Falling While Living

I began the day by making coffee, stirring in a bit of sugar and a scoop of protein powder, thinking about the possibility of the day, anticipating meeting a guy for the first time. As I approached my chair to sit with my feet on the windowsill, holding my coffee, my foot was stumped by I-don’t-know-what, and I went down. But slowly. I fell parallel to the window, knocking over a three shelf narrow bookcase, so all the books slid out into the pool made by the coffee and a full cup of water I’d also toppled. The night before, I’d set a big bolster pillow on the floor, and it took on most of the fluid and the impact of my fall, but my pale blue sweater, the white couch cover and chair cover were drenched. A container of pens erupted into the spill like pick-up-sticks, but somehow the glass container and ceramic coffee cup were unscathed. I ended up on my knees with my hands propped on the couch, but even my knees weren’t bunged up. At all.

So, the morning changed abruptly from revery to damage control. I sopped up the drinks with a bath towel, and jammed everything into my mop bucket and dish tub to soak. I didn’t want to put anything in my shared apartment complex washers if I had to leave before they finished. Bad form, especially on a Sunday when working folks would be doing weekend chores.

I started again, rinsing my coffee cup, filling it, adding an ice cube to cool it, then sugar and protein powder. My living room furniture was disheveled, but I left it for later. The guy I was going to meet had asked that I check in beforehand, so I did. He canceled because his daughter and grandkids had surprised him with a visit. Well, fuck. One hour before. He didn’t want to bring his grandkids to meet me for the first time. Good call.

Just yesterday I’d been talking to my sister about our mom’s best friend who had fallen in a shoe store—just dropped to the ground. Hard and fast. She wound up in ICU with a cracked skull and traumatic brain injury. My sister said she definitely sounds different, like she’s officially a cranky old lady. Before that, she’d still been living on her own, playing tennis in her mid-eighties. Now she needs a walker and is in assisted living. When I turned on the radio after talking to my sister, a woman on The Moth Radio Hour told a story about her husband who’d survived a coma after an assault by a drunk, but he was forever changed. This shit happens so fast.

I texted my sister, “Gotta go with the flow.” But I’m not so great at that. I felt some nagging resentment toward the guy who made meeting me a lower priority. I don’t like the idea of “checking in” before a planned date. If it’s planned, it’s on the books, as far as I’m concerned. If it’s a maybe, say so. It had already taken a couple of months to figure out a time we could get together, after he’d gotten covid, and the holidays, etc. Tell your kid, “Oh snap, I can’t today, I have plans, next time let me know in advance. But I’ll be free later in the afternoon.” Yeah, but I don’t have kids, so I don’t know what it’s like.

Move on, Heidi. My next “action”: lay on the couch and listen to This American Life. It was a Valentine’s Day show with an examination of whether meeting the one is due to “math or magic.” They didn’t come to any conclusions. https://www.thisamericanlife.org/791/math-or-magic

I went back to the dating app and replied to a guy who said, “very interested.” He’d said on his profile, “Let’s skip the getting to know you part and just get married.” I thought he was joking and asked him about it.

He wrote back, “I would like to find someone that one day will get married or we can live together or something like that” (sic).

I said, “I like my independence. Maybe after many years of knowing someone, I’d consider it. But first I’d have to decide if I like you (winky face). I’m a writer and artist and need time to do my work alone. I have an office where I go to work.”

Him: “Oh thats super cool but I never said I want to marry you” “I am not desperate” “Have a wonderful day”

And he blocked me.

Well, harrumph, and Happy Valentine’s Day to you, mofo. At least it was over quick.

In conclusion, I’d say, if you’re going to fall, fall slowly to avoid permanent damage, and get on with your recovery faster than I do. Or, write about it to make it last. Hearts and flowers to you!

More on Valentine’s Day . . .

You can find a different Valentine’s Day post on my old blog, care of The Wayback Machine, here: https://web.archive.org/web/20060208194941/http://idoldoll.typepad.com/idoldoll/2004/02/just_browsing.html

This one wasn’t saved online, but I have it:

AUTHOR: Heidi MacDonald TITLE: Every Day Heart DATE: 02/13/2008 09:21:08 PM

I drove into the gas station and saw a woman selling Valentine’s Day teddy bear baskets along the curb do a double take when she saw the roses and big heart that decorate my car. “You must work for a gift store . . . “she pondered. “No,” I said. “You need a teddy bear to go with that car!” she said as I swiped my bank card through the squeezy slot on the pump. I shook my head, “No thank you,” and smiled the opposite of a smile at her cheesy, crappy, cheap-ass teddy bear baskets. They were small laundry baskets filled with crumpled colored paper, topped with a teddy bear each, wrapped in cellophane and tied with a big bow. The woman walked around me to try to sell one to the man at the next pump, “they go for $60, but I’ll sell you this one for $45.” He just stared at her and said, “No.” They were definitely made from Dollar Store materials, maybe $5-$7 worth. I don’t even think they had candy in them.

As I waited to turn back onto Oracle Road after filling up, I thought, “No Valentine for me this year.” But instead of evoking a forlorn, lonely feeling, the thought forced a bubble of glee to burst inside me, with sparkles and flowers and glistening rainbow hearts filling the sunset glow around me. “Right On!” I said aloud, and pumped my fist. I realized what a gift it is to have this time to learn about myself, to sift out what isn’t important and strengthen what is. It feels really good to be on my own right now. I’m downright happy to be alone. Right on.

Recently, I wasn’t feeling so unlonely. I tried going on a couple outings with a couple of guys in the last few weeks. I wouldn’t call them dates, although one gentleman paid for my dinner. I am still quite confused about them. Like, what was that? A month ago, I put a personal ad on Craigslist, the responses to which confused me even more, to the point of being bad for me, triggering depression. So, I’m going to lay off, take it easy on the mate-seeking for a while. Someday that’ll arise again, but in the meantime I’ve got hearts and flowers every day. They come from the inside, but I painted them on my car as a reminder.

Happy Valentine’s Day to all who read this.