It was dark the next evening when the hurt began. I knew it was in there hiding back stage somewhere, just waiting for its curtain call. And it came out, right on cue. Predictable. I was prepared. Tissues on hand. No need to even call one of the girls. No need. I recognized the coming days ahead. How they would be filled. Or rather, how they would be empty. I dabbed a leaking tear. That’s when I decided. Enough of this. Not gonna do it. Just not gonna. I threw the tissue in the canister next to my desk. I took a sniveling deep breath. (Sniveling, seriously? Oh if that doesn’t make me mad.) One last try of emotion from the stage. There are Plenty Of Fish in the sea; Lots of Singles on the Net; Ok Cupid; Match me; Speed Date anyone? How bout all of the above! Sure why not? Diversion is good.
That’s where I began to change my focus away from where it had been. Nothing like keeping busy. Filling time. And I wasn’t crying. I call it progress as I climbed back up on the horse that threw me. Profile after profile I got done. It never takes long for results. Within a few minutes, just the time it took to get a soda, I had viewers. Several of them. And with the wave of the director’s hand, I have an incoming message. It was from a man I’d seen pictured on here before. A farmer kneeling down beside a calf. A little red calf with a white face. The calf is cute, the Farmer is wearing a hat. He wrote, I wrote. Back and forth for nearly an hour. He’s my age, lives 3+ hours away, his long time girlfriend, a nurse, died of cancer. He regrets not marrying her. She wanted to, but he wasn’t ready. He’d bought a ring and then never gave it to her. He says he wants a wife and a family, that he’s ready. (Frankly, this is feeling uncomfortably familiar to Goose’s situation.)
On Speeddate, a potential ‘date’ pops up on your screen for five-minute mini-dates. It’s basically a chat session. You can see his profile and he can see yours. First is a man who lives about 45 miles from me. The closest one yet. He is an EMT/Firefighter in his community, he loves to hunt and is quite proud of his archery skills. I’ll call him Archer. Archer has been divorced for about ten years. He’s lived in this very small town his whole life. He loves the outdoors and movies. Hmmm… not bad. He catches my attention. We quickly click on ‘like’ to be able to connect again at some point. Then the next speed date appears.. and then another and finally a third. Holy crap! I’m a talker, but even I have some trouble keeping three simultaneous conversations going that make sense. I have to admit though, for a couple of hours, I didn’t cry. For a couple of hours I didn’t think about Goose or what his schedule dictated that he’d be doing at this time on this night. I’ll call it progress.
The Editor was online so we ended out the evening with a light-hearted bantering about fairies, elves and munchkins. He’s really getting mileage out of the short stature thing. He was scheduled up for the next couple of weekends though. A tennis date with his son, visiting his daughter’s in Des Moines and a wedding of a friend. Guess I’m not quite ‘meet the family’ material in his eyes. C’est la vie!
Tammy called as I was shutting my computer off for the night. She’s good about checking on me. I appreciate that. I told her about sniveling and about The Farmer, Archer ane three speed dates. It seems like a full evening to me. She was watching television. For some reason tv just doesn’t hold my attention. I guess I need interaction. Tomorrow is back to work and my life routine. I’ll be just fine. It will take a little time for the emotional side of things to resolve. Life moves forward. And I’m going with it.