Jenna's House of Idiosyncrasies Version 10.0 [Focus.]

Dawn today found me walking home after a second consecutive sleepless night, singing Cole Porter's “I've Got You Under My Skin” in the swinging style of the 1956 Frank Sinatra cut. At the end of my street I could see the guy who works the all-night convenience watching me, most likely puzzled at what could cause me to allow my voice to echo all over the narrow street.

I'd sacrifice anything come what might
For the sake of having you near
In spite of a warning voice that comes in the night
And repeats, repeats in my ear:
Don't you know, little fool, you never can win?
Use your mentality, wake up to reality.
But each time that I do just the thought of you
Makes me stop before I begin
'Cause I've got you under my skin.

I should have been thinking about why I would possibly allow myself to come home at dawn when I hadn't slept in over a day and needed to work, but I wasn't. I was thinking about the night that led up to the darkness. I was playing the horn saturated instrumental fill in my heart and trying my damndest not to spin on the street as if I was on a studio backlot in some mid-20th-century comedy musical.

I remember us at some late hour watching a bowling championship on ESPN, and he mentions that he loves bowling, and I some how work in that I can't stand it. I don't know exactly how but I'm not surprised that I would do such a thing.

“I guess we can't get married now.” I sadly say. Our eventual marriage has become somewhat of a running joke, and his tolerance of said joke indicates one of only two states of mind: ignorance or some other, slightly warmer, elusive thing.

“I guess not.” He hangs his head in mock disappointment. “Good job, Jenna!” He admonishes me sarcastically and I break down, despite the fact that the game purports to be only pretend.

“Well, if that was a deal breaker,” I say in a more serious tone than is strictly necessary, “I would learn to bowl.”