mine, and mine alone. That I didn’t have to share this apartment with another person, or a pet. I was free, you see. To watch my Netflix. To play my games. Listen to my remixes. Watch slam poetry. Stare at the carpet. Stare at the carpet.

It all reminded me of my dad. He would do that. I remember in junior high, and high school, more and more and more he would come home from work and just retreat from it all. It made me wonder if he gave away so much of himself during the day–and I saw him working, believe me, he was a firecracker–that he had nothing left to give when he gave home. It wasn’t always like that. Sure, sometimes he’d engage in a conversation at the dinner table or comment on a movie we watched as a family. We’d go on little daddy/daughter ventures into the night to go get dessert. Sometimes we’d talk or he’d let me pick the radio station. But never too loud. He didn’t like my loud music.

But he would hide. More and more and more. I don’t know what caused it. But my behavior this week, had made me nostalgic of it, and not in a good way. What if I am not being attentive as a wife? If Justin, is having to repeat himself too much? Maybe I just need some recharge time. Today was my first day off this week and I loved it. I slept in, cooked breakfast, played with my dogs. Stared at the carpet. Stared at the carpet.

There’s a fine line between recharging yourself and fading away from yourself. And then it all seems like work.

Where do you go at night?

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