4:30 a.m. – 6:30 a.m.: Lying awake, trying to make sense of vestibule incident. How did he get right up behind me like that? I thought I was always on guard; where did my guard go? Ponder Freudian significance of man entering my vestibule without permission. Both of my former therapists would have had a field day with this.
9:00 a.m.: Wake up. Husband has let me sleep in! Good, good husband! Remember to keep husband around. Sondre Lerche would probably demand that I get up early to prepare his kippers. As I stumble to the bathroom, I step on something that reacts with a frantic whirring. I look down and GOOD GOD NOT AGAIN. I run to bathroom, hide behind door, and yelp. Husband quickly interpets yelp and runs to my aid, killing the waterbug dead with a manly stomp. Sondre Lerche would probably write a ballad about it as it chased me around the apartment.
11:30 a.m.: Finally drag child out of the house. He doesn’t want to leave. It's 120 degrees outside; I don’t blame him. But across the street is the supermarket, and in the supermarket there is food. In the refrigerator there are only moldering chicken parts and dusty, bluish bread. To the supermarket we go.
12 noon: Outside the supermarket is a woman gesturing angrily at the air. Henry wants me to hold him, and fool that I am, I believe I can reason with him. As I finally give in and attempt to lift him as well as 20 pounds of groceries, the woman is lifting her shirt and skirt and exposing herself to anyone who will look. Henry gazes at her disinterestedly, and she gives a show to the one person on the sidewalk who doesn’t register her actions as shocking.
I'm sure I'll have more later.