I just read a similar diary of an on-line friend, who (literally) made locking the keys in the car into a moment of comedic pathos. And he doesn't get why I am insanely jealous.
I tend to write extreme stuff. (Sorry about all of these technical terms. I have grandbabies now, I'm entitled.) My style is suspense, horror, occasionally fantasy. And as you have by now assessed, I have no life.
I had my first date in years last Saturday night. It was for a fundraiser, a big to-do for the local arts center, and even sounded like fun this time. My date was the only neighbor I would risk speaking to, and to this day I can't recall his name, even though I've asked him several times and he's replied each time. Considering that intimate relationship, when I was given two tickets to the fundraiser, he was the most likely suspect for a date. I knocked on his door the night before The Big Event and asked if he'd go.
I'm not sure if he choked or was just clearing his throat, but he didn't say no, so it was a date.
Now, I should explain that the glamorous world of radio had treated me exceptionally well that week. By Friday night I hadn't worked more than seventy hours or so, most of which was spent cultivating my ulcer. I managed to get through the whole week without being screamed at by any politicians (a record, I assure you.) Granted, the broadcast computer running the studio had crashed three or four times a day, every day, and I was getting phone calls 24/7 that sent me off driving by the Braille method to fix the damned thing.
Incidentally, my job is news. In this station, that encompasses dealing with the normal ilk, plus being our IT person, assistant GM, supply clerk, traffic person (in radio-ese, that's commercials, not the cars of real humans who drive by and laugh.) Oh, and in my spare time I've been negotiating a deal for a T1 and creating and managing the studio web site.
And I only had to work another eight or nine hours Saturday before The Big Event Saturday night - piece of cake!
Saturday after dragging my ass home from work, I stared longingly at my bed on my way through the apartment, thinking it should really be ashamed of itself for looking so good. Those soft pillows and the quilt were calling to me, but I steeled myself against their siren song. I had a DATE.
I realized that I'd left time nebulous, so I ran to neighbor's place and knocked on the door to let him know what time things started and that dinner was included in the festivities. He didn't have to do anything except show up. He nodded and smiled and I was gone again to take a shower and try to stay awake long enough to get ready.
An hour later I was in full regalia, even dragged out the makeup I hid from Teenaged Daughter a little over six months ago. I went all out for this. I figured the allergic reaction was worth it. So what if my eyes swelled closed the next few hours?
Time to leave rolled around and my Date wasn't there. I figured, fine, no big deal. Half an hour later I ran over to knock on his door, thinking maybe he'd misunderstood the time. He didn't answer, so I knew what I had to do. I cheated on him. I snuggled right up with those pillows and quilt, shameless as anything. I think I might have heard someone knocking at the front door a few minutes later but by that time I was beyond redemption. I slept for fourteen hours straight.
Best damned date I ever had!
Before - After
In the grander scheme of things, no soul can truly be replaced. Each one of us has a place in the universal tapestry. We each contribute our own color and texture. When one thread is snipped too soon, it distorts all the threads around it. Other lives can unravel and tear. If the wrong thread is ripped away, the whole fabric of life becomes dangerously fragile.
- LeiLani, aka Radiogurl aka Bright Opal (1957 - )