I think I’m in the butch doghouse yet again. You tell me, it’s a Friday night and I’m home alone writing a blog. And yet like so many times, I don’t know how the hell I got here.
For the past two or three months, sk’s been going through some issues concerning her profession. Tonight at dinner sk is sharing what she did today. She said she talked to a friend of hers on the phone. Her words: “I talked to J.P. this afternoon for a long time. Now I don’t feel so alone.” WTF? I don’t need to tell you I’ve been here the entire time, right. And she continued talking as if nothing was implied by that sentence. She was even naming places and things to do for our upcoming 10-year anniversary.
I have no idea what kind of a jam I’m in. Let’s say I’m the pilot of an airplane. Is there a bit of smoke in cockpit? Has an engine stalled? Are both engines gone? Are flames billowing from the plane as I plummet toward earth? Or have I already crashed and burned?
I’ve been supportive. I haven’t freaked out. I did not tell her she’s having a mid-life crisis and to get her shit together because she isn’t getting any younger and so she has fewer years to recover from a total fuck-up. I didn’t say any thing like that. I’ve gently encouraged her to explore whatever she wants to do. For the first time in almost 15 years she is not obligated to any company for immigration purposes. She can start her own office. I’m all for it. I’ve been there to give a shoulder to cry on and to provide hugs out of nowhere, even if it wasn’t the most convenient time for me. I’ve listened, not just heard, listened without judging or trying to solve her problems, I let her talk.
So why am I here? Why am I alone and getting ready to make the grocery list? Why do I have a feeling the bed will be cold tonight and not from the falling temperature outside? Maybe I’m reading too much into it. She had some really good ideas for our anniversary and I’m only alone because she was notified this afternoon that there was an emergency church board meeting this evening. Hmmm. . . maybe there’s only a slight chill between the sheets, one that can easily be warmed with a bit of persuasion.