A war begins. Ugh. My spouse owns a property I affectionately call 'The Shed'. It is a dilapidated and run down mess. The roof is collapsing, the wooden floor is warped and sagging, mice and roaches are the currents tenants.That is not the worse. My spouse is a collector (hoarder). It is full of bits and pieces, most not valuable. The benign sort of 'Wow, someone got rid of this! I can fix it up and sell/use this.' Time passes and the value that might of existed is drained away through neglect.
Tomorrow. I had a child out of wedlock. My parents made me (Then) give her up for adoption. The me (Now) would have not gone along so acquiescently. I remember avoiding the nursery since I knew she was not mine (Then). She was (Now). A few times I attempted to guess in which of the bassinets along the wall she lay. She started life in the back of the class. I should have asked to see her. She was of me, from me. Could-a, would-a, should-a.
The dilemma? I want to start a search. Unfortunately, the adoption was arranged in a 'closed records' state. I put contact info in her file years ago, but no strangers have knocked on the door. She is 37. Old enough to have unanswered questions. Maybe no one told her. What then?
As I have mentioned other times, I have poor memory. Perhaps it is a consequence of the fibromyalgia I struggle with most days. Perhaps it is a blessing from above to wake unhindered from past mistakes, regrets, and sorrows.
"Everybody needs his memories. They keep the wolf of insignificance from the door. --Saul Bellow
Ah-OOO ooo oooo oo. I can hear them howling. Insignificance panting on the horizon. Poor memory made me struggle to remember the birth father's name, a boyfriend my junior year of high school. After a few hours of Internet searching, I found him. Facebook. Duh. He recently moved back to the scene of the crime. Also opened that Facebook account. Serendipity. So what now? Do I contact him? To what end? I am searching my motive. Time enough in the tomorrows.
Today. The spouse had the follow up appointment for his edema. We never got the results. His complaints started shortly after we arrived. The customary bitching about the appointment time is merely a suggestion for the doctor. Okay. I agreed, but that is reality. It was bla-bla-bitch all the time in the examining room. After two hours he said outta here and off we go. On the ride home, he says he better not be charged for this visit. Like it is my job to fix that! He did wonder if I would have any repercussions from his actions. Nope, I am not the one acting like an ass. My coworkers know my character. It did amuse me when he ranted the doctor could now call him at home with the results. If only...
Yesterday. I miss waking daily to see my daughter and grandboy. My trip east was restorative. I felt real. I returned to the facade. I want to be there, not here. *Howl*
