I sat and reviewed some of my recent postings to you, looked hard at where I was going with all this and realized that I somehow, somewhere in May and bit of June I lost my head again. Most certainly I strayed off the reservation into territory that was clearly marked "no trespassing". It wasn't marked with skull and cross-bones nor was it posted with signs pock marked with bullet holes. It wasn't surrounded with chain link, razor wire and policed by guard dogs, it was just a simple, clear and suscinct warning letter in my personnel jacket. It told me to watch myself, pay attention and don't confuse excitement about work assignments with anything else. But damn, M, when you have folks over for supper it sure feels like friendship. Strange to think that this fifty one year old man still doesn't understand that, still doesn't have it down. That the kind of friendship we shared was mutual, heavenly, one of kind and is just not capable of duplication, not in the way that we had it.
So, instead I look at where I was going with those posts and realize that I was misunderstanding key signals. I thought that the light was green when in fact my enthusiasm tripped up my ability to see colors clearly. I lapsed into a temporary case of color blindness and thought I saw "green". How was I to know that mutually satisfying activities and invitations and all that were some sort of trap for my ego? I was led to my demise by my own doing, sure, but that's only because I thought that everything was okay. Nothing quite like hoisting yourself up on your own petard. Somehow in my mind I had been allowed under the fence to join the party. Led to believe that the juice was off. That the dogs were finally penned. Man did I blunder.
As my friend the Snake Lady told me, they can only do this to you once. I suppose. But, then, the real question is: when will I learn?
I think of us back in the day and know that if the powers that be really had it out for you and me they would have brought the hammer down years ago. I read my missives to you from the back of this list all the way to the present and realize that this document, in the wrong hands, is a real sinker. That my dismissals of you and this relationship are far outweighed by my fervent prayers of us being reunited, of finding each other again, of me being able to look you straight in the eye before the lights go out and say "good night, Jane". It's that bad and that good and all that. A real crowd pleaser. A real line in the sand. A real piece of work that somehow, possibly, if the story isn't told just right, might get me fired.
But as I told you, or maybe just told the gods, my marriage was scuttled when my letters to you were found in that open mailbox back in November, and my job could quite possibly be already lost because due to some inadvertantly sent blog post. Somehow I know that my wording was misunderstood. That someone thought these letters to you were for someone else. And sure, I can be accused of misreading signals, but then again, that seems to be my speciality. I know, too, that your prayers are out there for me to move along in life, but after this latest Waterloo I am about done with those kinds of moves. Three times I've taken on the quest since we've been apart, and that is apart from trying to work things out with my Estranged One. What can I say? I don't like to be alone. Nevertheless I found out the hard way that there is no replacing you. Should I have known that from the beginning? Or can I just chalk up all that effort to being lonely?
But when it comes to work and co-workers I think I got carried away. Maybe it was the excitement of all those darned programs, of that invite to the canal on the 2nd of July. Maybe it was just that I was feeling vital for the first time in years. Maybe somehow, too, I thought that that long period of "we" as it pretained to us was finally behind me, that I was finally around the bend. Not so. Too bad. All those good wishes for a interesting second half of the year all crashed into the Sound. A flaming wreck on the highway of trust. But it's all behind me now. I think for the time being, or for maybe for who knows how many years, I will just allow myself just this one little thing, this one thing I have been good at the last four years and that's loving you.
Sure, it smacks of obsessiveness, but it doesn't harm anybody. And sure, it keeps me from getting out there into the shark..er...dating pool, helps keep me from having a regular sex life, and on occasion forces me to occupy the high ground of loneliness. No matter. I'm good to go with it. You might already know this but my library is full of liquor boxes. And there is a woman who lives across the street from me who runs a B and B who is looking hard at this house. Plus I have applications going out to agencies and businesses all over Idaho. And baby, I have pretty much written off this place, my beloved Port Orchard. And what's truly crazy about that is that it's okay. Today I took the grand tour of PO, did all the stops along the Stations of the Cross and once again missed you. I came home and took a look at my dahlias and knew that it was time to take that wooden box, the satchel and get on the down the road. Plant tubers in some other yard, in a place far away that I wouldn't be tempted to cut one down and run over to the Woods and toss it on your lawn.
I placed an application with the State of Idaho for a job in Pocatello. Even the Estranged One, who has lived in Idaho for four years now had to ask where that was. It was far enough away from her daily grind but close enough to make the kids easily accessible on weekends. It was small enough and inexpensive enough for me to possibly buy a home there. It was close enough to the Rockies to make for decent seasonal weather. And it was close enough to the highways that lead to Colorado for me to finally see all those sacred spots I've been dying to see. I can finally make it to Delta, head over and up to Loveland, drop down to Durango. See all those places that you saw with your eyes, see those places where you lived. Fill in the gaps.
Another brick in the obsessive road? No, more filler for the novel. All that driving I can write off, I think. I see my first chapter coming soon. Nonetheless I see many boxes being filled. I see my kids occupying my life in a way they haven't been able to do in a long time. And I finally see something that I should have seen the day we said goodbye a year and some odd months ago: that it's time to get on with life but also stay on the path. Somehow, and while you may deny it, this I can see oh so very clearly, and that is that you and I will meet again.
That wooden box, that cotton satchel and the first pages of my forthcoming book all tell me so.
Your WHMB
So, instead I look at where I was going with those posts and realize that I was misunderstanding key signals. I thought that the light was green when in fact my enthusiasm tripped up my ability to see colors clearly. I lapsed into a temporary case of color blindness and thought I saw "green". How was I to know that mutually satisfying activities and invitations and all that were some sort of trap for my ego? I was led to my demise by my own doing, sure, but that's only because I thought that everything was okay. Nothing quite like hoisting yourself up on your own petard. Somehow in my mind I had been allowed under the fence to join the party. Led to believe that the juice was off. That the dogs were finally penned. Man did I blunder.
As my friend the Snake Lady told me, they can only do this to you once. I suppose. But, then, the real question is: when will I learn?
I think of us back in the day and know that if the powers that be really had it out for you and me they would have brought the hammer down years ago. I read my missives to you from the back of this list all the way to the present and realize that this document, in the wrong hands, is a real sinker. That my dismissals of you and this relationship are far outweighed by my fervent prayers of us being reunited, of finding each other again, of me being able to look you straight in the eye before the lights go out and say "good night, Jane". It's that bad and that good and all that. A real crowd pleaser. A real line in the sand. A real piece of work that somehow, possibly, if the story isn't told just right, might get me fired.
But as I told you, or maybe just told the gods, my marriage was scuttled when my letters to you were found in that open mailbox back in November, and my job could quite possibly be already lost because due to some inadvertantly sent blog post. Somehow I know that my wording was misunderstood. That someone thought these letters to you were for someone else. And sure, I can be accused of misreading signals, but then again, that seems to be my speciality. I know, too, that your prayers are out there for me to move along in life, but after this latest Waterloo I am about done with those kinds of moves. Three times I've taken on the quest since we've been apart, and that is apart from trying to work things out with my Estranged One. What can I say? I don't like to be alone. Nevertheless I found out the hard way that there is no replacing you. Should I have known that from the beginning? Or can I just chalk up all that effort to being lonely?
But when it comes to work and co-workers I think I got carried away. Maybe it was the excitement of all those darned programs, of that invite to the canal on the 2nd of July. Maybe it was just that I was feeling vital for the first time in years. Maybe somehow, too, I thought that that long period of "we" as it pretained to us was finally behind me, that I was finally around the bend. Not so. Too bad. All those good wishes for a interesting second half of the year all crashed into the Sound. A flaming wreck on the highway of trust. But it's all behind me now. I think for the time being, or for maybe for who knows how many years, I will just allow myself just this one little thing, this one thing I have been good at the last four years and that's loving you.
Sure, it smacks of obsessiveness, but it doesn't harm anybody. And sure, it keeps me from getting out there into the shark..er...dating pool, helps keep me from having a regular sex life, and on occasion forces me to occupy the high ground of loneliness. No matter. I'm good to go with it. You might already know this but my library is full of liquor boxes. And there is a woman who lives across the street from me who runs a B and B who is looking hard at this house. Plus I have applications going out to agencies and businesses all over Idaho. And baby, I have pretty much written off this place, my beloved Port Orchard. And what's truly crazy about that is that it's okay. Today I took the grand tour of PO, did all the stops along the Stations of the Cross and once again missed you. I came home and took a look at my dahlias and knew that it was time to take that wooden box, the satchel and get on the down the road. Plant tubers in some other yard, in a place far away that I wouldn't be tempted to cut one down and run over to the Woods and toss it on your lawn.
I placed an application with the State of Idaho for a job in Pocatello. Even the Estranged One, who has lived in Idaho for four years now had to ask where that was. It was far enough away from her daily grind but close enough to make the kids easily accessible on weekends. It was small enough and inexpensive enough for me to possibly buy a home there. It was close enough to the Rockies to make for decent seasonal weather. And it was close enough to the highways that lead to Colorado for me to finally see all those sacred spots I've been dying to see. I can finally make it to Delta, head over and up to Loveland, drop down to Durango. See all those places that you saw with your eyes, see those places where you lived. Fill in the gaps.
Another brick in the obsessive road? No, more filler for the novel. All that driving I can write off, I think. I see my first chapter coming soon. Nonetheless I see many boxes being filled. I see my kids occupying my life in a way they haven't been able to do in a long time. And I finally see something that I should have seen the day we said goodbye a year and some odd months ago: that it's time to get on with life but also stay on the path. Somehow, and while you may deny it, this I can see oh so very clearly, and that is that you and I will meet again.
That wooden box, that cotton satchel and the first pages of my forthcoming book all tell me so.
Your WHMB
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