I noticed that the days are getting longer as I was wrapping up today's work. After several late nights there, I got excited about the prospect of taking Doris and Billie for a walk. But, then I remembered that Billie had chewed Doris' collar off the other night (for the third time in 5 years). Maybe Frisbee in the backyard for a while would suffice.
I was determined to go work out first, though.
Unexpectedly, I got an AIM invitation from one of my dearest friends asking me if I had a minute. Of course, for him, I always do. He shared some sad news. His sweet dog, Sandy, has cancer. During our instant messaging we talked about the implications of her diagnosis, similarities to situations with past "family members," like his indescribably perfect Leroy and my beloved Ambrose, and how he would go forward with what he now knows.
I don't envy him. In fact, I hate this for him. Even though I know like most pets' companions (owner sounds so wrong to me), we have a limited time with them (regardless what species or breed they are), we always try to do our best to make their time with us special for all involved. This thought, of course, excludes all of the obviously demented freaks that show up on Animal Planet's "Animal Cops." I can't get started on that now.
They feel what we show them. They act as if they are loved if we love them. If we ignore them we get what usual cretins think about cats.
I have been seriously considering becoming a vegetarian. For me to walk outside in below 50° weather to be greeted by my "pea-brained" koi (regardless whether they're happy to see me or they just want food during a time of year they shouldn't get it) means something to me. They all have feelings if we take the time to love them.
All we can do for the living creatures that share our lives is provide living that we would wish for ourselves if we were in their place. Except for roaches, houseflies and mosquitoes. And spiders if they decide to take up residence in my house. Outside? O.K., beautiful. Inside? Vacuum cleaner.
Anyway, back to David. I got to a place where I couldn't see my screen during our conversation. I wanted so much to bail but at the same time hug him. I wanted to go to the bathroom and bawl. I had to stick with the conversation if for no other reason than to assure him that he was doing the best for Sandy (as he has always done). I, too, needed to reassure myself that I did the right thing with Ambrose four years ago.
So, "F" the gym. I'm telling you, if you knew this man you would dash all your plans for him if he needed to talk to you. If you weren't already very happily married (and he was available -- and gay if you were me) you would envision a lifetime with someone like him. I hope his on-and-off-but-more-on (thank God) girlfriend knows how special he is. And I think she does or they wouldn't keep working on their relationship. I worry, sometimes, that people never really appreciate his complexity. Even myself, sometimes. He's just a good guy in every way I can imagine to say it. I wish I were more like him. He's very much like my husband. And, I think my husband would like knowing that I think that. : )
Anyway, a little heavy, I know.
To deal with the emotions conjured up this evening, I focused on things of which I am solely in control. Everything else went to hell in a handbasket. Even some things of which I am solely in control. My best intentions for going to the gym. No. Getting home to play with my girls in the remaining daylight? No.
My first stop after work was the filthy Piggly Wiggly because I just couldn't bear dealing with the congestion (both in the parking lot and inside the store) at the filthy Schnucks two blocks away. I really needed some groceries. REALLY. Next stop, Joe's for a bottle of Svedka. Then a quick stop at Open Door Bible Church (the polls for my precinct) to vote for Beverly Marrero.
I got home after 7:00 P.M. It's dark. Reading ingredients on everything you purchase at the grocery apparently takes more time than it seems. When I walked in the house the girls were excited, as always. I HAVE TO PEE. LET ME OUT. LET ME IN. FEED ME.
IN THAT ORDER.
I unloaded the car in four or five trips, while Doris and Billie ate, dropping plastic bags filled with delicious fruit, vegetables, yogurt and orange juice all over the kitchen countertops. I brought in the zillion-pound Timbuk2 bag that replaced my briefcase after I bought the 17"-inch MacBookPro. (I am ordering an AcmeMade bag tomorrow -- I hate the Timbuk2 bag).
Nine o'clock rolls around and I'm still not done reassembling the refrigerator I've ripped apart. I'm cleaning every nook and cranny (not to mention grabbing sockets and a ratchet from the garage to dismantle the crisper drawers to switch the high/low humidity controls from the left drawer to the right only to find that I'm no better off than I was when I started, dammit), and throwing out things that: A. were perfectly fine but "felt" old; B) contained high-fructose corn syrup, or C) were things I was just tired of looking at.
I have realized that unless I want to buy a very basic refrigerator to replace what we bought 13 years ago, I'm going to have to rip out cabinets for a much larger appliance -- or fix the icemaker. And, honestly, the icemaker is the only issue with this fridge. Amana, circa 1992, rocks!
Anyway, I finally get around to calling David. We talk a bit while he drives to Summer's house. The dinner she's cooking sounds fabulous. Lentils. Curry. Garam Masala. We talk a bit more. I know I need to let him go so they can spend time together.
I've already spoken to Cameron for the few minutes I would be allowed for the evening. Tonight is a short layover for him, which means that even under the best circumstances he'll be going to work in the morning sleep-deprived. And, now, I'm sitting here doing research, listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers spouting parental advisory lyrics 12:50 A.M.
I miss my husband. As much as the puppies may keep me warm, they are not him. And a body pillow is completely out of the question.
God, how much I've rambled tonight. Basketcase, tonight, am I.