Life is a Sink?

I stood staring at the water slowly swirling in the sink, watching as it took it's sweet time to drain away, reflecting on the ways that the Water of my Life has been flowing in recent months...

and trying to remember which way it swirls back in the States.

As I came to the conclusion that it was probably clockwise, I remembered a time when I thought that the Flow of my Life was fairly smooth and unhindered. A time when I foolishly thought that blockages and clogs weren't too foreboding and were fairly easily cleared away. Then everything changed, and for as much as my own internal Channel widened, it also clogged horribly and abruptly, both uplifting and depressing me.

Shit, you were here, you read about it.

I took a long look at what I really wanted for my Life and came to the realization that, once the Channel of my Life is widened, it can't be shrunken again, and that I wouldn't sacrifice this widening simply to avoid the clog that I was currently facing.

I did my best to work through it, clearing away larger parts of it, little by little working my way into the clog but still knowing inherently that only time could truly wash it all away.

There was only one thing that could clear everything.

---

The kids were in bed, dinner's dishes were done, the Colds that would fell us in mere days were but sniffles in the back's of our noses... and the water was slowly draining as I stared pensively.\"Whatcha doin' honey?\" she asks, sliding her hands around my waist and up my shirt.

I made some comment about the role-reversal of the big, strong, husband doing dishes and being sexually harassed by the wife, but she didn't bite.

\"Aw,\" she said teasingly, noticing me staring at the draining water and mentioning the Coriolus Effect, \"are you homesick baby?\"

I smiled thoughtfully and realized that I wasn't even remotely, but she reached out and began splashing in the water anyway in an effort at reversing the swirling rotation.

\"If you really loved me,\" I teased, \"you'd install jets on all the drains, just like the U.S. Embassy in that Simpson's episode.\"

\"I can sing your America Anthem,\" she offered brightly, \"I know the melody at least, if not all the words!\"

I told her that I didn't think that was quite necessary, unless she could do a decent Ray Charles imitation, and that I'd rather simply have a kiss.

Our lips touched, our bodies locked into each other, and we bumped our way down the hall towards our incredibly bright future together.

---

I freely admit that that ever-elusive True Happiness is something that I have attained, as well as given to another, but I hesitate to pour forth all that it brings into my life for fear of alienating those that may never find it. I wish to though, very much, but sometimes the Sun shines too brightly, and even if it's only trying to bring warmth it can burn.Crappy dial-up and crappy computer also mean that I'm writing this long after I meant to update, and that the story of golfing with the big hairy Kiwi, the blind Kiwi, the Crazy Scot, and my Aussie step-Father-in-Law will have to wait a bit. I will tell you I saw my first bandicoot though, and it was everything I thought it would be.

And by \"everything I thought it would be\" I mean \"it's kind of a cool lookin' rat.\"

Be good, watch out for 'roos.

Saying Goodbye.

For 8 and a half years, every time I would leave the house I'd have to tell Asshead, "You stay. Be good. I'll be back." She's always been highly intelligent, and upon hearing those specific words combined with that tone, she knew she wasn't coming with.

If I neglected to tell her those things, she'd park herself by the door, waiting for a trip to the park or the pet store or over to The Mom's house. Once I said those words, her face would fall into a pout, and she walk away sadly, staring longingly at the front door until I'd gone.

Every day went like this.

On the weekends though, somehow she always knew I was taking her everywhere with me. The alarm could still go off at the same time, and my morning routine would be the same, but by the time I got to the front door she would be doing 4-foot vertical flips in excitement. If I was headed somewhere she was unwelcome, it took some serious convincing to get her to realize she wouldn't be going with.

Somehow, this morning, she knew she was coming with. She just didn't know where.

--------------------------------------------

If I honestly believed in Angels walking the Earth, I would be easily convinced that Tammy is one of them. Asshead has shown genuine affection for a handful of females on this planet, and she or I had known them for a while. After sniffing every conceivable surface in her new home while I gave Tammy the lowdown on how often to kick her, Asshead climbed up onto the couch and sat right next to Tammy, licking the side of her face repeatedly.I stared in disbelief while asking if she used steak sauce for perfume and exclaiming that my goddam dog doesn't like anyone this quickly. Tammy replied very simply that my dog just has a good sense for "good souls."I couldn't help but agree, for I chose Tammy over other prospective owners, with their big yards and constant company, because she just seemed right.

Tammy sat explaining that she and her husband wouldn't be taking any real vacations unless they were going to visit her sister's mission in South Africa and would take the dog anywhere else they chose to visit in the States.

She also mentioned that the dog would have someone at home almost constantly unless both she and her husband were volunteering at their church.

Tammy asked me for an itemized list of Asshead's favorite treats before exchanging all of our personal information, promising me that she'll email me pictures and news on Asshead's new life. I promised her the same.

When she asked, "Are you sad?" I nodded my head stiffly and choked out, "Yes. Yes, I am."

"We're gonna love her and give her a great home, you know," she said with her hand sympathetically on my shoulder.

"Yeah, I DO know that," I said quietly, "probably a better home than I did."

I stooped down and scratched Asshead's ears the way she likes, then stood and grabbed my keys. I'd barely turned towards the door before Asshead came bounding past me, pawing at the door in anticipation.

I grabbed the doorknob, turned and told her sternly, "You stay. Be good. I won't be back."

Spring is coming.

He walks in the front door, greets his dog, and throws his keys on the counter. He stares at them contemptuously for a long minute, for in his weaker moments they taunt him with the idea that he could just up and leave now. Start the truck, drive to the airport, whip out a credit card and be off... simple as that. Patience isn't something he's ever had enough of and this time is killing him slowly.

4 beers and 5 hours later he is hanging up the phone after another depressingly melancholic phone conversation with his wife. They were both sobbing openly by the end and agreed that it would be best if they'd ended it there. They both knew that the sobbing wouldn't stop by hanging up the phone though.

He mildly drunkenly gets into the shower, in the dark, and unleashes a torrent of invective at the Universe for putting him so far away from where he belongs. His roommate is gone for the night so he's left the bathroom door open and is soon yelling quite forcefully at no one and nothing in particular, though his dog retreats to the corner of the living room.

\"I can't do this\" is such a simple statement. It lends itself to the defeatist whims of those with weaker constitutions but, when shouted at the top of his lungs that night, it is the answer to an unspoken challenge. Drunk, wet, and naked, he stumbles around in the dark, working on a plan. If he can't do this, then he must do something else. Another simple statement.

After arriving at work the next morning, hanging up from yet another brutally painful, missing-you-oh-god-missing-you-so-badly-it-hurts phone call, he thinks carefully about her words. She'd admitted that she'd had enough of his hemming and hawing, and she's stretched just as thin as he is at being unable to be together. He tries to tell her that the decision has already been made, that it can't be changed, and that it's just madness that his keys taunt him so badly that he hides them sometimes.

His options are simple as well, his mother explains to him very objectively at lunch: Wait yet another month and suffer, drinking away his nights, unproductively wiling away his days, continuing to lose weight and possessions, painfully putting up with random bouts of tears that simply refuse to stop and a hole in his middle, and being completely worthless emotionally to those that are closest to him...

Or say \"Fuck it. I'm going.\"

He wasn't sure it was possible, given the bureaucratic obstacles as well as the financial stumbling blocks that he was so painstakingly removing, so he didn't tell his wife straight away. He wanted to know for sure before he got anybody too excited. Despite his best intentions, he told her anyway, and their combined excitement was palpable. The tears were stopped, for now, and in their place was this beautiful possibility.

Then, it all started coming together. Then, it all was together. He and his wife continually quieted their inner-voices of \"it's only two weeks earlier, what's the difference?\" because those voices simply don't understand that the difference is control.

Would you suffer through a month of Winter when you had the power to have Spring two weeks earlier?

---

$100 to change the ticket, and I'm not going to be able to go to Montana one last time, but this situation became very clear over Szechuan and tea the other day... I am simply Not Me right now. For as much as I owe certain people a good-bye, I also owe them to not be the depression-laden wraith that I am without her. I'm aware of how fucked-up I am right now as well as why, and I know the only thing that can change that.

I'm going home on August 17th and 10 days is still way too goddam long of a wait.

I'm bringing her back with me in December, to introduce her to my entire life here, my friends, my family, my old home. For those that I won't see until then, you know I'll miss you, but keep in mind that I'm preserving what's left of my sanity for not just my sake, but for yours as well. I think it's safe to say that nobody likes it when I get violently drunk, sob uncontrollably, and shit myself.

For my readership I'd like to apologize for the poopiness of this diary for the last few months, but I'm not going to. I really just wanted an excuse to use the word \"poopiness.\"

And by \"readership\" I mean \"how can so many of you frickin clowns still read this shit every day when it wears its suckage like a pervert's trenchcoat, only flashing it's pecker to an assorted few?\"

Smooches.