"Just a little nap in the sun," I said, sneaking off to the deck to crank up the sunshade and recline on a deck chair. No nap yet, but it's a few hours later, and I think the miles of this week are rolling off of me like beads of sweat.

Could be worse. At least it's not hot out here.

If I've got any sense, I'll remember to reset the trip odometer tonight before I head out. It's going to be one of those [insert the word here for a three-day span in which you roadtrip to three different cities to see three different concerts and beg some of your west coast friends to stay up an hour later than usual so that you can use your obnoxious amount of free night and weekend cell phone minutes to talk to them so that you won't fall asleep on the way home from each show, which you wouldn't dream of missing].

Yeah. One of those.

It really wasn't planned. Honest. Except that I'd been dozing on the couch, and then I snapped awake with the horrid realization that I was planning on three weeks' worth of out-of-state trips in the not-too-distant future, and that one pair of sneakers, one pair of jeans, and two pair of shorts just weren't going to cut it.

Clothing. Needed. Now.

• 2:45 a.m. leave note for spouse, saying, "Trash needs to be taken out, and there's stuff in the master bedroom that needs to go out with it. Didn't want to wake you, so wake me up before you go."
  
  (This free-association cheezwhiz music moment is brought to you by the non-word "go-go.")
  
  
• 7:13 a.m. Trash out to curb. Much yawning, contemplation of annoyingly bright sunrise, thoughts of replacing cats with lower litter-producing models.
  
  

I tiptoed out early on a Saturday morning to buy ingredients for salsa, leaving my spouse, still sleeping, to be guarded by the house cats. I bought a shower gift and salsa ingredients, and was well on my way through processing the vegetables into finished salsa by the time Jeff woke up.

It had to get done, not because it was a chore but because I had promised, and it was my own fault that I'd stayed up late with friends the night before, talking and playing games instead of shouldering responsibility and purchasing habañeros and peppers for food-making.

It took me three days to paint the master bedroom, three days of Jeff-awayness that meant I spent most of my painting time trying very very hard to coax sprightly conversation out of my painting utensils (and failing, I might add). The first two days were spent painting and doing chores at a rather leisurely pace, since I believed I had until Thursday night to complete the painting of the room.

Last night's phone call changed that. "I'm coming home a day earlier than planned."