A Bed For One

Now that I am un-married, there are certain things I just don’t want to learn

Simple, easy things

Tiny, dumb little chores that I could probably master in a second

If only I was willing to give a second

 

How to descale the coffee machine, for one

Or sort out the timer for the Christmas lights

 

When I was first un-married, I had an initial, steep learning curve

I learned how to replace a broken chain in a toilet bowl

Swap out the air filter

And grease a sticky lock

I mastered the simple un-art of refilling a flat bicycle tire – even a car tire, too

 

Keeping the house tidy and the cabinets stocked

The laundry folded and the bills paid…

Those were things I had been doing already

I was and am no stranger to certain kinds of house work

 

But that coffee machine

And that timer for the Christmas lights

The frustrating washer that can only manage a load – even a tiny one – on the bulk setting

The simple phone call to rent a deep cleaner for the carpets

The determination to finally find a glass man who will replace my cracked windshield

 

I look at all those things blinking at me like traffic lights

and I ignore them

Walk on by like they aren’t even there

Ghost them, like the stinky boy in second grade with dirty jeans and scuffed knees

who smelled like poverty and made it his habit to nuisance me

 

Billy was his name

During class, he would throw pencil erasers at the back of my head

Later, at recess, he would run up to me quickly and ask to walk me home

 

He was a meddler at the same time that he was an empty vessel

He needed servicing

He craved attention

He wanted to be loved

 

I was embarrassed to be seen talking to him

And tried to dodge him whenever I saw him coming

But he continued blinking at me nonetheless

Like the battery in the fire alarm that chirps until it’s replaced

Like the Engine Needs Servicing notice that nags and harangues whenever I turn the ignition

 

Today, at 49 years old, my dirty carpet harasses me

As does my cracked windshield

 

Failure, they say

Less than

You can only sidestep me for so long

 

Stubborn as all get out

I ignore my failures just the same

Because I’m exhausted by the mere thought of them

 

Even though just yesterday I enthusiastically hiked six miles, read one hundred pages and had a Come-to-Jesus with my kids about

 

Discipline, Structure, Routine, Healthy Life Habits

 

Ha! How’s that for irony?

It’s easy to ignore the things that pain me

 

Whether the pain be minor

Like the laughable irritant of sorting out how to descale the coffee machine

Or the wash over pain I feel some mornings because of something greater

 

Like the quiet burn of carefully folding down the top sheet of a bed that, most nights,

Sleeps just one

Or of cheerfully kissing myself goodbye at the door when I’m off to the office

And then greeting myself again at day’s end to ask

 

How was work today, hon?

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A Wholly Natural Thing

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A Prayer For Winter