Wednesday, May 18, 2011

I'm just gonna put this out there.

This is the time when I feel I should apologize for not posting for a while.  And I almost did just that before I remembered that people do that in blogs all the damn time and really, nobody cares that much.  The only person I should be apologizing to is me, the person to whom I promised I would write every day.

It's just this: I've been traveling an awful lot lately, and always internationally.  After I got back from Jakarta, I was home for two weeks and then went to Munich for a week...that was very cool.  We'll be going on vacation at the beginning of June, and then right after we get back I am going to Guangzhou, China.  If I wrote about my experiences each day, my blog would be nothing more than a travel journal peppered with motherly guilt.

But since you all have been so amazingly supportive when I write about Peaches, I will give you a quick update and let you know that I was able to be home in time for this past weekend, when her soccer team went to the regional finals and ended up winning the whole thing.  That was one of those things that just, well, puts it all together, I guess.  That weekend I could have written about how we can all stop searching for the meaning of life, because it's right there in front of us, running down the soccer field knowing you're on the sidelines screaming for it.

But I have something else I want to write about.  Something that brings up an old, ugly part of my past that came back to visit me late last night.

Back when my husband had the bar, as you remember, there was a period of about a year in which he turned into another person.  Some people told me he was abusive, but not in a physical way.  It was like emotional abuse and neglect all tied into one, in the body of a person who I had come to know as loving, kind and supportive.  It was like my husband had died and been replaced with a freaky pod person who crawled into bed and slept next to me for four hours a night.

During that time, I made a friend.  Let's call him Stu.  Stu was a pretty well known local character, a musician whose band played a regular gig at an extremely popular club downtown and often traveled around the world to perform.  He wasn't famous by any means, but had a pretty large collection of fans locally.  He was starting to age (as am I) but was still a pretty good looking guy.

How we met was a little complicated, but it was outside of his normal circle and mine.   We ended up becoming pretty good friends.  I was lonely and sad, and he had issues of his own.  He was also married.  We met from time to time, always during the workday, for lunch or coffee.  I enjoyed talking to him.  I'm not entirely sure why he stayed friends with me, but if I had to guess, I'd say that a lot of it was that I was completely outside his circle, someone who didn't know him as a musician or whatever else he was, which was probably a nice change. 

I suppose in a way you could say that we had an emotional affair, which sounds kinda tacky and  I hope that's not what it was.  For me, it was a chance to have some male companionship during the time I couldn't get it from the guy I really wanted it from.  Maybe that's what an emotional affair is.  But the only thing that really made it inappropriate was that neither of our spouses, or any of our friends, knew about the other.  It was totally different from the lunches I take almost every day with male coworkers.  This was innocent, but...not.

Stu and I probably hung out regularly for four or five months, until the bar closed and I was finally able to get what I needed from my husband again.  I think he was done as well.  The last time we met it was pretty clear that both of us were going to move on.  The last thing he said to me was, "You're not gonna stalk me, are you?"

To which I said, "I don't have time for stalking".

And seriously, I don't.  But now, close to two years later, when I finished working at about 1 AM and the rest of the house was asleep, something reminded me of him.  So I opened up the website for his band, and learned that in January of this year, Stu committed suicide.

And of course, there's nobody I can tell about this hollow pit that's appeared inside me.


  1. Oh hon, I'm so sorry to hear about your friend. A quick long distance hug is headed your way.

  2. That's exactly what I thought - if I were there I'd give you a hug, and listen. ((((Lara)))) There's what I can send, anyway.