I’ve got the lonesome blues and it’s Friday.
For two weeks I have been a real girlfriend. The boyfriend was around and we ate cold pizza for breakfast, watched Trevor Noah after dinner, talked about the future, held hands, met my friends, had drinks with his. I cooked for him, he did the dishes, we did laundry together, I fell asleep in his arms, we made trips to see his parents for the weekend and his brother’s new baby.
Now, I dread going home to fall asleep next to the pillow case that still holds his scent. I haven’t been able to fall asleep as easily as I’d like to and although I scrubbed the house clean yesterday morning, I could not wash the pillow cases. It’s still too soon to have all of him exit all at once.
There’s something about living alone that makes it difficult to adjust to a housemate, be it for a few days. And the fact that you are in a long distance relationship does little to help you along. You notice how crammed your space has started to look, that the only other time any part of your home looked this messy it was when you were moving in for the first time, that you wish the bunching of your floor rug did not happen so often, that you’re afraid of how exhausted you are by the repetitive returning of things to “where they ought to be”.
Then you realize that you care more for the person crowding your personal than the stuff and the order and the space itself. I miss my boyfriend and I miss the mess my house was in because it meant that I was not alone.
However, that is where the support of good friends comes in. The ones who know just when to stay away and when to call and what to say when they see you (which includes never asking “Are you okay?” until a few days have passed or when it is in relation to a difficult situation at work or your family). I cannot stress how blessed I feel to be in such amazing company at this time. As I type this, we just had cake delivered at the office and shared it with everyone and we’re expecting one of us to join us any minute now so we can enjoy more good music and cake with the whipped cream the boyfriend brought me. He would be so proud.
In other news, IT’S FINALLY FRIDAY!!! I look forward to getting some reading done, watching at least one more movie (I watched Gone Girl last night and slept so late I had trouble waking up this morning) and visiting mother dearest. I also have a cooking date with a new(ish) friend I may be working with closely and I can’t wait to see what the future holds.
Plus, I got a call from a local media house to speak on a certain health issue as a nutritionist and I’m looking forward to that too. I have finally started to accept that my rabbit breeding business has failed and it feels good to say that without feeling guilt. My future brother-in-law had a long chat with me on accepting and moving on and trying again that left me feeling ready to let go and do something else. He pointed out that I had gained experience and that nobody could take away this invaluable life lesson; that in spite of the monetary losses, I am now in the league of people who took a risk and learned something from it – because there are people like me who never try. I immediately thought of Theodore Roosevelt’s quote, which is what I will leave you mulling over this weekend:
“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”