← Feb 2nd, 2015 at 7:41:19 pm

tcr! tcr! · Feb 2, 2015 at 7:41 pm

Kitchen consider your ass scrubbed.

Well the dishes are done anyway. I don’t mind washing dishes and often think I could’ve been happy as Tony Danza in Connecticut.

And so there I was thinking about Kathy as I was scrubbing the plates. Thinking that we’d probably have gotten along a lot better if I was the person then that I am now. Heck, I think was only 24 when we first got married and didn’t know my ass from a hubcap.

I’m definitely not saying that I would trade what I have now for any of that — qualifying that more for me than for you — and believe me when I say that we were both young and dumb and full of ourselves.

But I wonder about her now and then, she was my wife at one time after all, my compadre. I haven’t talked to her in probably close to 20 years. I did look her up once on Facebook a while back and I’m grateful now that Zuckerberg kept that profile private.

That’s one thing about getting older — I ponder on my own past lives as well. I’m not a big talker and generally feel like I have a mild case of social, awkward, anxiety, pretentious dementia but I think a lot.

All owls think a lot.

#confessional

tcr! tcr! · Feb 2, 2015 at 10:37 pm

So there I was perusing Instagram and found this photo. I guess the cosmos has spoken.

Post

tcr! tcr! · Feb 3, 2015 at 10:20 am

Pondering more on the way to work, I think with all my “free-styling” I missed what I was after last night: now that years have passed, feelings aren’t hurt, eyes are a little more open — all she wanted to do was love me and my head was too full of berserk, couldn’t see beyond myself, and I didn’t know how to communicate. In general.

I guess support tickets like these bubble to the surface because I have more ponders to do, maybe some guilt to let go of. I wasn’t a trophy husband by any stretch.

And more importantly: she wasn’t the enemy. Not an easy thing to realize years after the fact.

I could probably blab this to another person and I’m sure I already have. But that doesn’t always work. I seem to need to take my time in this space exploration and writing affords me that. When I’m thinking, writing, yammering I’m able to get to places I can’t in conversation.

I also think I put these out in a semi-public place for peeps to read is because locking them away in my head or on paper feels like I’m keeping secrets. It’s not real unless someone else reads it, even though said peeps probably think it’s boring.