"I'm so tired all the time," I said, yawning. I yawn incessantly. I partly blame the crap weather of late. "I don't know why I'm so tired all the time."
"Well, you don't do anything. You go to work, come home, go to work, come home..." he replied.
Wait. What? My mind begins reeling. He didn't really say that, did he?
"I mean, I, uh, didn't mean that in a bad way, I'm just saying," he stammered.
My silence continues. Quickly going over in my mind how many jobs he's applied for in the past four months in vain, how many marathons he's ran in the past year, how many miles, period, his legs have carried him, how much stress he's under while working a job he has to leave, likely to make less money at a new job in a new city away from friends, while in the meantime living an hour-and-a-half away from the person he's to marry in less than a year. Oh, wait. That's my life.
He continues, scrambling.
"Just, you know, before your shins went to shit, you used to run all the time and be active."
Uhhh. And this is when I want to stab my ears out. What he is saying is true. But do people say these things to one another? And if so, crap. As if I don't wish I could get out there, run like I used to. As if I don't wish a job would land in my lap. As if I don't wish we weren't 90 miles apart.
So in the meantime, while none of these things are happening for me, I go home. I go to work. I go home. I go to work. Besides, reading a new book and watching back-to-back episodes of Grey's Anatomy at night, while it's cold and raining, is much more thrilling than whining about all of these wishes that aren't happening for me.
So while, essentially, he does speak the truth, I can't help but take offense, even though I'm not sure that my taking offense is the right action. I just hope this wasn't his way of calling me lazy. Because then, I will take my broken legs, run the 90 miles to his apartment, and probably break his golf clubs. And then ask if he has an ice pack to ice my swollen shins.
Oh, and probably say hi. And, I love you, too.