Third showing of the long weekend (perk to working in the financial industry) was a couple, about the age we were when we bought the condo. Didn’t catch a glance at their fingers, but they looked like newlyweds. They seemed to really like the place, except that there’s no external storage. The attic is really huge, I don’t get this desire for extra storage. Upstairs is a linen closet, two full-size closets, a walk-in closet, and a half closet with shelves, plus the storage in the laundry closet and the water heater closet. Plus the attic, which covers the same space as the entire floor plan, though only about 100 square feet have plywood down. Honest, it’s enough. And we’re only talking about the second story here.
Anyhow, it was nice that they seemed to like the place. I don’t have any real hope that we’ll see a bid, but who knows, maybe they’ll be the one. At the same time, it was a bittersweet reminder that I was in the exact same place a couple of years ago.
Why I know all of this, and met the couple? Because the realtor was 50 minutes late. I’m really exhausted by the constant paranoia that a realtor is going to show up. This takes literal form in my inability to sleep past 7, since any sound I hear in adjacent units, or with the cats moving around the house, wakes me thinking somebody is in the house.
Now is as good a time to talk about this as any. I’ve got about a day and a half more as a married man. I doubt I’ll have anything new to add once things are official and the trial is over. I don’t regret a day of my relationship with Sarah, a relationship that started with Hackers, back in 1995. Hack the planet.
I quantify my life in odd ways in my head. An example is that I’d worked up that the curve representing my time with Sarah, versus the time I’ve spent without Sarah. I knew that at a certain point, the former would eclipse the latter in magnitude, and of course this lead me to think also in terms of doublings and so forth. Normal people think of families and children, I think in terms of intersecting curves. Like I say, odd.
The thought in the back of my head is that by the time I actually sat down and ran the numbers, I would have long since passed this meaningless point. I worked the math in my head while folding clothes today, and it turns out I never reached it. 4,504 days puts me about 83% of the way towards this crossing of curves.
If I play the probability game, I’ve got about 17,000 days to go, with a pretty large standard deviation. We’ll see what happens. As promised, I’m making my best effort to stay alive for at least the next 343.
I’m at peace with the decisions I’ve made, without exception. Again, I have no regrets. Looking back, I’m somewhat fascinated at the locus of points that describes the trajectory I’ve followed thus far. Where I’m going next is a lot more cloudy than it has been for years. I’m not sure I can even describe my instantaneous trajectory. This no longer bothers me. I’ve made plans and lists all my life, and they haven’t brought me to happiness thus far. I’m coming to terms with having zero direction, motivation, hope, or plan.
But, I’m told that’s not attractive to the opposite sex, so I’m also practicing my acting and lying. Ambition is sexy. I’m doing well, thank you for asking, and how was your weekend? Faking self-confidence when you no longer have any is a bit harder. Alcohol helps, but it also makes me more of an asshole. And people don’t deserve that.
Getting off track. I think I’ve talked to most people, in varying levels of detail, but I’ve missed some, so now you know. I reached a point where I had to do something in order to try to salvage my sanity. Jury’s still out as to whether or not I succeeded. We both changed, and we couldn’t reconcile all the differences. It is what it is. I’m to be a divorced white male in my late twenties, woefully inexperienced at dating, re-entering the high risk factor class for sexually transmitted diseases, with the vague intent of finding happiness before I die. It’s a party.
My hope is to stay close friends with Sarah through the remainder of my life. It’s been a while since we physically separated, things are still tough. Awkward. She’s moving away in about two weeks. That’s going to be different, but I’m happy for her grabbing ahold her life and steering it in a new direction. There’s more sun out west, and it’s good for her.
The point of this story is that I destroyed a large load of whites today, when two red rags snuck in with a white towel undetected. If anybody wants some off-pink socks, t-shirts, or towels, let me know. They’re delightful. My MySQL t-shirt, however, just looks ridiculous, and is now only appropriate for use while painting.