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?