His Eye is on the Gecko

I called mom earlier today and she gave me some rather unexpected news: Al, the gecko that went AWOL last year, reappeared. He was beneath the boiler in our basement, warm and well-fed on wild crickets. (If you missed this, you can read it here.)

Call it miracle or coincidence, but it's a breath on fresh air as I feel polluted by discouragement. Mom wanted to save the events for my next visit but she felt I need them now: Now that I'm wondering how I'll pay August rent; now that I have been almost two months unemployed; now that I haven't had much freelance going. I have savings (I am trying to not touch that money) but I'm seriously considering returning home.

I don't know where you are with God, or if you even believe in Him, but little things like the above make feel that I will somehow be fine and Someone will take care of me. Maybe not in my beloved Lincoln (I've got to get used to the idea) but fine and in one piece.

I'm still waiting for instructions. For now though, I'll do my best to sit still.

And Then There Was One

Saturday afternoon I went over to Missy and Becky's. The usual suspects were there: Joe, Missy, Becky, Derek, Brandon, Amanda. Except it wasn't usual anymore; all my closest buds are now couples.* Yep, it became "official" on Friday.

My visit would've been completely enjoyable if it wasn't for a gnawing thought. Was I the "single friend", the odd one out? You can tell me I can be what I want to be, but you can't tell me it's not a legitimate worry. I've had a close friendship altered by dating. I daresay that's why some of us singles appear cynical and bitter about couple-hood: we tend to get forgotten. Not all couples are like this yet the convenience of having that one person tends to make some people disappear.

(On a side note, I do have some pretty rockin' couple friends. Props to you guys.)

Later that evening I heard "One is the Loneliest Number" by Three Dog Night. I pointed it out to Amanda and Brandon and promptly told the intercom to shut up.

"It's not like you're 'the single friend' and you can't hang out with us anymore."

Those words were pretty reassuring. "I know, but I still have to readjust."

For me this means being confident they'll still be there for me. I also need to let go of my near-panic. I am comfortable being alone, I just don't like feeling lonely. I don't want/need a significant other (not now, anyway), but I do want/need friends.

Today I feel more secure about the social future. The camaraderie seemed the same as we hung out that Saturday afternoon. We bummed around in the living room, talking about nothing and everything, laughing, playing games, napping. As long as I have that, them, I'll be fine.

*One friend, unmentioned here, is trying to go that direction.

Closet Connotations

Every night as I lay me down to sleep I face my closet. After all these years it still brings a sense of uneasiness though I know what is and isn't there. There are clothes, suitcases, gift wrapping materials. There are no ghosts or monsters; maybe a spider.

Why is it that closets have an eeriness? Even if you leave your fears behind with your childhood, it takes a different form. People (I have a bad feeling it's not just kids) are inhumanely punished in closets. We hide our "skeletons" and dirty little secrets in them. Closets are crammed so we can appear clean when someone comes into our rooms.

After all these negative associations, why do some people insist on adding another by trying to force others to proverbially live in a closet? It's dark, lonely and crammed. It's full of things we don't necessarily use and even forget. Why should we try to forget our friends, family members, neighbours, by keeping them there?

Worse, why is it our church, an entity that claims to be loving and accepting, is a culprit in this crime? I feel sometimes as so-called believers we make God look bad. I wish we as a whole would tell our closeted counterparts it's OK to come out, that we're there to love, accept and help them with anything they are struggling with. It would be even better if we meant and acted on it as a whole.

I understand loving someone or something unfamiliar can be a struggle; I've been there and still wrestle with some concepts. But think about what life would be like if you were stuffed in a closet. The thought alone depresses me.

Even if you're not ready to support a "radical" or "liberal" change, at least don't judge; that's more than some get. And if we did minimum maybe we'd have less lonely fellow humans in the dark.

Cheshire Cat Grin

I have a close friend whose title of "close" I can almost safely say is comatose and "friend" barely hanging on. Part of it might be the contempt and bitterness towards him that I'm failing to ward of. The other is him.

He doesn't tell me much personal stuff anymore. I can tell he's not content; I still can read him well. There is, however, one small keyhole that allows me to proverbially peer into his otherwise tight space. I snooped (and ironically, stumbled) upon it. Voyeuristic doesn't quite describe my actions. My moral compass wants to point on the label "crime," though it spins between that and "stalker." Other adjectives are welcome.

I wish a simple phone call, visit or chat would re-establish trust and make my detectiving pointless. Sorry, this seems to be the only way I really know what's going on with him. Why? It's complicated. Why is it always complicated? Oh, yeah. *Re-reads beginning paragraph*

I wish I was more ashamed. But knowing that I know what he doesn't want others, probably including me, to know gives me a sick, Cheshire Cat-like grin.