The encapsulation of my family into our single-family residence is strangely exhausting. At this point, the dog and our 11-year old are ready to move out, as evidenced by the lease agreements I found hidden in the closet. 

Minor complaint, relatively speaking, but still I will complain.

There’s this underlying tension between myself, my wife, my 11-year old son and our dog. We walk around giving each other accusing looks all day. Somehow the weekends are worse – I think because by their very nature weekends impart a promise or hope of freedom and levity outside the home, or at a minimum everyone gets the opportunity to get the hell away from everyone else through fabricated chores/errand running or perhaps actual legitimate, scheduled events.

Alas, instead we bump into each other in the house all day, intermingled with a new weekend routine of (1.) take the dog on a long walk (2.) clean the house (I get the bathroom) (3.) take the dog on another long walk (4.) go for a bike ride (5.) watch more Adam Sandler movies. 

None of which are terrible things (except the house cleaning), and I for one enjoy the dog walking and bike riding and introducing my son to Adam Sandler. But still, there’s this kind of grinding tension that permeates the house – it’s not a feeling of suffocation or entrapment as much as not wanting to actual hear the other people talk. Including the dog. 

Early on in our confinement I turned to hoppy beer to cushion the endlessly repeating blows of the situation. The problem was I turned to hoppy beer every day, and 10-pounds later I had to stop. Not to mention it’s a fairly terrible example for the kid. It wasn’t an insane amount, for the record. Like two pints. Every day. Two. Delicious. Pints.  

I have found that (1.) physical activity lessens the tension and (2.) I still want to hang out with other people. 

Last night I had some insomnia and realized I may actually be going insane. The cue isn’t the insomnia but the realization that I didn’t think I was going insane which is the precursor to insanity. 

I don’t have an answer for how to cure this, other than to lose 10-pounds so I can drink hoppy beer again. And perhaps to keep saying “hi” to the (now hundreds) of people I see walking through the neighborhood every day, stuck in the same boat. Make some jokes, make fun of the situation. And remember things could be worse. And if my wife and son and dog move out on me it’s a reflection of their terrible attitudes, not mine.