Day 254

Hey Firewoman!  You writing much?  Why no, no I'm not.  And yet when I'm in the car with the music turned way way up, I wish I was.  I read a post today where a commenter asked the author if she maybe is addicted to intensity.  She brought out that this "writer" needed to feel something as opposed to nothing and even if the something was a train taking her way off track, at least it was going somewhere.  It struck a nerve.

I had a date night this weekend that went awry.  Two passionate fiery rockets were one two many for our fast, but aging car to handle and we went our separate ways.  I find in these moments when neither of us are willing to back down, mostly me, that it's best to cool off.  We had the sitter already and there's no way I'm paying for nothing, so we stopped to get Layla and took off in different directions.  I gave it some thought.  I'm not good at asking for help, advice maybe, but even that in not so many words.  I might send a text..."How ya doing?"  or "What are you doing right now?"  That's my cryptic way of saying I need you, got a minute to talk because my head is spinning with possibilities right now and I need to talk it out.   That was where I was at.

I texted K.  What was she doing and she was open to walking right there in the middle of a perfectly delectable evening.  To waste this evening would have been a sin.  And we walked and we shared and we weren't alone in our lightening storms that our closest relationships can bring.   And we got trapped, a ten foot chain link fence surrounded our therapy session.  She looked at me.  We can jump this or we can go back.  I'm not one that likes going backwards, not in life, not in walks.  I was game, my upper body strength was not.  I was stuck on top of this unstable at best hunk or metal straddling it and looking over the valley.  Beauty and danger tied up in one hurt so good scary moment.  I couldn't turn myself around and my tennis shoe was too big to fit in the rung behind me.  She said, "I'll save you, firewoman."  And she jumped the fence and helped me down the other side.  Two less than frumpy thirty somethings living on the edge, one without that aforementioned upper body strength supporting each other.  And by the time I dropped her off, I was ready for a take-two with the Tster.

I called him.  He was in a movie, but that was good you see because it gave me time to long for him.  For that guy with the affinity for rolling up his church shirt sleeves just below the elbow who commands a crowd on Sunday afternoon as easily as I breathe.  We attempted to talk.  Not so much.  More time needed.  Then we tried again.  Third times a charm. 

That's marriage to me.  Sitting up on top of a ten foot fence.  Your scared because you could really get hurt, but the view, what you've been through, where you're going together, but sometimes you feel like you're stuck...then the other person jumps over the fence when you can't and catches you before you fall and break all your bones.