It’s been less than a week since my last blog. I would like to post an update.
I am over my solitude.
I am so over it. My feet hurt, which is hard to do when I can’t feel anything below my knees. My right knee, which I twinged in the Pisgah National Forest, has settled into an on-going, throbbing pain, interspersed with moments of shooting agony. I should probably be taking it easy and let my arthritis calm down. Instead, I’ve been putting 3-5 miles a day on my feet and knees. Today alone I’ve done 11,000 steps, about 4.64 miles. I’m sitting here, with a bag of ice on my knee, and a heating pad on my lower back. Ahhhhhhh, life!
I miss home. I miss the Devilish Duo. I miss Roman’s Pinky–like hijinks, and Stevie’s plans to take over the world. I miss Jessica’s sass. I miss my dogs. Who else is there? Oh yeah. My best friend. The love of my life. The yin to my yang. The Tom MacDonald to my Ben Shapiro. The Rob McElhenny to my Ryan Reynolds. Robin, my much better half.
After 34 years, it’s the little things you miss. When she comes home from work, I am usually treated to her telling me about her day. Look, I listen to her, not because I’m fascinated about the mundane minutiae of her life, but because it’s her talking. As I often tell her, “I love your feckless meanderings.” It’s true. It’s not about what she is saying, it’s about the fact that she is sharing it with me.
I am a much better man because of her. Thus, I do miss the positive influence she has had on my life. I eat better and drink better to avoid The Look. Married guys know about The Look. The Look says, “You know you’re being stupid. You need to stop it on your own, allowing yourself the deception that it was your idea. If you make me stop it, you’ll definitely be sorry!”
Happiness is coming to the understanding that she is usually right. While I have hedonistically enjoyed not having her correct my errors, I do appreciate that she does so because she does love me.
I also miss the cwtch. Cwtch is a Welsh term to describe a hug, but one with more emotional meaning. Yes, I’m saying I need a hug, but a Welsh one. A cwtch is something only a significant other can give. If I cwtch a stranger, I’m probably getting tased, then arrested. As they say in Wales, “Anyone can hug, but only the Welsh can cwtch.”
To cap off this trite bit of dross, I’ll post this little bit of a song.
Show me the way to go home,
I’m tired and I want to go to bed,
I had a little drink about an hour ago,
And it’s gone right to my head,
Wherever I may roam,
On land or sea or foam,
You will always hear me singing this song,
Show me the way to go home.
Meditations of a Bald, Fat Guy 