Tuesday, July 26, 2011

letter eighteen


Dear Bartender,

Four days from now, we'll be in the thick of the planning. Tearing down a ceiling. Tearing up a carpet. Laying down wooden flooring. It's going to be a big, dirty job. And, when all is in place and dusted off, we will have a bar. A bar!

Yesterday I was numb with exciting energy. Today, after telling my office mates and sending an e-mail to my boss about the time off needed, I've passed the climatic point. When you call from a drive in my car, listening to NPR, you begin to rattle off what is on tap for you. A meeting with the accountant moved to Tuesday, after all the numbers are flush...

What's wrong? Why so down? You ask.

I'm bored. Tired. And, frankly, let down. Telecommuting options for work do not seem possible. I want to split the time with you between Poi and the city. I don't want to broaden our opposite schedules. I don't want to be alone THAT much. Yet, I do not have an option. I will remain working in the city and you will be working and living most of the week 60 miles away.

The glow lasted 24 hours. Almost exactly. Now, I'm simply worried. Fret about the negative repercussions. See the week ahead of you not really including my help. I have to wonder now, if all my musings about my role were just a fantasy.

Am I going to be living by myself all week? What will be the point of that?

But, I chalk my tone up to tiredness (true) and boredom (true, true) because these are things I know to be true at this moment. All other worry, notions, wonderment are just that. For now. After the ups and downs since April, I've learned to feel the emotions but to not allow them to take over because they evaporate tomorrow when another course of events takes us on yet another path.


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