Part of me needs to go to the gym. Part of me needs to sit and write. I shredded old medical billing records and some from my beauty consultant business last night. Also the correspondence from wrangling about child support or, mostly, the lack thereof. I could never quite make myself sic the Attorney General on him, and it was good to fold and shred a one-inch stack of paperwork last night and realize that I truly did forgive him for all of that when he had his last two strokes, two years ago. Just “I remember that I used to be really upset over this, and now I’m not. Wow. Thanks!”
I started that business in 2003, when he was out of work for over a year, in order to replace the child support. I actually made a modest profit my second full year in business. After three years I realized that my raises at work more than equaled my profits, with less effort, so I sold off all of my inventory and concentrated on enjoying LittleBit’s high school adventures. Which were many.
I have three empty boxes waiting by the front door, ready to be broken down and put into the recycling bin. They’re not in good enough shape for me to hand them on to a friend who is moving. I have the next batch of shredding folded and stacked on top of the shredder. I have one completed missionary hat on the coffee table, another half-inch worked on Willow’s sock, and the needles in the Ubiquitous Red Bag to cast on for the second missionary hat. I even cleaned out my purse last night.
Temple bag is by the front door, as is the gym bag. I think only one of them is going to get used today.
Before I forget, I have been accepted into a study on menopause and heart health. They are investigating whether there is a connection between hot flashes and heart disease. Since I have/had neither, I will presumably be part of the control group. I have the first appointment in early December, when we will schedule the second and final appointment, which involves nuking various bits of me [if I remember correctly, they will do a CT scan of my heart, thus proving that, unlike my children suspected when they were teenagers, I actually have one].
Which is in pretty decent shape, literally and metaphorically, until somebody tells me otherwise. Saturday went well. Saturday, actually, was pretty darn terrific.
He arrived here at 10:30, and we sat and talked for a bit, because there was room for him to sit on the couch (!!!). I went to the Iplehouse website and showed him Fourthborn’s new doll, and the one I traded to her for Celeste. Then we hopped in his car and went up to the Greek Festival, where we proceeded to eat and eat and eat. The food was amazing. So was the music. And the dancing. There were two dance troupes: one of kids maybe 9-12, and another of older teens and young adults. Even the little kids were good, particularly the girls. The native Greek costumes were spectacular. You know that I am going to be happy when surrounded by skilled embroidery.
Ran into one of my friends from stake choir practice and introduced her to the new guy and vice versa. Then he and I went outside to sit under a tent and eat dessert(s) and plan out the rest of the day. We decided to skip the Maya exhibition at the Kimbell, because it will be there until sometime in January. We came back here, and he puttered with the TV while I put a batch of brownies into the oven. Then he freshened up for the dinner and dance while I puttered. And I delegated getting the brownies out of the pan to him while I freshened up, and we got into our respective cars and drove toward Denton. It did not make sense to either of us for him to drive us up to Denton and then have to come back here, drop me off, and drive to Garland after the dance.
We thought we had good directions: up I-35 to University, right on University, left on Malone. The only problem with that was that the exit we needed was not named University, and we didn’t figure that out until we were in Sanger, which is nearly in Gainesville, which might as well be in Oklahoma. So there we were, navigating by cell phone, making U-turns at exits and taking one creative detour that was my idea but put us back on the highway, headed north. And through it all, neither of us got mad. We just concentrated on solving the problem. I know that I wasn’t frustrated about it, and when he told mutual friends after we arrived at the meetinghouse, he had them in stitches, so I think it’s fair to say that he wasn’t mad, either. Which is pretty darn cool.
We sat at different tables during the dance, visited with other friends while occasionally touching base. We weren’t on a date, at the dance. And we did dance together, and I had great visits with two of the other petri dishes, one of whom seems to think I’m the greatest thing since sliced bread [and my nonsense detector works really well, with other women]. So it was a lot of fun, and I came home when I was tired, and I slept like a rock.
I don’t have a sense that we made any great leap toward couplehood last Saturday, but it was a very pleasant day, even while we were lost. One of the other petri dishes is definitely off the island, by mutual desire, and she is rooting for me. I keep telling her, gently, that it has to be his idea, and when he makes up his mind, then I will pray over it and decide what I want to do.
Oh, and there was an email from NintendoMan at the beginning of last weekend, telling me that he would like to go to the Thanksgiving dinner and fireside and dance, this coming Saturday, and could he hitch a ride? I told him I was perfectly fine with it but wanted to run it by the new guy to see if he had any problem with it. New guy said “no problem whatsoever, but thank you for asking”, so I will be taking my ex-boyfriend to the dance, and I will be assured of lively conversation there and back, and NintendoMan can maybe make some great new friends to go with the ones he already has. And it certainly ought to liven up some conversations among my age-mates that evening, LOL.
Confusing people. It’s one of the things I do best...
- Five years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!