I thought I had to get away from here for a little while. I made reservations and I invited my husband. He declined my invitation because he is a workaholic. It is an obsession. It may even be a clinical disorder. Quite frankly, I don’t see the purpose. We will eventually die and all this work will not matter one tiny bit. It doesn’t matter now. It is an inconsequential, meaningless, way to pass the time that remains until we die. You heard it here first.
I have taken up roaring. I didn’t know I had the capacity to roar but apparently the lungs work well enough for me to bellow in a voice that can be heard across land and sea. I am not a screamer, never have been, frown upon it. It is not good to roar at the person you love more than anyone else in the whole world. For one thing the guilt is overwhelming, particularly when one is accustomed to accomplishing quite a lot only to discover that previously abundant energy is now in short supply. My husband feels guilty too, he says, “I never meant for it to be like this.” I hate that he feels guilty but I don’t understand why he can’t be satisfied by a happy, little, life where we are grateful to wake up every day without running frantically like gerbils on a treadmill.
He took me to the bus. I LOVE the bus. It takes three buses (a commuter bus, a big bus, and a city bus) for me to get from here to a nice clean hotel room somewhere that is not here. At the bus terminal I watched two couples. The first couple must have been in their early 70s. The wife was debilitated on her right side, she wore sky blue and lilac, often smiling at nothing more than her own thoughts. Her husband stood close behind her as she boarded the bus. He helped her into a comfortable seat. They were pleased to be embarked. The second couple was also in their 70s. The husband was unsettled. Although he did not have luggage in the overhead compartment, he was inordinately interested in the latches. He couldn’t unfasten them due to his tremors. His wife distracted him from the exasperating latches and he sat down. I peeked at the future in those two couples. I hope I will be more like them and less like me and find grace to keep me from roaring.
I missed my husband so much that I stayed away only one night.