Habit

I think we are all creatures of habit.  We like structure, order, and routine even though we say we don’t.

Every single morning, my clock radio goes off at 6:20.  Marti Casper Meyers is (was) the morning personality.  I loved listening to her talk about life.  She was real, funny, and maybe just a tad bit irreverent (but never disrespectful).  When I am getting ready in the morning, I know what I should be doing when the news comes on, or Hollywood Bytes, or any of the other things she always did on a schedule.  She kept me on time every morning.

Sure, anyone else can keep me on schedule, but Marti did it because I actually LISTENED to her. She’s a mother. An athlete. A spin instructor. Someone who constantly works for a better cause than a paycheck. A consummate professional who gave everything she had – including family time – in order to do the job of morning DJ on WFKL 93.3 (Fickle 93.3).

And today, she got “restructured” out of a job.

I just restructured the dial on all of my radios. No more Fickle 93.3.  In an age of playlists and electronics integration in cars, it would seem to me that these types of decisions would be very carefully thought out because people don’t really like change. People listen to certain radio stations for a reason.  As I told Marti, I have no loyalty to any radio station.  It is the radio personality that makes or breaks my listening experience.  As it is, I only listened to the radio in the mornings because I liked listening to Marti.  I did NOT like listening to the jackass that was on the air on my ride home.  He uses “that’s so gay” as an expression, and doesn’t GET how offensive it is.

I have more than 600 hours of music that can be played in my car.  I’ll be doing just that.

As far as I’m concerned, they just changed their name from Fickle 93.3 to Fuckoff 93.3.

Getting my voice

I’m trying really hard not to over think my relationship with Lynn. I am really enjoying just going with it and not looking too far down the road.

But last night we talked a bit about my marriage to Lisa, and the fact that just 5 or 6 short weeks ago I was still crying a lot.  A couple of things happened, though.

1.)  My doctor changed my medication.  I was really losing my grip and felt myself getting a bit out of control with regard to emotions and my anger and bitterness with regard to all that had happened in my life.  The Prozac wasn’t touching anything, not even at a higher level.  So, I got switched back over to Wellbutrin Sustained Release.  It’s basically what I took when I quit smoking 16 years ago and to which I responded very well.  I now feel focused, energetic, and have passion for those things I love (a passion for which I lacked).

2.) I have my divorce in hand.  I had really put far too much importance on having that signed document in my hand.  As long as I didn’t have it, I had no control over my future in some regards.  I told my therapist that I couldn’t plan any further ahead than the next month’s billing cycle without that signed and certified copy of divorce.  The day it came in the mail, I skipped up the driveway, deliriously happy that it had finally arrived.  Then I went inside the house and sat down and cried.  It was the finality of it all, I think.

And so I have closed out that chapter in my book of life. The book hasn’t ended – it just needs a new chapter, and as before, I am in control of how the story goes, and what characters to include.  There will be some of the same characters from previous chapters, and some new ones.

I love that it’s starting with this beautiful story of finding Lynn, and slowly growing to love her – I DO love her!  And for now, that’s enough, to just simply love her.  I spend the night at her place a lot. I like being there. Her place is intimate, inviting, whimsical, and carefree. I feel like I’m in a different world there – one where there aren’t any day to day stressors of work, family, bills, and other adult responsibilities.  Of course, any environment is what we make of it, but I prefer to see Lynn’s cute little apartment as a refuge from life.

I try to stay away, not be there so much, but the two of us are so miserable when we’re not together, that I don’t often succeed in doing so.  She has cleaned out a drawer in her bedroom for me to keep some extra clothes and other supplies in.  (Giving up a drawer? THAT is love!)

I absolutely cannot stop hugging and kissing her.  We often embrace for long periods of time, swaying to whatever music might be in our heads at that moment, and without saying much of anything, if anything at all.  It’s not a frantic, fuel filled passionate thing – it’s a quiet, sweet, gentle love which extends into our lovemaking.  Afterward, spent, we just fall asleep holding each other and often, in the night, I will wake up and find that we haven’t moved at all.

I am simply amazed at how over my marriage to Lisa I am.  I see it as I would see a treasured piece of pottery that has been broken and, despite the best efforts of everyone to glue it back together, it’s not salvageable and the painful decision is made to throw it out.  Once that’s done, it’s either replaced, or the empty space in which it once resided gets filled with something else, even if its just dust.  I have been absolutely in love with P!nk throughout this whole thing, as her music speaks so much to me.  There’s a lyric that goes “Where there’s desire there is gonna be a flame, where there is a flame someone’s bound to get burned. But just because it burns doesn’t mean you’re gonna die, you gotta get up and try and try and try.”

Yeah, I’m going to try with this just as it is for right now. We’re both filling a need for each other and, for now, I believe, we are happy with having those needs met.  I think we both secretly want forever out of this, but are afraid to give voice to that, lest we jinx this beautiful thing we have.  But, I’m sayin’ it here. I could do forever with this wonderful woman who was sent to me by the universe.

As P!nk says, “…it looks warm in the rabbit hole that I could go down with [her].” So, yeah, I’m okay with going down that rabbit hole with her.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

I didn’t really choose Lynn, it just happened.

I had been talking to her here and there on Facebook. Nothing hugely noteworthy, just general chit-chat. She lives in a small town outside of Rochester, in Wayne County. It happens that I drive all the way out there to get my hair done and so, the last time I had a hair appointment, we made plans for me to visit her at her place. She poured me a glass of wine, and we just sat there and talked.

I don’t have much of a filter these days, and so I worried that I prattled on and on about nothing and she would find me hopelessly boring. When I left, I gave her a big hug. I hug well, apparently. Apparently I smelled good too.

I had still been seeing Anne, somewhat, but was growing weary of her demands on me and my time. I couldn’t go more than a couple of minutes without responding to Facebook private messages, or she’d be all over me. It felt like she was very needy. I can’t do needy.

Lynn and I made a “date” for the next week, Thursday (exactly a week later) while I was on vacation. We’d have dinner at her place and just visit again. Unfortunately, that morning I found my sweet little male cat, Simba, hiding behind the couch, gasping for breath. He’d been sick for a long time (diabetes, heart disease, hyperthyroidism, arthritis) and I just knew it was his time.

I called the vet’s office, and took that sweet little creature in and held him as he drew his last breath and his eyes became vacant. He was gone, and I was devastated. I sent Lynn a message telling her what had happened, and canceling our plans for the night. I wasn’t in the mood to see anyone.

Later that night, I got a message from her, sympathy about Simba but also (in her wickedly irreverent way) telling me that all she could think of was “And I shaved my legs for tonight.” I burst out laughing and, for the first time that day, felt something other than the pain of loss. Again.

We made plans for the very next night. One of us mentioned drinking too much wine and the possibility of me spending the night. I was nervous.

Friday night, we watched “If These Walls Could Talk 2,” drank a lot of wine, and talked and talked and talked. Occasionally her hand would touch my leg or my arm, and I was electrified. As midnight approached, and I knew it was too late to stay up, I simply said “I think I’m going to head down the road now.” She said “You’re welcome to stay here, either on the couch or with me in my bed, with NO SEX!” Tempted as I was, I left and drove home wondering why I was such a coward. Was the pain of my divorce still too fresh and raw for me to be able to have a relationship with anyone besides just a friendship? Had it destroyed any chance I was ever going to have again? My best friend Rhiannon, when I told her I’d chickened out and gone home, sang “Lame lame lame lame lame lame,” (to the “tune” of neener neener neener).

We stayed in contact – and I was honest and told Lynn that I really had WANTED to spend the night, but chickened out. She issued another invitation for a do-over. I packed a bag, and went back. We talked the entire night away. We sat close enough to touch, and she touched my leg and arm a lot. I touched her. And then I put my arms around her and kissed her. My heart was beating wildly as our lips met, and I could hardly draw breath, but it was such a sweet, tender kiss. When it came time for bed, I followed her into her room. We slept fully clothed that night, with my arms wrapped around her. She had to be up early the next morning for a couple of appointments and so, we got up, I had coffee, and went home.

Later that day, I mentioned maybe going to the farm for a night (or two) that coming weekend. She was thrilled at the idea and so we planned. For the next five days we talked daily and our conversations became laced with innuendo, suggestion, and so much sexual tension that I later referred to it as a week’s worth of verbal foreplay.

Friday, I drove to the farm, made up the bed, and waited for her. After she arrived, we went to the grocery store for some needed supplies, and then out to dinner. We got back to the camper and sat and drank some wine and chatted for a while. She got up for something and I was standing also and then it happened. I put my arms around her, kissed her hungrily, and began to unbutton her shirt – as erotic moments go, that was right up there.

Our coupling lasted for quite a while until, exhausted, we fell asleep holding each other. I think that this was when I realized I was falling for her, and I kept trying to nudge that thought right out of my brain. It was too soon. But yet, I knew I loved her. Not IN love with her, but some level of love. We stayed a second night and made love late into the night.

Cringing, I told her I love her. I told her I didn’t know if I’m IN love with her, but I know that on some level, I love her. She said she felt the same.

Her birthday was day before yesterday. She’d had plans with her daughter, but those plans got canceled when her daughter hurt her back. Lynn encouraged me to go home at lunch, pack an overnight back and a few spare items (undies, socks, toothbrush, etc.) and she would clear out a drawer for me at her place. I went home, packed some things, came back to work and later that night, after my part-time job, drove back to her place. The instant I walked in the door, I slipped an arm around her, pulled her close, and gave her a kiss that I hoped would tell her by it’s feel how VERY into her I was.

We chatted, we ate a light dinner, we chatted some more, and then we went to bed. For a couple of old broads, we seem insatiable, wanting more and more of each other.

I am hopelessly, helplessly addicted to this woman. At work, at home, no matter where I am or what I am doing, my mind turns to her. Those beautiful dark brown eyes with very dark lashes. The smell of her skin. The press of her lips against mine. The warmth of her hands as they touch my skin. Her smile. The sound of her voice.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

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