Dashed off quickly, and hot while the feelings (so elusive) are there, fresh and immediate, almost before I hang up the phone.
I am unaccustomed to such phone calls… the ones that come in at 11 PM to advise me that you will be working until 7 AM in the morning. I am unaccustomed to the demands that cause you to work a 16 hour shift. I also knew you were feeling the first inklings of an illness earlier in the day. This was not the day to comply with such spontaneous demands.
You’ve done it before and you are accustomed to it. (Tomorrow I will awaken and laugh at myself.) I heard the words through the telephone earpiece. I must admit that mine is a protective nature… (perhaps over-protective) and with full awareness of it, I find that I must quickly stamp it down. You’re obviously able to care for yourself… but it is my nature to want to intercede. To make it clear to those who would use you to balance their own scheduling needs… that they should think again. (You don’t even notice that I am all set to run to your rescue whether you need me to or not. You simply wanted me to know that you would not be home as usual this evening. We weren't going to see each other tonight anyway. It would have just been a phone call. I am grateful for your consideration… but helpless to change circumstances beyond my control.) Would I find a touch of madness in my mirror?
In my mind, you are a silhouette against a torrid backdrop of color and light. You are safe in your own careful and cautious way… which is barely sufficient for my purposes. (You are far from helpless. Why do I cast you as such?) I need to constantly set your soul free to continue the flight you’ve flown for 47 years, or my protective tendencies will become uncharacteristically suffocating. Not from the same old stuff like jealousy or possessiveness (hold-overs from 'she-who-came-before') but because I still cannot believe the quality of the air in my lungs when I inhale, and you’ve taught me how to breathe again. The childish, unrealistic perception of any interference in your life makes me check myself.
Out of control, I could easily drive over this evening to see you at work, like a school-boy with a childish crush. (Got it bad bro.) I won’t, and I won’t make mention of it again. Instead I will bury these emotions in my blog and pretend this works to the satisfaction of my needs. Your employer will never know my anger at this innocent scheduling shift.
I’ll pretend that when my nature rises like this… that it’s all right.