My kids are coming! My kids are coming! It’s like the Redcoats, except with more blood, guts, and poop. Ok. Maybe not so much guts, or one can hope, maybe; although I wouldn’t put it past my son to attempt to disembowel any unfortunate road kill we happen along while out on a walk or bike ride.
I finally got around to ordering new beds for their bedroom. Until now, our time has been short enough that we have shared my queen-sized bed, which isn’t so big with two floppy kids in it. I had separate quarters ready for their Spring Break visit, but they inevitably crawled, snuck, slipped into bed with me, so we snuggled, cramped neck, cowboy boots, and all, into one happy family bed.
I opted for two daybed style beds because, as awesome as bunk beds are, they won’t be sharing a room for the life span of that purchase. The beds arrived two days ahead of schedule. Yay! In two 45 pound boxes. Yikes! With some assembly required. Crap!
The tool of this trade was a simple, little, callus inducing allen wrench. I added a pair of pliers to the mix because I can use the pliers to get a better grip on the allen wrench to tighten the bolts to non-bed-collapsing tight without breaking my fingers to do so.
Only some assembly may be required, but all of that some had to be done by me and me alone. I opened the box and dumped the bed pieces on the living room floor. Then I got all sad-faced and did a little self-depreciating pep-talk. I texted a friend: “I’m really starting to hate being alone.” I wanted someone to help, someone to share the experience with.
This isn’t the first time this thought of being once again coupled has crossed my mind in the last month. It crossed my mind when I last came home from taking the kids back to Donkey. I craved falling into a warm embrace. Yet there were no arms waiting to welcome me home, alone. It crossed my mind when I returned home from visiting a friend who sent me home with bags of clothes from her to me and from her daughter to mine, and I was faced with the task of carrying 7 bags of clothes and 2 bags of books from my car to my apartment, car to apartment, car to apartment, car to apartment. It has crossed my mind for emotional and physical needs: hugs and muscles.
And then I commenced assembly, all the while complaining and convincing myself I could do this.
I knew I just wanted to whine and moan. I also knew and know, I am strong and crafty and have been completing some assembly required alone for many many years, and have the ability to use my legs and feet as third and fourth hands. Like a monkey, but with less fur.
I trudged along. Complaining and whining and moaning the whole time, because that’s way healthier than acknowledging that it was my choice to stay single and my choice to purchase not one but two beds that require some assembly.
Two hours later…
Still, the thought lingers…how much easier and more fun would the entire project be with a partner?
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since I last tried to convince myself that I desired continued, perpetual singlehood. The conclusion I’ve come to is I don’t desire continued, perpetual singlehood, and I know I don’t want to waste my time with anyone who wouldn’t have made this very kind of project much easier and more fun. I can put a bed together. Two, in fact. And I don’t want to be put on the side to read directions while he does all the screwing.
Hell of a time to figure all this out. It’s not a timely time to begin to go out for
free dinners dates. I have three months to solidify my wants and needs in a partner before I actually begin the work of weeding out donkeys for a man. Not to mention the built-in procrastination before I actually put thoughts and words into action.
It is a partner I want. I’ve been talked to. I want to talk with. I’ve been told. I want to be asked. I’ve been ignored. I want to be included. I’ve been ridiculed. I want to be comforted. I’ve been shamed. I want to be accepted. I’ve been discourage. I want to be encouraged. I’ve been fucked. I want to make love.
Knowing this is good. I know what I won’t compromise. I won’t compromise my interests for his. We should each have our own, as well as ours. Knowing this is good. The time and energy, the thoughts and efforts, have led me back to me, and me is pretty fucking cool. Anyone who wants to change that isn’t good enough for me. Knowing this is good.