JayFarrar
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Mar 30, 2005
- Messages
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Just because ya'll can't seem to get enough. As always, read the previous chapters for background.
Chapter 7 — Walt Whitman's niece is a *****
The day broke early.
With an 8:30 in the morning appointment at the clinic, she needed help to get to the car.
So there I was, walking a 35-year-old woman down the steps. My shoulders serving as a human walker.
It didn't take long, and sooner rather than later I was back at the office.
The cell phone rings about 11:30.
All I hear are tears.
The news from the clinic wasn't good.
The surgery didn't take. The doctors are going to have to go in again. Fix the mistake made by the first surgery.
The timetable for rehab has been pushed back. She won't be able to put any weight on her leg.
The immobilizer will have to stay on full-time for three to four weeks.
Her mother has suddenly become her new roommate. She simply can't even get around her apartment.
I've gone from being a boyfriend to a hospice worker.
Life sucks.
•••
Fast forward a couple of weeks and despair has really set in. Not so much for her, but really more for me.
My life has settled into a routine.
I call around 5:30. I say I'm about to leave work, do I need to pick up anything for dinner. I'm given my instructions and arrive between 6 and 6:30. Dinner is served.
I go the computer as Kate and Project 8 Runway blah blah bull**** blares in the background.
Once the shows are over. It is off to the bedroom to discuss the day.
"How are the pain meds holding up?" "Does your knee just ache?" "How are things going?"
By 10, it is time for sleep and I leave.
Since her mom is for all intents and purposes living with her, I've been told that I can't sleep over. Because, you know, a 35-year-old unmarried woman shouldn't have a man in her bed at night.
I think I'm getting an odd taste of married life and I think, "This is what my life is going to be like for the next 40 years. Really?"
My single friend dating the single mother of a 3 year old provides odd counsel.
"This is what society expects. But what doubly sucks for both you and me, is that we are for all intents and purposes married but without enjoying any of the benefits that come with marriage. Or even our perceptions of the benefits that come with marriage. Either suck it up or stay single."
I'm not pleased, but what can I do. Be a douche bag like John McCain and dump her at the hospital? For ****s sake.
At least for the time being, I haven't run screaming for the hills. But I don't know what to do.
The only thing I know is that if this is what to expect, I think I'd rather stay single. At least I could watch Always Sunny in Philadelphia and not be told to turn it off since the show was so "gross."
In the mean time, I find out she's fairly well off, despite the appearances of being middle class. Prudent investing, which means bought Wal-Mart stock early, and living like a hermit means a fair amount of money in the bank.
This brings me an odd comfort; it also makes me feel like a douche.
•••
I admit to her that I've been writing about our relationship to a cast of thousands on the Internet. Surprisingly, she isn't pissed. I print out the previous installments, with some editing, and read them off one night.
[Ed's note: This chapter won't be printed out.]
She's amused. For the first time she hears the complete truth from me about the fire in her kitchen. Besides she knew I had been lying. Her complex recorded the smoke alarm going off and asked her about it.
I also admit that I haven't been all that happy about the direction of things.
She says the same. Then she asks that if money wasn't a concern, where would I go.
As part of my long-standing desire to hit all 50 states before I turn 50, I say Hawaii or Alaska.
She says that she had already been to Alaska, but not Hawaii. Then leaves it at that.
Part of me wishes she had gotten pissed and said, "leave. Now." But she didn't. She may like me even more now. She did ask how I could be so open with strangers and so vague with people who I actually now.
I didn't know how to answer that.
I'm still sticking around but the douche-y part of me thinks it is because I get a home-cooked meal every time I make an appearance, and the less douche-y part of me wonders if I have formed some sort of attachment.
The douche-y part of me says it isn't a romantic attachment, more simply it is my nurturing side making an appearance that and a desire for a free trip to Hawaii.
•••
The most recent trip to the clinic went better than the last. The second surgery has taken. She'll be able to get around and won't have to wear the immobilizer full-time now.
I don't what this means, since I just heard it a few hours ago.
Le fin
Chapter 7 — Walt Whitman's niece is a *****
The day broke early.
With an 8:30 in the morning appointment at the clinic, she needed help to get to the car.
So there I was, walking a 35-year-old woman down the steps. My shoulders serving as a human walker.
It didn't take long, and sooner rather than later I was back at the office.
The cell phone rings about 11:30.
All I hear are tears.
The news from the clinic wasn't good.
The surgery didn't take. The doctors are going to have to go in again. Fix the mistake made by the first surgery.
The timetable for rehab has been pushed back. She won't be able to put any weight on her leg.
The immobilizer will have to stay on full-time for three to four weeks.
Her mother has suddenly become her new roommate. She simply can't even get around her apartment.
I've gone from being a boyfriend to a hospice worker.
Life sucks.
•••
Fast forward a couple of weeks and despair has really set in. Not so much for her, but really more for me.
My life has settled into a routine.
I call around 5:30. I say I'm about to leave work, do I need to pick up anything for dinner. I'm given my instructions and arrive between 6 and 6:30. Dinner is served.
I go the computer as Kate and Project 8 Runway blah blah bull**** blares in the background.
Once the shows are over. It is off to the bedroom to discuss the day.
"How are the pain meds holding up?" "Does your knee just ache?" "How are things going?"
By 10, it is time for sleep and I leave.
Since her mom is for all intents and purposes living with her, I've been told that I can't sleep over. Because, you know, a 35-year-old unmarried woman shouldn't have a man in her bed at night.
I think I'm getting an odd taste of married life and I think, "This is what my life is going to be like for the next 40 years. Really?"
My single friend dating the single mother of a 3 year old provides odd counsel.
"This is what society expects. But what doubly sucks for both you and me, is that we are for all intents and purposes married but without enjoying any of the benefits that come with marriage. Or even our perceptions of the benefits that come with marriage. Either suck it up or stay single."
I'm not pleased, but what can I do. Be a douche bag like John McCain and dump her at the hospital? For ****s sake.
At least for the time being, I haven't run screaming for the hills. But I don't know what to do.
The only thing I know is that if this is what to expect, I think I'd rather stay single. At least I could watch Always Sunny in Philadelphia and not be told to turn it off since the show was so "gross."
In the mean time, I find out she's fairly well off, despite the appearances of being middle class. Prudent investing, which means bought Wal-Mart stock early, and living like a hermit means a fair amount of money in the bank.
This brings me an odd comfort; it also makes me feel like a douche.
•••
I admit to her that I've been writing about our relationship to a cast of thousands on the Internet. Surprisingly, she isn't pissed. I print out the previous installments, with some editing, and read them off one night.
[Ed's note: This chapter won't be printed out.]
She's amused. For the first time she hears the complete truth from me about the fire in her kitchen. Besides she knew I had been lying. Her complex recorded the smoke alarm going off and asked her about it.
I also admit that I haven't been all that happy about the direction of things.
She says the same. Then she asks that if money wasn't a concern, where would I go.
As part of my long-standing desire to hit all 50 states before I turn 50, I say Hawaii or Alaska.
She says that she had already been to Alaska, but not Hawaii. Then leaves it at that.
Part of me wishes she had gotten pissed and said, "leave. Now." But she didn't. She may like me even more now. She did ask how I could be so open with strangers and so vague with people who I actually now.
I didn't know how to answer that.
I'm still sticking around but the douche-y part of me thinks it is because I get a home-cooked meal every time I make an appearance, and the less douche-y part of me wonders if I have formed some sort of attachment.
The douche-y part of me says it isn't a romantic attachment, more simply it is my nurturing side making an appearance that and a desire for a free trip to Hawaii.
•••
The most recent trip to the clinic went better than the last. The second surgery has taken. She'll be able to get around and won't have to wear the immobilizer full-time now.
I don't what this means, since I just heard it a few hours ago.
Le fin
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