Limbo, Ego, Trauma and Caffeine

Getting words to paper has been like pulling teeth lately. And you know how I am with all things dental... I just have so little to say. Or rather, I feel contempt towards everything I try to say. So, for the sake of choking something out, a few random thoughts...

Paul's state of limbo is nearing the end of its third week, and I'd be lying if I said this wasn't stressful for me as well. Where he goes, I go; what he feels, I feel, too.

It almost feels as if I'm being held by my heels, my head dangling freely, my neck craning to see what lies ahead. I try to make plans for the landing, but everything is held in such a surreal state that I can barely plan what to cook for dinner, much less plan for a move. For the moment, I can only see what is directly in front of my face.

We're patiently waiting for that phone call that will tell us of our future...do we stay or do we go? We are believing with all the faith we have that we will stay.

But then, I need to be perfectly honest. I relish a little adventure. A change like this excites me, and part of me wouldn't mind trying the other side of the state. Only one thing keeps me from feeling nonchalant about this whole situation. One huge, giant, bigger than me, supremely important thing:

The kids. It would break my heart to not be near them, and as much as that would hurt me, I can only imagine what it would do to Paul--what it would do to the kids. This family that has adopted me as one of their own needs to stay together.

So, like every military family, we wait and we do our best with what life brings us.

I'm headed up north this weekend. It's been two months since I've been, and it was January when I last went alone. The Fidalgo Avenue Block Party & Pig Roast is on Sunday, and I thought it might be nice to go. I could see some of my old clients and different people that I used to know through the Chamber.

But then, I thought, those people only liked me for what I represented and any power they thought I might have held. For some of them, speaking with me was like a tiny ego stroke and some of them have very large egos. I shouldn't be so foolish to think that I haven't been replaced. Sure, it'll be nice to wave to each other in the streets, but beyond that I am just another girl coming back for a visit. I'm a little embarrassed that I allowed my life to be consumed by such a small set of people.

I've been lazier than usual lately. That is, I haven't been preparing the coffee pot to brew at night, and I don't take the time to make it in the morning because I never get out of bed in time to get ready for work decently. (The Cheeseburger always has a fresh pot waiting for me at work anyway.)

Paul, however, does not let time restraints come between him and his 32 oz. to go mug of caffeinated bliss. An early start time this morning meant that he woke up shortly after I did, and bless the darling-face, he made a pot that finished brewing just as I collected myself to head out the door.

With coffee mug in hand and my purse slung over my shoulder I stepped through the sliding door, saying goodbye to Paul as he hurriedly laced up his boots. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a quick glimpse of a shadow on the surface of my coffee. I froze in the doorway and studied the creamy contents of the cup. There were no floaters, no ripples, no evidence whatsoever that anything had happened to my beloved morning coffee.

For mere seconds I contemplated tossing the contents of the mug over the porch railing, but I just couldn't justify such a gross waste of coffee and coconut creamer. I took a tiny sip as I climbed into the car, and another as I started down the driveway, glancing cross-eyed at the hot liquid as I took each taste.

I completely forgot my apprehensions by the time I reached the highway, and only a few sips remained when I pulled into the lot just off base. Not wanting to tote my mug into the building, I took one final gulp to drain the cup.

And there, at the very bottom of my tall, purple Eeyore mug lay the shadow. It took the form of a quarter-sized spider with a tiny, white body and long legs spraddled across the bottom of the mug.

Had I a weaker stomach, its contents would have been spilled all over the pavement of F lot. As it were, it took a few hours for the feelings of disgust and nausea to disperse. I drank spider coffee.

The worst part? In my disgust I did not think to eject the spider from its caffeinated grave. Instead, it waits for me within the shelter of the Durango, lurking, taunting, obscene.