Coffee & Sandwiches

Today I walked out of the bathroom and heard another person milling about. The sounds came from the kitchen, as did the smells of soup and other cooking. I have these moments where I forget that I do not live alone anymore; with no disrespect towards Sam (well, at least not the bad kind), it still hasn't sunk in organically that Sam is here and with me. In this house in which I've lived for so long.

I am used to the water being used by only me: the water pressure out of the shower head shouldn't change while I'm under it. Sounds coming from the kitchen should only be mechanical: popping and chugging of brewing coffee, the rhythmic backbeat of the dishwasher, the blowing of the microwave fan. To hear pots and pans being moved about, the water being run and then shut off, the fridge door opening and closing. These are unexpected.

Unexpected, but only for a split second. Then comes the happy realization that he's here (and as of today's mail delivery, it's documented that he's officially free of the un-American strictures of the U.S. military).

Today he made us sandwiches and soup. And I drank coffee while I did some work at home today.

He's a good boy. I'm a lucky man. He's a lucky man. I'm a good guy.