Sleepless in Chicago

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Sleepless in Chicago

I called in sick from work yesterday morning, although I was actually more tired than sick.  If I'd really been sick, I would have gone in to work.  I never waste my sick leave on days when I'm feeling too ill to enjoy them.

I didn't sleep very well the night before.  I had a fight with Autumn, my... the woman I've been dating. There's nothing worse than having a raging back and forth argument by text message.  My thumbs are still sore. 

I went to bed early, but I couldn't fall asleep. I kept rereading all the things Autumn had texted, and thinking about all the snappy retorts that I should have texted back.  Then I amused myself imagining her lame responses to my impeccable logic, flawless grammar, and accurate spelling.

Spelling is always a problem for me when texting angry.  And Autumn has no problem calling attention to that fact. She loves to quote me with my misspelling.  Then she responds using the same word, spelled correctly.  So provoking.  What's so great about being able to spell occasionally right every time?  I occasionally spell it right, but I often double the "s", or singularize the "c" and "l."  Ocassionaly, I screw up all three letters in the same word, like I did last night.  

I justified calling in sick by deciding to get started on some of the projects that I'd been putting off.  I've had several song ideas rattling around in my head like beans in an empty gourd, but I couldn't quite shake them out.  After I made my call to the office, I sat down in front of my computer to get started, but it was all chilly in the room, and I couldn't concentrate.  Instead, I grabbed my little netbook computer and dragged it into the bed with me and propped it up on a bed tray.  That was much better, and I was all warm and comfy and ready for great ideas to come spilling out of my head and onto the keyboard.   However, after my seventh game of computer solitaire, I realized that I wasn't fooling anyone, least of all myself.

I finally decided to write an angry song about my fight with Autumn.  Something like: "If I could read your thoughts, I'd still get it wrong, because you can't make up your mind."  Or how about: "Your commitment to freedom of speech doesn't mean you should keep talking all the time." 

My straight guy friends always imagine that I have a much easier time with my girlfriends than they do with theirs.  They think that because we're both women that we'd understand each other better.  While I would love to promote this myth, thus recruiting more straight women to my team, sadly, it is not true.  Women are enigmas.  And two women together are like enigma-squared. As a woman, I include myself in that equation, since I often mystify myself.

I realized that the fight made me more scared than angry. I kept thinking that any minute Autumn was going to say, "Augh, I've had enough of you. This is not going to work out.  What did I ever see in a person who can't even spell 'occasionally' correctly? 

Finally, around 10 a.m., my text message indicator beeped, and I got a one-word message from Autumn, "Sorry :)"

I texted her back, "Me too Smile)."  

After that, I fell asleep and didn't wake up until Autumn called me around six o'clock to find out where we should meet for dinner.  Since I still had my sick bed tray set up, I suggested that she get some Thai food, to-go, and come over to my place.  Which she did.

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