It’s been a difficult month or so following a lot of fun.
In September I took a 15 day road trip through the southeast: Chapel Hill, Charlotte to see friends, Savannah, Daytona for a 3 day sales meeting, west across Florida to St. George Island, a weekend in Destin, Mobile to see a Jimmy Buffett museum installation, Biloxi, Natchez to pick up the Natchez Trace to Vicksburg, Muscle Shoals, Nashville for the weekend and home again. 15 days, 9 states, about 3000 miles. It was a lot of windshield time, not a lot of talking and plenty of music. I knocked two things off my list: driving the length of the Natchez Trace Parkway and seeing Muscle Shoals Sound Studio. I felt like a pilgrim, and that was new. All things being equal, it was a GREAT vacation and one I needed badly. I was starting to get crispy at work.
When I got back to reality and Rufas came home, I noticed he was moving slower than normal. I figured it was because he spent two weeks in a house with 3 boys and 3 floors to move through. Like when I pick him up from the kennel, he usually sleeps hard the first day or so. Monday morning he was up and moving normally. He ate and met me at the door with his duck like always. Monday evening he disappeared into the bedroom. I assumed he was sleeping, and he was. At bedtime, our routine is “ok buddy, let’s go out.” This time he sat up but couldn’t get up on his own. I put it down to his age, 12 ½, so I helped him to his feet and he went out slowly. When he stopped and looked at the two steps into the garage, I knew something was up. Tuesday morning was the same, and by then I had a good idea what was going on, so I took him to the vet to confirm. A blood test showed his platelets were low and his blood chemistry was off. Internal bleed, most likely a splenic mass. An ultrasound confirmed it and I knew it was time to say goodbye. That was 2 days before my birthday. On October 5th, Thing 2 and I took him in to say goodbye for real, and I came home to an empty house for the first time in my entire life. The silence was deafening. A month later, I’ve come to embrace being able to come and go without worrying about another creature. It’s oddly freeing, and it still sucks.
In the middle of all this, I had two experiences where I let myself dream about a future. Not far into the future, just the chance to know someone deeper, wake up with them and enjoy their company. Both fell flat. It’s starting to feel repetitive, and I don’t know if it’s me and how I am, or if I’m just too damn kind, too damn direct and don’t play enough games. It’s a mystery. I’m starting to think I’m very good at playing the part of interesting fella, and when people get to know me, they don’t know what to do with me.
All of this has me back off the mean streets of dating again. I can’t seem to line up someone I find interesting AND attractive who digs me for me. That feels like whining, and maybe it is. When I sit down with my guy Stanley, he asks what else I expect and tells me what he always has: to find someone, you’ve got to risk being hurt. The thing is, I’m not sure I open myself up enough to allow that anymore. Being on my own isn’t hard. It’s boring sometimes, but it’s not difficult. I’m used to making my own decisions without a second opinion, even if I’d like one from time to time.
In the end, I guess everything will work out the way it’s supposed to. If I’m meant to have a partner, it’ll happen on its own timeline. When I get another dog, it’ll happen when it’s supposed to. After all, what do I know? My family is healthy, I have a roof over my head and I have good friends to commiserate with. And with that, I’ll sign off. Be kind to yourself, be kind to others and be someone’s rock and/or port in the storm.
Stay Salty my friends.