I'd had a busy night planned for myself. I was to go to my gym class at 4:30, meet Stephen at the Forks for 6 and then head to my Writer's Fest volunteer job for 7 p.m. There was no room for scatterbrained mishaps.
My first disappointed thought was for missing my gym class. I've been very disciplined lately about doing a core training class three times a week and running three times a week. Although by the time I got to the gym the class was 3/4 done, I wasn't going to waste time pouting so I did my own thing on the machines and the floor. I could see the class from my spot at the glutes and hamstrings station though and I may have let a scowl escape.
Back in Truck, post workout, I turned the key in the ignition and was greeted by U2 singing I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For. I will use my last breath to argue with anyone who disputes the fact that God is a DJ with a wry sense of humour.
At the Forks I took at seat on an aluminum chair in front of the coffee shop where Stephen and I had agreed to meet. My phone rang, on its last bar of power and Stephen's mug came up. A flutter of worry stirred in my stomach.
"I just turned onto St. Mary's and traffic is insane. I guess because of the Jets game tonight. I'm not sure if I'll make it to see you," he said. "I'll call you in 10 minutes to let you know where I'm at."
Stupid Winnipeg hockey traffic messing with my date night. It's pre-season people. Calm the hello kitty down.
I sat by the window waiting for my phone to ring or die. I went over in my head all the places I'd been with my purse and keys and decided that most likely they would've fallen out of my purse at Starbucks. I plotted to call them as soon as I could find their number.
While deep in my plotting and stewing, a pair of hands grabbed my shoulders from behind and lips pressed to my left cheek. Now, I was downtown so I did gasp at first and felt a shot of adrenaline prepping me to fight or flight, but then I quickly melted when I realized I wasn't being assaulted but actually rescued from my mourning by that guy who has a strong like for me.
In the lounge I indulged in a pretty martini called a Blue Eyed Blond. I needed the irony and the booze equally.
"Stephen you can run now," I said. "It's not going to get any better. It's probably going to get worse," I said, in reference to me and my losing things.
He just smiled at me and said, "Oh Jillian, don't talk like that."
I keep saying that if there was a pill or a shock therapy I could take that would help me not forget and lose things I would go all in. My brain failures cause me so much stress and grief. My parents are used to it and have had to rescue me numerous times but I was always nervous about someone like Stephen having to deal with this mess. Stephen is neat, right down to his penmanship. I've never seen him lose anything. Not even his patience, which is the key quality someone should have to spend time with me.
On the other hand, my brain of fluff kind of ignited his affection for me. On our second date he picked me up and took me mini golfing and then for gelati. I remember that I had put on my best outfit and was feeling like I was going to wow this guy with my mini golf or at least my good sense of humour. But for some reason when we were out I felt like I was struggling to hold up conversation which was super frustrating and made me feel really shy. At the end of the night he pulled into my driveway and all I could think was how I wasn't going to see this very cute and funny guy again. I was surprised and elated when he asked if I wanted to do dinner with him later that week.And then I couldn't find my mitts. I looked on the floor, in my purse, under my seat, under my bum, nadda. I was trying not to show panic or concern about losing my favourite, pink leather gloves given to me as a birthday present by my grandmother a few years ago and then I found them between the seat and the door.
I admitted to feeling rather embarrassed about the whole incident.
"Why? It's cute," Stephen laughed.
"But it happens all the time!" And then I laughed too because all night I'd been trying so hard to be the perfect date that it felt so relieving to be not-perfect and still have this guy's eye on me. Stephen used to remind me of this story all the time. Except when he tells it he also reminds me that he ended our night by leaning over for a kiss and I gave him something with the level of affection one would use for kissing a dignitary, or, as he calls it, a "toast kiss". Six months later though he's still buying me ice cream. When we do breakfast together he puts me in charge of toast.
I went home last night and put all my angry energy into cleaning my house. I find cleaning very therapeutic. This morning I was going to leave for work early and zip down to the lost and found. I packed up my purse and then noticed something I hadn't seen there before. Keys. Were they my spare set? No. They were my usual set with the Tigger house key and the Mickey Mouse key chain. Hidden in a tiny pocket, I had put them there yesterday morning, thinking they would be safe from falling out of my outside pocket and safe from getting lost in the very bottom of the main purse area. This is what aggravates me almost as much as my mush brain. I do try to be pro-active with my scatterbrained-ness. I know myself so I do things thinking I will prevent loss, stress and frustration but more often than not it just makes a mess anyway. I have no workaround!
I texted Stephen to tell him the news.
"Awesome! Good start to your Friday," he said. And I loved him for it. I lose my keys, no big deal. I find that they were in my purse the whole time, still no big deal. If we were bodies of water I would be a meandering river and he would be Lake Placid.
"Every river has an ocean it runs to
And I knew if I kept going
Someday I'd find you"
Johnny Reid, Dedicated to You
I feel bad for making my dad come out to deliver my spare set of keys and I feel bad that I was a glum date last night, but at least two good things came out of the whole fiasco.
- I missed my regular gym class and did my own workout which, according to my sore muscles, was probably more effective than the class. Maybe I should do my own thing more often.
- I got my house cleaned up.
You're so meanPink, F-ing Perfect
When you talk
About yourself, you were wrong
Change the voices in your head
Make them like you instead
So complicated
Look how we all make it
Filled with so much hatred
Such a tired game
No comments:
Post a Comment