Love and the Next Step

I stumbled along the darkened hallway in the middle night thanks to my dinner experiment – I had substituted several glasses of water in place of tastier portions of my meal. That night, my bladder rustled me out of a deep sleep with threats of turning my mattress into a water-bed.

So I staggered along in a barely-awake stupor. In the middle of the hallway cloaked in midnight, I heard a sickening squish. The unappetizing sound stopped me dead in my tracks. The nauseating noise wakened my brain enough to recoil at the oozing sensation between my toes.

I frantically groped for the nearby light switch and flipped it on. But without my glasses, I could only see blobs of gray and brown on the floor and seeping across the top of my pink feet. My bladder decided it could wait a few more minutes while I dealt with this unexpected horror.

Fully awake and hobbling on my heels, I tottered to the bathroom and into the bathtub. There I began washing away the remains of either a very small, juicy kitten or a very large, pulpy hairball.

If you picked hairball, my love, you won. But what can you expect from a long-haired cat?

In fact, what should I have expected from your long-haired cat? Certainly the clumps of hair all over the house, occasionally some held together by feline stomach contents. Certainly the addition of scratches and stains – a few resembling the profiles of famous dead people – on carpets, furniture, and hardwood floors. Certainly the cat's box sandy grit expelled and laying in wait to pierce the bottoms of unsuspecting bare human feet. Certainly the unreimbursed expenses for animal food and kitty litter.

These past few months have reminded me about the differences between cats and dogs. A dog may be a man's best friend, but a cat is definitely a cat's best friend. You give a dog a command and they'll usually obey it; you give a cat reasonable proposition and hope for the best. Dogs have jumped into my lap because they love me; your cat jumps into my lap only because my lap is warmer.

But this isn't about one type of pet verses another. I sat on the edge of tub that late night with my over-filled bladder prompting for attention while I scrapped your cat's latest offerings from my feet. Then I recalled you saying how much you miss your baby - your cuddly critter. So what better Christmas present than to strain my credit cards and pay your apartment's animal deposit.

Your cat will be with you before the last store closes for the holidays, before the first disappointing present is unwrapped, before you can say, "What else did you get me?"

Merry Christmas, my dear.

Love and Absence

You asked in a sarcastic tone if I've noticed that you're not around in my home. Sadly, yes, I do. Especially when you're not sarcastic.

The other day, I realized I buy toilet paper once every two months instead of once every four days. Remember the sonic boom as you and your daughter got the paper roll spinning fast enough to break the sound barrier?

So, for old times sake, I stuck one end of the paper into the toilet and flushed a few times. The swirling waters of the toilet sucked in as much as the paper as it could - subsonic at best. Still, this brought back a couple of memories. I had even forgotten that panicky feeling when the toilet water approached the rim of a clogged toilet.

Oh, by the way, Root-Rooter sends their regards.

Some things I don't miss. I arrive after work to a different home now. No longer is my long, stressful day followed by a long, stressful night. Now, I walk into a quiet house and cheery greeting from my son. Cooking dinner has become more of a joy. With my meal, I can have a glass of wine or glass of water. It's my choice according to taste, and not to avoid your displeasure.

I do miss your tender kisses and those wonderful moments when you would gaze into my eyes with your overwhelming love. I sadly miss those times. Of course, during our last few months together, I missed those times even when you were here.

You are not "out of sight, out of mind" as you put it. I think about you and about us every day. While we don't talk to each other as often now, we talk more openly than we used to.

And I think your openness has unintentionally given me an insight as to why you want me.

But I need to give more thought - and you need to say a bit more - before I write about your possible hidden agenda.

Love and The Moves

A lot changed during the last few weeks. "A lot" is an understatement for the moves we made these past weeks.

Last month we moved over a thousand dollars out of my bank account and into the waiting hands of your new landlord.

With a little more of my savings, we rented a U-Haul and moved some of your possessions into your new home.

Over the next couple of weekends, we moved all of your stuff - boxes of your papers and memories and tons of goodies - out of storage. One sunny weekend, I rented another U-haul truck. The next weekend, rainy and cold, I rented a truck from Enterprise.

Where did we put your boxes and boxes of stuff? In my house so you can have that yard sales - the one you been planning for the past six years.

One possession you haven't taken is your cat. I ran out of money for the $350 pet deposit. For now, I'll care and feed and scoop her litter box offerings.

What else has moved? A lot of pressure. I come home now after a long, stressful day to a relaxing atmosphere. Fixing dinner is no longer an ordeal of who will eat what. Deciding what I have to get done after dinner is much easier.

I miss you. But I don't miss your sour moods. I don't miss your complaining about what everyone else isn't doing.

You tell me that you worry about becoming "out of sight, out of mind": That I'll forget about you. I don't think you'll let that happen. And I don't intend for you to disappear from my life. We're simply living in separate houses so you can get back to your sweet, happy self. And I can rekindle my love for you. How can I forget about you?

Besides, I still have your cat.

Love and Anger

You asked. I told. You said, "What should I do?" I said, "I'll help you move into your own place a few miles away - away from a house you associate with my evil ex, and away from my son whom you despise."

A thousand dollars later and my name on your lease, you are in a new place. Then you tell me how you miss me. I reply in kind, even though my days have become less stressful and my foregoing expenses cheaper.

As soon as I have more money, I will help you move your precious cat and your furniture into your apartment. Then my place will become less cluttered; and my floors, hair-ball free.

Is this the end of our 9 years together? It all depends on you. Will you be the supporting branch in my life, or a clinging vine choking me? We will see.

Love and Name-calling

No, I'm not angry with you. But if I say you are acting like Superwoman, will you leap off of something high?! Just asking.

Love and Becoming Lost

"The way to love anything is to realize that it might be lost." GK Chesterton

What happens if I lose you? This thought has plagued me for the past couple of days as I endure my long drive to and from work.

This morning, in wee, dark hours before the sun, I got up to get ready for another wearing day of work. For a few moments, I watched you sleeping peacefully in my bed, your 28-hour work week done. I thought of how you complained about your job, the way you make it sound as though you slave away, 80-hours a week in a third world country sweat shop. You would certainly put my 60-plus hour schedule to shame if it were true. But there you were, with a 3 relaxing days ahead and not a demand in sight ... aside from tending to your Farmville crops and your Facebook friends.

And what will I come home this evening? A happy, uncomplaining mate? A fine meal ready? No. That would mean I had slipped into a dream. Or, I was awake and you were prepping me for some expensive demand.

No, I will come home the same as it is has been since you've moved in: not only do I get to spend a long day making the bacon, I get to cook it too. Of course, the cooking takes place only after a rousing round of "guess what she wants to eat".

What will happen if I lose you? I'm not certain. But I'm beginning to think that regret won't be a part of it.

Love and the Gump

Sometimes when we talk - actually, it's more you talk and I listen - I feel like I'm in a scene from "Forrest Gump". You're Pvt. Benjamin Buford 'Bubba' Blue and I'm Forrest Gump.

You remember those scenes: while Forrest and Bubba assemble their rifles, shine their boots, scrub the floor with toothbrush, Bubba continues on and on about preparing shrimp, eating shrimp, and making a multitude of foods with shrimp. Finally, there's a pause and Bubba says, "That - that's about it."

There's no "that's about it" with you. You go on and on about your life's plans, your kids' plans, your parents' plan; what your kids are doing wrong, what your parents are doing wrong, what I'm doing wrong; why your kids should be doing this, why your parents should be doing that, why we should be doing the other. This goes on during our shopping trips, our television viewing, our drives to help your kids, and as I'm trying to get to a few hours of sleep after a long day of trying to earn enough money to keep your unemployed self safe and sound under my roof.

Like Forrest, I keep my mouth shut and take in your almost-ceaseless droning. I know better now than to engage you with my thoughts - be they in agreement or otherwise.

I'm not saying that you have the mental capacity of Bubba Blue. You are far above that. Yet, given the way you've been treating me, I can't help but feel as though I'm only a simple-mined Gump in your life. And that's all you want.

No, I'm not Forrest. First of all, I don't have a movie directing fate to bring my outcomes into wondrous conclusions. And you are definitely no Jenny.

love and sad possibilities

I hope you are having a wonderful time visiting your children in Virginia. When you called tonight, you mentioned how relaxed I sounded. We both know it's your code for "I had a drink". A silly code because I don't drink alcohol very often. I have too much to do and too many demands - especially since you have entered my household. But when I do imbibe this past year, you suddenly become a self-righteous teetotaler.

So, yes, I didn't had a drink flowing through my system when you called. Instead, it was the first time in several weeks that you weren't here. In a way, you were correct. I was feeling very relaxed - no worries from listening to your situation, no Spanish inquisition about what I haven't done according to your agenda, no aggravation about my son's stay in MY home. I was able to concentrate on vital projects for my future (and perhaps ours). For the first time in a long while, I was ... happy.

This realization scared me. What if I tell you that you are no longer the soul mate that lovers need? Would you have become vindictive because of spurned affection? Would you then destroy my home that I have opened to you? Would I need to get a restraining order during the next time you are away?

Our lives shouldn't be this complicated. For a woman of 56 and two failed marriages under her belt, you know what I have to offer. Perhaps I'm the trusting fool that should not have let us reach this stage.

I don't know what to do at this moment. I do know that love doesn't exist when fear abounds.

Love of Post-it Notes

Until a few years ago, you would surprise me with Post-it notes of your love and admiration placed on the bathroom mirror, on my pillow, sometimes in my lunch. The sight of your passionate messages always made my day.

All of that is in the past now. Lately you've only left messages when you want something done, or not done.

"Please don’t put the milk in the top shelf." I understand. I certainly don't want the milk to be upset and pout because it didn't get top position in the refrigerator. But if we give milk its way all of the time, won't it get spoiled?

"Please leave the TV on for the cat." Yes, of course. When your cat awakes after spending most of its day in the other side the house away from the TV, we certainly don't want her to miss the melodrama of the daily soap operas. I guess she doesn't get enough from when we are at home.

Out of curiosity, I left a note reminding everyone to take off their shoes at the door. For almost 10 years, you thought this guideline was a great way to keep the house little cleaner for us and for company. Yet during the past few months, you decided to not respect this little wish. So I left my little note to see what would happen. As I expected, you became incensed when you found my written words. How dare I do such a thing as tacked up a gentle request!

I see where this relationship is going. It's as though your sticky notes of love have lost their adhesion to my heart. Your continual claims of love are becoming more like empty sounds as your actions do less and less to prove your words. Here's note: while you're playing on the computer, start looking for an apartment - try zillow.com instead farmville.

love and stupid postings

I quietly get up at 5 am and do everything I can to keep your sleep undisturbed. Yet, in the evening, you complain that I don't stay up long enough. You want me to sit by your side as you play Farmville and chat with people until 2 in the morning. I'm sorry. 12 hour days at work are a tad tiring. Still, I try to make you happy.

And then, I saw your Facebook post this morning, "I need a hug."

I'm sorry that I've been more prone to sleep than to listening to your daily rants. These past few days have been especially draining on me. But a supportive spouse would recognize that.

The only reason that I'm writing this is because I am becoming a little tiresome of your childish demands. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to earn money to pay my bills - and your bills while you remain unemployed.

Love and the bonus

I did very well at work last year. I made my company lots of money; I developed several innovative systems; I raised morale of my coworkers in spite of bad times. And so, for my efforts, I received a bonus of a few hundred dollars.

I was so proud of my accomplishment that I almost told you about it when I held you in my arms that day. Almost. Then the words unconsciously stuck in my throat until I realized their spoken consequences.

In the past, you would have bolstered my victory with encouraging words of your own. Now, I can only expect you to rail about how I should spend my hard-earned reward along the lines of your desires and not to my guidelines for our lives.

When this realization struck me, my little victory disappeared in a sad realization of how our relationship has changed. And so, tearfully, I have told you nothing. Perhaps that doesn't matter. We both know I'll end up spending on you and your bills any way.

Love and Moo, y'all

"Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free." Not the best relationship advice to follow; especially since I somehow wound up being the cow. Udderly ridiculous!

Yet, here I am, wondering what I'm heifer as you yank me this way and that. This way and that way and this way and that way. Have you ever seen a laddie yanked this way and that? And not in the good way either.

So I laugh, a childish laugh, as our relationship becomes guided by childish nonsense, instead of adult love and respect.

Moo, y'all, moo.

love and hostage

Around the neighborhood lurk undesirable characters. Not you - you just have undesirable habits. No, I'm referring to those wonderful souls who quietly invite themselves into the homes and cars of our peaceful neighbors, and steal things.

When I lived alone and couldn't return home because of work, I wasn't too worry. I had the blinds drawn over the windows to block the prying eyes of passers-by. The living room lights would automatically turn on when they sensed the approaching darkness of the night. To the outside world, it looked as though someone lived inside.

Now, you and your family live in my home. We happily open the shades to let in the warmth and beauty of daylight. So, to protect you and your goodies from those with thieving hearts, I ask that we close the window shades at night. Otherwise, anyone can stand by the roadside, hidden in the shadows, and easily make an inventory of our belongs brightly lit by the living room lamps. Yet, you repeatedly ignore my simple request.

Are you so pampered that you don't have the strength to stand up and twirl the curtain rod a few turns to close the blinds? Is the darkest outside the windows and the sudden appearance of light from the living room lamp not enough of hint? Are my requests too much for you?

I feel like I'm living in a hostage situation for my life. I've met your demands; I've changed my habits; I've gone above and beyond to accommodate your every desire. How about you put a little action behind your words of "I love you"? How about you clean your messes? How about you respect my wishes?

I guess I could escalate this hostage situation by changing the door locks. But at that point, we would only be negotiating how to get your stuff out of my house. Our relationship would no longer be part of the talks. Then we would become the most undesirable of characters - angry ex-lovers.

all is fair in love and fair

To be fair, we can say that you’ve tried. But, to be County Fair, your reflection in the fun mirrors of my heart has gotten uglier.

Sorry. That was a little mean. Still, I've found myself look forward to the tension-free times when you're away.

You keeping saying, "I love you." I wish your actions and attitude spoke the same words.