“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” A ripping sensation meets my blissful slumber. “Shit!”
And I’m off; down the stairs, hand on the phone, seeing the inevitable missed call, pushing a button. Then, in one ring, it’s answered.
“You still there?” I’m running back up the stairs, phone to my ear. “Yeah, I’m coming. Slept a little too well. Yep. See you in ten.”
I’m not perfect.
In the car, four minutes later, I’m scanning new emails. The subject line Addict with a time stamp of 1:15 am intrigues me, so I open it. “I have a problem and worry that I’ll commit a crime. Over sexualization is rampant in the world. But you should know I find you attractive. I loved a woman deeply and lost her. I need help.”
My mind whirls between how to repair my lateness and how I feel about working with a sex addict who finds me attractive. And it’s not even 8:30 am.
At the work day’s end, my mind replays interactions and buzzes with energy. Walking in the door, I tell Dave, “This feeling reminds me of getting home after long shifts at the casino. Your plane has touched down and is taxiing.” I inflect the sentence as a flight attendant might.
After rice, steak, and broccoli stir fry dinner, I lie on my back in the middle of the walk between the driveway and front door. Dark storm clouds swirl across a lightened sky backdrop, and a paisley-like pattern displays.
The warm air and intermittent raindrops on my face and arms feel divine. Evelyn plops down next to me, and I point and wonder if she can perceive the slow-moving clouds.
She says, “Birds.” “Crows,” I tell her. The rain falls more intensely, and Evelyn sits up. “Want go inside. No be wet.”
I don’t mind the hardier, wetter drops but pull myself up to follow anyway because this is the time I get with her today.
And to conclude where I started all this: I am more than forgiven by the 8am client, and the addict is on the books for next week.
Happy hump day, as they say.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 