So it goes

It is Sunday and I come to the end of two weeks of fantabulous vacation. Bucci has flown home, the apartment once again is just 88527 and me, and order is being restored. The half eaten baguettes have been thrown out, the leftover hamburgers which I will never eat tossed, the stray coffee mugs, wine glasses and beer bottles corralled. The electric bill which sat on my desk for two weeks has been paid, the sheets and towels washed, the floors and countertops cleaned of coffee spills and olive oil splashes. The Kat has resumed her normal activity of alternating purring on my arm with biting it. In return I’ve again started enforcing her 1/3 cup of food per day diet. All that’s left of Bucci’s visit is a fantastic new iPod playlist, a trendy new blog template, a big flickr upload, a depleted wine rack, and a jacket he left behind. Why is it always a jacket? (OK this time it was really a vest but still outerwear and I don’t think there’s ever been a visit where I don’t have to mail him a jacket.)

It’s not that I’m trying to erase the visitor, I just have certain standards of order I keep. The apartment is small, a little too small for two but perfect for one. Especially when it’s clean. This afternoon there seems to be so much space here, it feels big, comfortable. It’s taken years but I can honestly say I like living alone. No one else’s mess to clean, no one else’s clutter, the music at my volume, the quiet mornings, no one talking, eating cereal for howevermany meals in a row I choose.

Tomorrow it’s back to getting up 15 minutes before I rush out the door. Back to needing to look professional. Back to remembering to brush my hair and put on lipstick. Tonight I’ll pull something entirely unsatisfactory from my closet and iron it while watching Desperate Housewives.  Tomorrow I’ll be bombarded again by people needing me to e-mail and phone and fax, I’ll have Starbucks at 10 and frozen Pad Thai from Trader Joe’s at 1. I'll come home at 5 or maybe 6,pick up my newspaper and mail and heat something for dinner. It’s not fun but it’s what I do and as much as I dread it, in a week it will be all so normal I won’t notice. So it goes.