Conversations. Real and Imaginary.

I'm at the lake.
By myself.

(Took two tries to get here... I arrived here at 9 pm last night and as I was unpacking my stuff, I realized I'd left my laptop in Surrey. And seeing today is a working day for me, I needed a computer. So I turned around and drove back to my mom's. Grabbed my computer and headed east. Again. That's three solid hours of driving the freeway. In my dad's pick up truck. With no music. Just my thoughts. Well, just my conversations, really. Conversations in my head. With my kids. With my friends. With strangers. With movie stars. With people from my past. With people from my future. Conversations with myself. With God. And with myself again. I'd like to put a holy spin on the whole thing and say it was three hours of talking to God, but really it was just three hours of me talking and letting God listen in. I don't think I shut up enough for Him to get a word in edge-wise.)




So I'm here.
And the plan is to work while waiting for two fixer guys to come fix things. (Sewage pump and fireplace.)
First thing I did was wash my hair, do my face, and put on a bathing suit. (I didn't want a repeat of this conversation.) (By the way, he, the painter, talked to my sister afterwards and said something like, "Whoa. Your sister. She should always have make up on. She went from looking like a hag to friggin Brittany Spears".)

Right. Hair. Make up. Bathing suit. Tank top and pants. (I really have to buy some shorts.)

Then I take off my pants, grab my laptop and sit on the deck until I hear a truck pull up.

I put on my pants. Grrr.

I take him under the house via all the dark and hidden passageways and show him what I did when the house was buzzing two weeks ago. He shows me how to remove panels and reset things with only a something-something screwdriver.

And then he says,
"Do you have to come down here, at night, by yourself, to check on this?"
I nod.
"That's not right. This doesn't have to be down here, you know. It could be put ... and he walks me around to the side of the house and says, "Here. It could easily be here. On the outside wall, see?"

I nod, then say, "I love you. Are you married? I'm a good catch. Look, I have access to a cabin. On a lake. And I have a job. Please take care of me. And move alarm systems to outside walls so I never have to come back down here alone again."

Then I go back up to the deck and take my pants off.

An hour or so later, I hear him at the door.

I make myself decent by covering up my thighs.

"Hi."
"Hi. Your pump is fried. I'll have to replace it. Do you have the invoice from the last time I was here?"
"Nah. My mom is the bookkeeper. She'd have that in Surrey."
"Oh, OK. I was just going to see if it was still under warranty. We guarantee them for a year..."
"It's been more than a year. You were here in 2012. Do these things really only last 20 months?"
"Wellll... something, something, condoms. Tampons. Power outages..."
I notice the horrific smell coming from the tanks, and can see that he's been knee deep in our shit for the past hour. And we're talking about condoms.

How intimate.


"I've got a replacement one in my truck. So I'll put a new one in for you."
"K. Thanks."
"Uh. Do you mind if I use the bathroom?"
"Sure. This way."
And I take him to the one on the main floor.

I leave my pants on and go back outside to my 'office space' on the deck.

"JANEO! JANEO!"
I go back into the cabin and call from the laundry room, "Yeah?"
"Do you have any toilet paper?"
Oh my goodness. How embarrassing for him. (Or maybe not. Do guys get embarrassed with these things?)
"Oh. So sorry," I yell. "I'll go grab some for you."

I run upstairs and grab 4 rolls and my face is on fire. Why am I embarrassed? Is it because I know he's been pooping? How old am I?

I plan to leave the rolls outside the bathroom door and holler to him after I've retreated back to the kitchen. But as I get to the door, it's open. Partially. And he's standing there. Pants up? Pants down? I refuse to look. This is all waaaaay too intimate for me. I drop the rolls on the floor and run back to the deck.

"What I said earlier about wanting to marry you? It's off. I can't handle bathroom intimacy. Sorry."

My pants are staying on the rest of the day.

And, as if to affirm my decision, God took away the sun and blew in some clouds.




Three things I'm thankful for:

1. Most of my conversations stay in head and never make it past my lips.
2. The pump is pumping. And the fireplace is firing.
3. This place.

Peace out, yo.
xo