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Jan. 28th, 2018 04:56 pmIt's vaguely drizzly outside, which normally isn't enough to keep myself sequestered away indoors. I don't generally mind the rain or the cold, but today just feels like such a lazy day. In the past, I never indulged in such a mood. Here and now, it's not so bad to just lean into it and give myself the day off. I puttered around all afternoon and now I'm at the kitchen table, coffee gone cold at my side as I lazily flip through photos I've taken recently.
Bittle, however, does not seem on board with the lazy day plan. In fact, he might have sucked up all the energy in the room and that's why I can't find it in myself to do anything. There's something baking in the oven, something cooling on the counter, and Bittle himself is sitting on the couch. Not relaxing, as one might on a sofa, but curled over the coffee table in a way that makes my back ache just to look at him.
The TV hasn't left the home improvement network in days. There are swatches everywhere, scraps of fabric and paint cards litter every available surface of the coffee table. Bittle's laptop is open on top of it all, notepad covered with scribbles resting next to it. I watch as he sends yet another email to Derek about the restaurant, shaking my head in fond exasperation as I stand up and stretch my arms up over my head.
The oven beeps and Bittle's head pops up like a startled prairie dog. He looks momentarily conflicted and I laugh as I head for the kitchen. "I got it, Bits."
I take out the pie and rest it on the cooling rack before turning the oven off and ambling over to the sofa, leaning over the back of it to rest my head on his shoulder. "How's it going?"
Bittle, however, does not seem on board with the lazy day plan. In fact, he might have sucked up all the energy in the room and that's why I can't find it in myself to do anything. There's something baking in the oven, something cooling on the counter, and Bittle himself is sitting on the couch. Not relaxing, as one might on a sofa, but curled over the coffee table in a way that makes my back ache just to look at him.
The TV hasn't left the home improvement network in days. There are swatches everywhere, scraps of fabric and paint cards litter every available surface of the coffee table. Bittle's laptop is open on top of it all, notepad covered with scribbles resting next to it. I watch as he sends yet another email to Derek about the restaurant, shaking my head in fond exasperation as I stand up and stretch my arms up over my head.
The oven beeps and Bittle's head pops up like a startled prairie dog. He looks momentarily conflicted and I laugh as I head for the kitchen. "I got it, Bits."
I take out the pie and rest it on the cooling rack before turning the oven off and ambling over to the sofa, leaning over the back of it to rest my head on his shoulder. "How's it going?"
