We barely spoke over the course of the week.
I invited myself over (and earlier than usual) on Sunday. *Translation: He didn’t ask to see me*
Logic would state that him accepting my invitation means he is not bored, BUT … those of us high-level over-thinkers know that he could just be being polite and still be bored.
So the question was plaguing me the whole drive up.
The whole walk up the stairs.
The whole time he was telling me about his week.
The whole time he was making coffee.
The whole time we sat outside.
The whole time he was in the shower.
The whole time we… ok, not THAT whole time. 😉
My sensors were kicked into high-gear and I kept looking for an opportune moment to casually drop the question, to no avail. The brief moment I had a chance to ask was so brief was so brief it was gone before I even blinked.
All visible signs pointed to, “No, of course I’m not bored.”
And that’s when my decoder went off: **His week was impossible! On top of how hard things already are for him … nope, not bored!**
(I still want to ask, though.)