Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry up Tuesday.
But wait! AB leaves on Monday.
Slow down, slow down, slow down, slow down, slow down now.
I think AB threw away my kitchen sponge. I didn’t have it for any other reason than the scouring power on one side. She thinks she’s helping, I know, but all she’s doing is contributing to my now near-constant fear that I’m losing my mind. I had a sponge. I know I had a sponge. It was right on the sink, on the left hand side, so that I could get at sticky food problems, like dried curry on a plate. But the sponge is gone. The good news is right now I have an excuse. AB must have thrown it away, like she did with all the other sponges I’ve ever had in my life (I am now a towel and washrag girl), thinking I’d been slipping back into old habits.
When she goes home on Monday, I no longer have any excuse for when I can’t find something or can’t remember something. At this point, it happens at least once an hour. When it happens and AB laughs at me, I often say to her, “You’ll be sorry you’re laughing when we find out I’m ill.” To which she always says, “You’re not sick; you’re on strike. Your brain’s all strikey.”
So when AB goes home, I can only blame the strike. But when the strike ends, AB could come back here.
Yes, that’s what I want. Like it was earlier this year. AB was here, the strike wasn’t. And I had a sponge that sat in a location I remembered.
I opened this only to link to Rivers Cuomo’s solo project. But then I felt bad for wishing for Tuesday.
Why am I recapping this entry?