soapboxdiner

Concerning Heaven, Hell, Pigs and Pervs

Hello!!!

Sorry I have been remiss in updating and responding to kindly notes and such. I've been away and haven't checked emails or logged on here in a while.

How YOU doin'?

So here's the thing. Me and the kiddo have been hanging with the D00d man heavy. We're all in love and stuff. You know the drill.

Except . . . D00d and I lay in bed at night and we're all peanut butter and bananas, Elvis style, right? Only the other night at about 3:00 I woke up. D00d was wrapped around me, holding my hand in his sleep. His naked body was pressed against my naked body and we were nestled down in the softest sheets and the fluffiest comforter and it was HEAVEN, right?

I mean, I'm sure we can all search back in our histories and remember times when we've been alone and the bed was cold. Back when the presence of utter ALONENESS seeped into our every pore of consciousness. Yes?

And in the middle of the night with D00d wrapped around me, his deep, languid breath quietly rustling my hair, tickling my ear, I uttered a word to rouse him. I wanted to tell him that I wanted to make love with him, that I loved him.

I opened my lips and drew my breath, and quietly said ...

Mr. T.

Where in the hell did that come from? That wasn't the name I wanted.

And that's kind of the thing. It has been one year, eight and one-half months since Mr. T and I separated via two 911 calls and a pair of handcuffs. We haven't seen or spoken to each other in one year and one day. I think back to him and all that remains are reticent memories filled with anger and anguish. And yet he remains the measure of all good things as well. Not in as much as he is the typification of good, but more as a measure of bad that all good things are quantified against.

But if I were honest, there is a small vestigal itch that remembers the rhythm of our life together and finds a kind of comfortable longing for the return of its sure cadence. And I share with D00d my consternation that Mr. T is still so engrained in my psyche. "When will he leave?" I ask D00d. "Why is it that my happiness with you is qualified against my unhappiness with him? It isn't right. I want it washed away."

Is it like that with divorce, I wonder. Is this the process of healing and moving on?

p.s. In discussing Christmas gifts, D00d asked me which was my favorite gem. Sapphires, he asked. Rubies?

Rubies do not compliment my complexion, but sapphires, tanzanite or alexandrite are lovely.

Would you like music, he asked.

Yes, darling. I would love some old school Billy Joel.

How about silky pajamas?

Yes, yes, yes! I love that you like touching me when I wear soft things.

Do you see how swimmingly this is going, darlings? Do you see the in-synchiness we are experiencing at this juncture? And then . . .

OK. What size do you wear?

Skkkkkrrrrrtttttchhhhh. Hold up, wait a minute. You just threw a whole big stinky wrench all up in the wonderfulness, D00d.

Why do guys do that? I know this is a practical question in which men are not being critical or judgmental. Bless their hearts, they just want to get it right. But this is so totally Rule Number One not to ask. And I totally stepped all in it like I was the pig farmer's retard stepchild. But in my defense, he buttered me up first with talk of shiny stuff.

"Shut up, PERVY!" I quite graciously retorted. Because I'm quick-witted like that. But by damn I sure wasn't going to give him a number, just hoping that my prompt subject change would not go unnoticed. To which HE equally promptly said, "Fine. Don't tell me. I know where you keep your clothes."

Color me all ashudder with mortification at the thought. He better not. And that's all I have to say about that.

9:40 pm - 11.17.08
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