It is midnight and I am home. Been back for a while now but have been buried in all of the crap that accumulates when you leave town.
Can’t help but wonder if there is an as of yet undiscovered scientific law that states if you leave town you receive twice as much mail as you would when you are home. I think that the post office ought to pay me for picking up my mail and taking it home because I must have carried in two tons of magazines and another 376 pounds of letters.
Someone needs to tell some of these companies about this magic place called the Internet and how most people aren’t interested in flipping through a 25 pound catalog filled with pictures of crap the store wants you to buy for your home.
It is possible that I might be biased about that and perhaps even a bit bitter. I know, I shouldn’t be bitter but sometimes when I think about my old house I get this twinge. There are pieces of it that I sometimes miss and then I think about 6’2 of stupid in my old bed and I smile because he has to deal with all of the other crap.
Life is too short to spend time working and worrying about things that are unimportant which is why I don’t live that life any more.
Sheri left me a half dozen messages on my phone asking me what I had decided to do. Apparently my tale of the race through the alligator farm must have made her think that I am really coming around to her way of thinking. Course I have noticed that many women seem to think that if you repeat something enough times a man will eventually come around to their way of thinking.
It is possible that there is truth to that but I have to be honest and say that for me it usually means that I am sleeping with you. I know, that sounds sort of shallow but you can’t expect me to run around pretending to be sweet, sensitive and cerebral all day long, now can you.
Besides I am good at aggravating women and have found that there is all sorts of fun in making their eyes bug out.
Anyway, I did try to call Sheri but her voicemail picked up and I didn’t leave a message. It wouldn’t have mattered if I had because the message wouldn’t have been long enough to contain all of the details that she wants and she just would call me back.
She has long been convinced that this Ann thing isn’t a thing in an abstract sort of way and that my best bet is to do more than think about calling her. She wants action which probably explains why her last message said something about my proving that my balls weren’t cut off. The juvenile part of me is tempted to send her a picture and a note saying that she was right.
Of course the picture won’t be of my boys because that would be unseemly and besides the Internet is filled with all sorts of fun stuff that I could use. The big problem with that is she won’t get upset or even roll her eyes. Damn woman has known me for far too long and would expect that. You know there is something kind of sad about that, no magic there.
Oh well, there comes a revolution.
Besides it really is easier to just give her what she wants to know and that is what I have decided to do about Ann. There is no real secret there either, I am going to try to get in touch with her.
The big question in my mind is how to do it. I can’t decide if I should just call, write or send smoke signals. Maybe I should send her a picture of Richard Dawson’s headstone.
That might sound sort of morbid to you, but there is a connection. We used to go back and forth about whether he was dead or alive. There was sort of a joke tied into that, but I don’t know if it would come across the way I want it to.
Hell, I am not really sure how to approach this because the reality is that it feels like no time has passed and at the same time it feels like a million years have passed. It feels like two different extremes to me. You could tell me that we would see each other and end up in bed within five minutes or end up screaming at each other within five minutes.
Either one of them feels possible and plausible. At the same time it really doesn’t have to be an either or proposition- there is a middle ground. I suppose that it is fair to say that I am nervous, but in a good way.
I remember a conversation with Ann where she told me that she was concerned about what I would think of her after pregnancy. She was afraid that her body would go through radical changes and that in turn I would lose interest in her. I told her that wasn’t true and that I couldn’t ever see a time where I wouldn’t be attracted to her.
We had the kind of crazy animal attraction that just doesn’t die and it wasn’t based solely upon looks.
Really, the biggest decision I am faced with now is whether I call or write her.