Sump Pump. The first words that popped up as I awoke this morning, unclenching my jaws and noting the light outside. Later than usual…a Sunday, 7 am. The Bob Edwards show on NPR and my mind fractured. I went to bed last night at a more reasonable hour, after an hour of red wine and Catherine the Great. After a day of client work, at the computer, seeing the gorgeous spring unfolding around me.
It’s one of those weekends. I haven’t had one in quite a while. Friday I went for drinks with a girlfriend at our favorite bar. She went home to cook dinner for hubby, I moved to a cafe table in the bar and had dinner. Before vacating my barstool I talked briefly with a frequent bar patron–an acquaintance I hadn’t seen in months. He commented on my long hair, I commented on his, and then, surprisingly, he asked if I was dating anyone. He’s not the type to ask that kind of question. It threw me. The official answer is no. I’m not seeing anyone. I get on my preferred online dating site, Okcupid, for a brief look and find nothing desirable within a 70 mile radius. Apparently no one finds me all that desirable either. I’m not even trying at this point.
I’m having my dinner with a glass of wine as the bar fills. From my vantage point I can see people as they enter the restaurant as well. Everyone is paired off. Friday night is couples night. The couple at the far corner of the bar are acting like teens, not mature adults of 50+ years. I sit alone, in full view. It started the weekend off poorly. Two Cosmos. A glass of wine with dinner. Driving home I see couples, only couples. By 9 pm I’m in bed. You can’t think when you’re asleep.
Why was this Friday different from the last 20 Friday nights I spent all alone? Wednesday I discovered that the scar tissue in my esophagus has grown back, not as severely as last year but… And, I have esophageal dysmotility. That’s new. This is all similar to what happened last March. I don’t know what the motility thing really means. I watched on the screen as the liquid barium trickled down my throat, paused and then continued on. It should have been a steady flowing stream. I saw the little barium pill get stuck in my throat. Weird.
Shit happens. I’m tough. I’ve dealt with my own fair share of adversity-alone. And, it’s the alone part that triggers my ‘stuff’. Swanlady reminded me that in the midst of my broken foot trauma almost 2 years ago I had a partner and yet was essentially alone in dealing with that situation.
A momentary blip on the why-am-I-all-alone and why-doesn’t-anyone-want-to-be-my-man screen. The solution? Well it’s not booze and hours of sleeping. I’ve always handled the issues in my family life, even when there was a spouse around. This is really minor stuff, this throat of mine. No hotdog eating contests for me. Another career opportunity squashed.
Catherine the Great didn’t like being alone either. For the very same reasons. She wanted stimulating conversation, the comfort of someone who cared (even if the care was paid for in rubles and jewels) and be a companion. She could bestow favors on her young men. She could demand they be at her side. Alas, those are things I can’t do.
Maybe Sump Pump is some magical hint from The Universe? I don’t have one in my house, nor do I need one (but yes, I know what they are and what they do, etc….). So, it must be something important, something that could change circumstances for me.
I think I’ll call my therapist.
