The Need to Know

laptop.jpgHe bent farther and farther over the keyboard, his eyelids growing heavier and heavier as the hour grew later. The question of a life/work/study balance was moot in this case; his thirst for knowledge was near parasitic with the physical toll it took on him.

Through the echoing absurdities of internet rabbit-holes he searched, the long night growing longer and longer with every hot breath he took. The pounding rhythm of his heart beat in his ears like a drum until he felt that the inescapable sound would drive him mad.

A cool hand crept across his shoulder and down his chest; he jumped nearly from his chair.

“Come to bed, darling. Google will still be here tomorrow,” she said, softly closing his laptop and taking his hand to draw him up from his seat.

He nodded, the splinter of sense that she’d driven into him digging deeper until he felt more like himself again, and realized that it was well past time to join her in their bed.

She leaned down to kiss him, and the softness of her lips was enough to make up his mind.


How Acronyms Demonstrate My Obstinacy

Another quick note about acronyms: me and acronyms are like the stereotypical man lost on a road trip. I absolutely, categorically, refuse to ask what they mean if I don’t know. I won’t do it. I just won’t.

To admit ignorance is to admit defeat.

I know this is foolish. How does one learn if not by questioning? Alas, this is my Achilles heel. And to think, I flounder in the murky waters of infertility, the birthplace of the incomprehensible acronym, refusing to acknowledge that I am in over my head at times.

Case in point: SMC. It took a bit of Googling to decipher this gem, although if I’d just considered the context a little more, I’d probably have gotten it on my own. Single moms by choice, you’re mocking my need to know!

Context is like having a cheat sheet to life.

Case in point: DNS. Ah, what could that possibly be? Context revealed that it’s something to do with running. Longest Google session for an acronym ever. Apparently everyone who’s ever put on a pair of shoes and hit the trails instinctively knows that it’s ‘did not start.’

Possibly one day I’ll be able to man up and utter those dreaded words, ‘what does that mean?’ Possibly not.