This past weekend was Paul’s last on night shift, and he ended up sleeping all day Friday, which is normal for him. We’d sort of planned on him coming over, but I laid down the law with his terrible sleeping habits and making plans but this is what got me stood up three times in one night more than once over the summer–if the plans hinge on him waking up by a certain time, then we don’t actually make plans. If he’s up and we want to do something, fine. Otherwise, nope. It’s still a pain in the ass, but it is a small step up from me getting stood up.

The one good thing, too, is I did keep my productive Friday night that way.

He came over Saturday instead, somewhere around late morning or early afternoon, which is when he’s normally asleep, so the first order of business was to try to get him to, you know, sleep. That failed because after he got mopey, bad-week cuddling out of his system, he got chatty, which was probably good for him. I’m slowly figuring out–because of how quiet he can be and how rare some of this is–that encouraging him to talk about something or asking him usually won’t actually get him to open up, but if he’s in a mood, he’ll kind of start a rambling snowball effect where he starts with a thought or two here or there and gradually starts saying more and more faster and faster, like it’s all tumbling out of him. And I think he needed a good rant about being unhappy with his career, especially considering I know his review didn’t go well and he has a habit of internalizing these things. I can’t really blame him. I can’t say I’d do anything differently.

Eventually, though, this turned into sexytimes, and it became pretty obvious he wasn’t gonna sleep, so I declared my necessary trip to the Apple store would happen. The charger for my MacBook has taken a bit of a beating in the two years since I bought it–first, that sort of rubbery coating starting to peel off, so I wrapped electrical tape around it, but lately that’s started to go, too, and some of the bare wires on the charger are exposed and fraying, which I figure is unsafe and would panic my mother into thinking I’m going to die in a MacBook fire in bed watching The Voice. So I shelled out the 80 bucks and ordered it online for in-store pickup in the South Hills, and it’s a good thing, too, because that store was a clusterfuck.

Fortunately, I was done in a hot minute and went to Sephora for some Marc Jacobs mascara. Now, I keep saying I want to quit Facebook, but chat and my mom’s friend Laura keep luring me back in. Laura is still everything I want to be, of course, but she also tipped me off on this Marc Jacobs makeup line. I pretty much have enough of almost all my makeup that I don’t need anything, but mascara is the one thing I will need the soonest, so that’s how I rationalized it.

Paul seemed like he was finally crashing by this point, but we were both hungry, so we got dinner at Olive Garden, which gave him his second or third wind. It was either that or the prospect of Half Price Books. And our trip to Half Price Books went the way most of our trips to used book stores go–I have so many books I want to read that I was walking around with a big stack that I’m told made me look ridiculous and cost me $70 bucks and he found a couple obscure paperbacks that probably only cost him a few bucks.

We’d planned on going to to a comic shop near my apartment on our way back, partly so he could meet up with a friend, but it closed earlier than we thought. He usually goes by himself, but I bought volume one of Neil Gaiman’s Sandman there awhile ago and just started it. I’ve been holding off on volume two just in case I ended up disliking it, but now that I’m over halfway through, I want to have volume two lined up. No such luck. I’ll have to tackle that purchase either another weekend or in a panic when I finish volume one.

Instead, we came back to my place, watched some Arrested Development and Cowboy Bebop, then went to sleep.

Paul left Sunday morning–and we forgot about the time change and realized it after my alarm went off and we looked at our phones–and I met up with Brandon, Kelly, and my dad for brunch at the country club my grandfather still belongs to, despite living on the other end of the state. It wasn’t worth it. The food is decent but not impressive and certainly not worth the effort getting ready and driving out, at least not from my apartment.

But from then on, at least when I finished my grocery shopping, it was a lazy Sunday.

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