I managed a little more cleaning last night. Not a lot, mostly because I left work a little late, then went to grab dinner. As a result, I was home almost an hour later than usual. I pulled the last of the boxes out of the back of the Pink Room’s big closet. There was a giant plastic tote I believed was the box of comics, however; it turned out to be full of yarn. Back to searching for the comics in the basement, I guess.
I left work late because I got my passport pictures done. As I paid, my coworker asked where I was going. “Canada,” I said.
“Isn’t that where your husband is from? When are you going?”
“I don’t know when I’ll be going,” I replied.
She looked at me like I was crazy. “You don’t know?”
“No, it’s all a bit crazy right now.”
I probably should have told her this information wasn’t common knowledge at work. There’s a distinct possibility everyone will know at least something by Monday.
We got to talk last night. He thinks he’s probably got another month before they send him home. My ultimate goal is to have the house cleaned out as much as possible by the time he leaves the country. Then, I’ll put the house on the market. While I know it’s possible to sell a house long-distance, but I’m sure it would be much easier to deal with things if he’s still local. On the other hand, he’s worried about what will happen if both of us end up at his parents’ house within a short period of time. He’d much rather have some time to get a job and get some money before my arrival. Additionally, I don’t want to leave here before our house sells. I want to leave here with some money to start up there.
My uncle texted yesterday afternoon. He’s the one I worried most about “dealing” with throughout this. When the shit hit the fan the first time, he called me and told me to stay with him for a few days. He and my aunt were wonderful to me for the couple of days I was at their house. I felt – and still feel – like just staying with Shawshank, let alone leaving the country with him, is a slap in the face of all the support they showed me. However, his message was very simple. “I understand you’re selling and moving to Canada. Is there anything I can do to help?” It made me smile. I told him I was good for the moment, just trying to sort through five years of shit.
Later, my mom texted. She worries about “this trip” of mine. I understand, she’s my mom, and I’ll always be a kid.
It’s what moms do.
I lamented over the fact an El Camino would make a terrible road trip car, she spent a lot of the night offering advice.
When it comes to road trips, I’ll take her advice. She spent her early 20’s on the road, crossing the country in a bread truck. Make friends with the elderly, pack lots of water, don’t heat your vehicle with a stove at night….
I was up early this morning. It was the first weekend morning I’ve set the alarm. He’d played with my phone’s morning routine a month ago, personalizing it with a funny little message to play after it announced the weather and any reminders. At 7 am, it’s hard to know whether to laugh or cry when your phone tells you “now go make mama some go-go juice”. I could laugh at the absurdity, or cry because god only knows when we’ll be together in the same room again.
Instead, I got up and made my own fucking coffee.
