Saturday stuff
It’s been three weeks since I’ve had a Saturday off, and I work the next four Saturdays. This was my only Saturday off, so what did I do? Clean.
When I awoke this morning, the dust on the leading edges of the ceiling fan blades just plain bothered me. After a smoke, OJ and email, I filled the sink with soapy water, got a rag and climbed up on the furniture to clean the fans.
This lead to a full-out heavy cleaning that lasted the day. I literally worked from top to bottom—from the tops of the kitchen cabinets to the baseboards and everything in between. The only furniture and appliances that weren’t moved were the desk, which I could still clean around, and the freezer, which is full and on the hardwood floor.
Everything else got moved then dusted, wiped-down, polished or mopped. (I did the windows last Sunday figuring, correctly, it would be the last day of decent weather.) Eight hours of cleaning makes it look like no-one lives here. That won’t last, but it’s a nice change of pace.
At first I was disappointed tonight when my mother called to say our family Thnksgiving would be postponed until Thursday. For at least 25 years our family has done Thanksgiving on the Sunday before the holiday, leaving us free to spend the actual holiday with in-laws.
I’ve been single now for eight or nine years, my youngest brother has disassociated himself from the family two years ago at family Thanksgiving and my middle brother’s in-laws have already gone to Florida, so there’s no compelling reason not to have the holiday on the holiday.
But I’d planned on Sunday. One day at a time, just for today, be damned. I had plans and this fucked with them. I was going to take my seasonal laundry with me tomorrow to wash for free and, since I’m off on Wednesdays anyway, I was going to grub-out for two whole days this week.
The anger and disappointment over the change of plans lasted for just a few minutes. I’ll figure something out. I keep forgetting that I’m flexible now.
It helped that I was riding in the car with Web Boy when the call came in. We were on the way to coffee after the meeting so program stuff was still towards the front of my head.
Relationships are hard.
I’m having an especially difficult time with Web Boy because, well, I want a BF so badly now to begin with, having been single for nearly a decade. And he’s cute to the point of being pretty, he’s nice, he’s a geek and he’s financially independent. At 35 he describes himself as “semi-retired.” And let’s not forget about the the ash-blond hair falling across his shoulders. Ahem.
We click on so many different levels it’s like The Universe has said, “this guy is the reward you’ve been working for.”
Out of respect for The Universe bringing him to me, and for him and his program, (and, now that I think about it, respect for my program too) I’ve let him set the pace and nature of our coming together.
This has been perhaps more difficult than my getting sober in the first place.
Apparently I’ve been doing “the next right thing” here because I continue to be rewarded for showing restraint.
I guess I misunderstood when he said he was going to New York. I thought he meant for one week and it turned out to be two. I called and left a message a week ago Thursday, just to check in to see how the trip had gone.
He returned the call last Sunday night, saying he’d just gotten in and thanking me for calling. We talked for over an hour. (Headsets are a godsend I tell you.) He shared that before leaving, he’d gone out with friends and run into a couple of program people. He’d become uncomfortable with some of their probing questions and related that he’s really quite private and takes a while to warm up to people.
This confirmed my gut feeling and I mentally patted myself on the back for for taking, what’s for me, an agonizingly slow route in the getting-to-know-you department.
Well tonight when he arrived at the meeting he just lit up when we made eye contact. He was a little late and all the seats near me were taken. After the closing prayer—that group closes with a long version of the Serenity Prayer—boom! Before I even had time to put my hat back on he was right beside me asking if I wanted to go for coffee
Hot damn!
We hogged a table at Spot Coffee for almost two hours blissfully unaware, I’m sure, of the scowls of the Philharmaniacs who filled the place after the symphony let out at the Eastman.
Telling a story, about coming through Customs of all things, he shared his last name with me. Maybe someday soon I’ll get an email address or perhaps learn why he doesn’t use his given name.
In any event, it tells me his comfort level with me is rising and confirms that I’m doing this the right way and whatever the direction turns out to be, that it’s the right one.
