Well, it’s Friday. I made it. Right now some aging United 767, serviced by a disgruntled mechanic, staffed with elderly and surly flight attendants, is winging me back to Heathrow. I need the air miles, I might actually get a free trip on United one day.
I’m not sure I’m any happier. My wife is pushing for me to move on. “You can’t keep coming back home. You can’t give the kids false hope. You have to get on with your own life. We can be friends. You’ve run off the reservation multiple times. You should be happy.”
I’ve realized it’s not the fear of the unknown that I’m scared of. I like change. I’m also totally comfortable with my position in the business world. The role that I’ve created for myself. I wrote my own position. Like the Broadway play “The Mousetrap”, I’ll play on forever and be happy.
It’s that I haven’t seen many couples I resonant with. I have seen far too many unhappy guys, some drown out the noise by being sexually permissive, others by simply being alone. I’ve seen weird dress and behaviour. I’ve seen camp guys who would make a woman blush with their girlie ways. I’ve witnessed insecurity which squeeze all kinds of emotional reactions. Butch, bitchy or boring. I think back to each guy I’ve met and the underlying psychic issue they were dealing with. I’m crazy too, but prescription drugs can help. But what I haven’t seen is me. I’m still looking for me.
I’m glad I have TC, at least for the moment. At some point in the wee hours of Saturday morning, he’ll slip into bed, his toasty brown self, I’ll automatically nuzzle up against him, gasp a breath of his scent and close my eyes and fall soundly back asleep.