When Oliver tells me that he's staying out late, I am not terribly surprised. And as much as I want him here with me, I also cannot blame him. I have not been a fun person to be around, and I've put Oliver through the ringer. I know he loves me, and he's doing all that he can, but I am an anchor.
It serves as a bit of motivation, actually. I tell him to have a good time, and mean it sincerely, and then quietly wonder to myself what I can do about trying his seemingly never ending patience. Getting out of bed would probably be a good start.
So, I do that. I get out of bed and make myself a cup of coffee. One thing at a time. Coffee, and then I strip the bed and put the sheets and all of my balled up pajamas into the washer. And then I put on upbeat music and take a shower. I scrub myself all over, wash my hair and comb conditioner through my hair. I get out, dry off, and shave the pathetic fuzz off of my face. I brush my teeth and comb my hair.
By the time I change into clean sweats and make the bed again, I hit a wall. My energy is depleted, but I do feel a little better. I even move to the sofa instead of getting back in bed, and I'm watching some mindless comedy when I hear Oliver's key in the door.
There is a pause between that and the door opening, and it makes something inside me feel like it's sinking. I don't want to be something that Oliver needs to brace himself for.
"Hi," I say as he steps inside and looks toward the bedroom, like that's where he's expecting to find me. But instead I am here, clean and awake, and I look up at him with a small smile that's vaguely nervous. "Did you have fun?"
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It serves as a bit of motivation, actually. I tell him to have a good time, and mean it sincerely, and then quietly wonder to myself what I can do about trying his seemingly never ending patience. Getting out of bed would probably be a good start.
So, I do that. I get out of bed and make myself a cup of coffee. One thing at a time. Coffee, and then I strip the bed and put the sheets and all of my balled up pajamas into the washer. And then I put on upbeat music and take a shower. I scrub myself all over, wash my hair and comb conditioner through my hair. I get out, dry off, and shave the pathetic fuzz off of my face. I brush my teeth and comb my hair.
By the time I change into clean sweats and make the bed again, I hit a wall. My energy is depleted, but I do feel a little better. I even move to the sofa instead of getting back in bed, and I'm watching some mindless comedy when I hear Oliver's key in the door.
There is a pause between that and the door opening, and it makes something inside me feel like it's sinking. I don't want to be something that Oliver needs to brace himself for.
"Hi," I say as he steps inside and looks toward the bedroom, like that's where he's expecting to find me. But instead I am here, clean and awake, and I look up at him with a small smile that's vaguely nervous. "Did you have fun?"