Lost and found

You know what I love?

I love finding things that I didn’t even know were lost.
Like the bottle of Fireball that just turned up in my freezer. I left it in there so I can find it again some other day.

It’s like finding a little pot of gold, no rainbow or leprechaun required.

Oh, it’s true. I am easily pleased. A smile. An unexpected phone call. A note. Finding things I didn’t even know I had.

Not too long ago I found a bracelet I thought I’d lost, or thrown away, decades ago. I’d apparently hidden it away so it would be safe. So safe, I couldn’t even find it myself. I was happy to see it again.

Or money in the laundry. It’s my money, and it comes out of my own pockets. Why does it always make me so happy to find it? Or the change that inevitably falls out of my pockets and rolls under the bed when I get undressed at night?

Sometimes you find people you thought were lost to you. That is even better. I’ve had several of those recently.

Books. Books also turn up unexpectedly sometimes. Books are more reliable than the people who turn up sometimes. Oh, that sounds mean. Reliable isn’t the right word, either.

Maybe books are just easier–but what isn’t easier than people?

Know what? I have some very important staring out the window to do now.
So that is what I am going to do.

Maybe I’ll have a swig of that Fireball I found…

PS
And
I just got ready for work
And found a dress that I have only worn once and promptly forgot I had.

It’s either serendipity or a sign that I have to many things around.

Or both.







The waiting is the hardest part

And I don’t need reminding
how loud the phone can ring
when you’re waiting for news.

And that big old moon
lights every corner of the room.
Your back aches from lying
and your head aches from crying.
–Everything But The Girl/We Walk The Same Line

It is very hard for me to wait for people to make decisions when it comes to making plans. To be more precise, it’s hard for me to deal with plans that come in the form of a maybe.

Waiting for things to happen? Oh, that’s OK. Hair appointments? No trouble. Waiting rooms are no challenge at all. I read. I play on the Internet. Waiting for a table in a restaurant? No big deal. What is hard is when your plans with someone are wrapped in a big, ugly envelope of maybe. Or “we’ll see.”

Waiting to hear back from people about a maybe? Sucks. Sucks. Sucks. Fucking sucks. Even if I understand why there needs to be a maybe. Sometimes people just don’t know what their schedule will hold. Maybe they are on call. Maybe they have stuff going on at home or work that could blow up. There are times when when you just don’t know, or at least not immediately.

Those are times when I am willing to make a provisional plan with someone.

Still. The maybe plans are hard for me. You know why? Because I always wonder if it’s only a maybe because someone doesn’t have the balls to say no straight out. Or worse, I wonder if they are hedging their bets so they can take a better offer if it comes up. Yes, feeling unimportant is a recurrent theme with me.

At the very least, it sucks because you don’t have any of the anticipation that goes with having actual plans. You can’t look forward to a maybe.

Plans wrapped in maybe are a sadness waiting to happen, because the likelihood is that they will not happen. It makes me sad when things fall through, even if it was only maybe going to happen. If you’re one of those freaks who lives in the moment and don’t look forward to anything so you are never disappointed, then fuck you. Zen asshole.

I experienced the maybe date quite a bit in my single days. I’ve even had to stop seeing someone because he was just not ever willing to commit to specifics. In his case, he really was just using me as a placeholder in case nothing better came up. He’d get irritated if I made other plans before he was ready to decide, but wouldn’t be willing to make definite plans himself until the last minute. The most galling thing is that he would always tell me what he was ditching me for. “I heard from this girl I met last week and we’re going to hang out.” So…yeah…good-bye.

If I’m going to be totally honest, it probably makes me sadder than it should when a maybe plan falls through. I let it hurt me more than it really needs to.

Maybes are a trigger for me. I try not to do them. If I do, I mitigate it as much as I can by not putting my life on hold because of the maybe. If someone invites me to do something during the “maybe,” I accept it (assuming that it’s something I want to do) and let the “maybe” know that it’s not going to happen.

Maybe I just think I should be important enough to merit a definite yes. Maybe I think I deserve the courtesy of a definite no if the intent is no.

Maybe I am just irrational.

Maybe I am not cut out to be a maybe for anyone.
That may be the problem there.

Is it a problem, though?
Maybe it isn’t a problem at all.







Where’d all the wine go?

Somehow we managed to drink all of the beer and wine in town. Again.
How does that happen? Oh. Right. Everyone on Tequila Hill is a glass-filler.

Great ribs, too.

We had a great night. Sorry I missed the dominoes. If I’d stayed for dominoes I would probably still be there, and you’d have been cooking breakfast for me. That may have been poor planning on my part, come to think of it.

Thanks, Chelle and Rick for having me over. I always love hanging out with you and the “kids.” Let me know if you want me to write a note to the recycling guy explaining that most of those empties are mine…

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