Monday, May 10, 2010

Post 300: T-48 hours and counting

Okay...Rather than discuss how many posts have ACTUALLY been made, as with post 200, let's just go with the counter I see when I log in and stick with that, eh? Also, while the time stamp may say one thing, by the time I actually post this, it will be 48 hours until...until...


Y'know, for all the times I mentioned this very fact, I don't think I've told you folks the plan. Becky and I certainly discuss it enough. We even spent about a half hour staring at the satellite views of various map sites, pinpointing exactly where she has to turn to get to my home. "No. No, sweetie, listen to me. The picture on the satellite view is wrong. There's a road there now. I understand that you don't see a road. None of the sites show one there, but that's where you turn. No...Ignore that part about driving all the way down that main road and making a U-turn. You'll end up in the wrong place. *sigh* Sweetie, I know there's nothing on the satellite photo but a barren field, but I swear to you that there's a road there, and..." Yeah, I think that one took up about 10 minutes of our time. Becky's a bright woman, but nervousness is turning BOTH of us into morons. (And I did state we were two happy idiots a few posts back.)

In 48 hours, Becky will be climbing into her car, directions by her side, a bag of travel stuff in the back seat, and beginning her 18-hour drive to KS. While I continue to tell her she need not do anything she's uncomfortable with, I have issued "orders" for her.

1: Call when she leaves. Lately I've been waking up early, usually after only a few hours of sleep. My normal schedule doesn't have me waking up until sometime around noon. Still, I want to know when she's on the road so that I can officially start worrying. Because as we all know, when you love someone, officially worrying is part of one's job.

2: Call when she stops for food or gas. It's my way on keeping tabs on her progress. Each hour on the interstate is another 60 to 75 miles out of the way, bringing her that much closer to me. Hopefully the excitement won't kill me. Driving over 1,000 miles to visit a corpse isn't exactly fun, y'know?

3: As the sun sets, find a motel for the night. When I was young and stupid, I may have dared to drive for 18 hours straight, but I've since learned a few things about what's actually on the road, especially after my lengthy chats with Leroy, a guy I've mentioned a few times. He's a truck driver, and he's told me about how strict his company is about following the law. But there are independent drivers who aren't as careful. The more driving they do, the more money they make. The last thing I need Becky to do is share the road with an overly tired truck driver that's falling under the spell of highway hypnosis. Find a motel at sunset.

4: Call from the motel. She may be on her way, but I still need my daily dose of Becky. The shorter calls throughout the day simply won't be enough. I'll need a real "fix" by then.

5: Repeat orders one and two, with the addition that she's to call when she reaches Topeka, KS. At that point, she'll be an hour away. That's when I'm sure to start experiencing a chemical overload from within. Adrenaline, endorphins, and whatever else my body can dump into my bloodstream. It's going to make me want to sleep. Instead, I'll shower and wake myself up. Then I will take up station outside the trailer and await her arrival.

6: Be prepared to be glomped when she arrives Thursday evening. According to online resources, "to glomp" is to initiate a flying tackle/enthusiastic hug. It's just over a week since we started officially planning this little trip for her, but it feels like an eternity. Glomping seems appropriate.

Orders followed...Becky is here safely...Then what?

It seems every motel in my area has conspired to not give us privacy. Each call we made had us face the reality that the first three nights of her visit would have to be spent my tiny bedroom...with Ray and Cody lurking about the house. And both of those characters have plans for Becky's visit.

Ray had plans to clean. He somehow believes that he can get this place in enough order as to make a good first impression. My belief is that unless he plans on using explosives, nothing can save our home. Three bachelors live here, two of them greater gamer geeks than I could ever hope to be. It would require divine intervention for this place to be put in reasonable order. Still, he wants to make the effort, which is nice. Said efforts also include making sure the pullout bed from the couch in the living room is readily available. He's of a mind that Becky may want to sleep alone. One of our BIG plans is to spend many hours cuddling and talking. This can't be done with her sleeping in another room. Of course, that bed is bigger than mine, so maybe we'll BOTH end up in the living room. =)

Cody is going to be on the lookout for any sounds that may indicate Becky and I are...ummm...doing something other than talking or sleeping. The moment he has any such indication, he's going to stand by my bedroom door and shout, "Rob! The house is one fire!" But that's okay. Cody made it clear when I moved in that he has a great fear of needles, so all I'd need to do in return is play a brief round of "Catch a Needle" to get him back. >=P

On Sunday, Becky and I will, as the saying goes, "get a room." It's easy to imagine that we're doing this so we can have some kind of wild, naked romp for the remainder of her stay, but it's really for the sake of our sanity - that of me, her, and my housemates.

For her and I, it's the fact that the walls of this place are paper thin, and my room is right next to the bathroom. I can see it now...Becky and I cuddling up on my bed, her stroking my cheek...I whisper how much I love her...and then the sound of someone urinating from the next room over comes through loud and clear, accentuated by various gaseous emissions. Not exactly the height of romance.

For the guys, it's a matter of not torturing them with the fact that I'm nauseatingly happy, and the source of that happiness being around, teasing them with the fact that they've both been single a LONG time. It's not fair to inadvertently torture them. We will go off and get a room for another week.

And how are we paying for this room? It's all Becky. When her trip to Puerto Rico exploded, she called the next day to try and get a refund on her nonrefundable trip. The $1,100 that she'd spent would now be gone - simply gone - if she didn't try. Lo and behold, the 65% of the cost that was to go to her hotel was refunded in full. The rest of the money, her airfare, can only be turned into a credit that's good for the next year. And I assure you that we're contemplating various ways to use it. =)

What happens after that is likely a little taste of Rob's life. I have that pre-surgical appointment a week from today. I'll also probably have another wound care followup, as that second ulcer is now becoming somewhat stubborn in its healing. My plan is to have Becky sit in on BOTH appointments so that she gets a truly unfettered view of what I deal with.

I should be clear that's it's not my intent to shock her. The thing is that Becky has stated that my problems don't bother her. She will take me for exactly who and what I am. Well, saying those things when my problems are merely a discussion is easy. SEEING can make the difference. And do I expect her to run once she receives a good view of my problems? Not at all. I simply expect a slight change in her perspective of things, appreciating the gravity of my medical conditions.

All I need to avoid when she's here is some kind of mental meltdown. And what bothers me is the fact that those are sometimes too easy to come by.

Need an example? Okay. Imagine that she and I have spent a wonderful night together. It was a night with a boatload of cuddling, romantic speeches, and a million lovers' sighs. We drift off to sleep in one another's arms. In the night, we disengage from that romantic entanglement and end up sleeping back to back. The next morning arrives, and Becky wakes first. She reaches over to caress my cheek...

...and I scream like I'm being attacked. It's just a brief episode in which my PTSD strikes, and I start calming down in short order...

...only to start becoming depressed at the fact that I'm a walking, talking train wreck. My brain latches onto the idea that she's too good for me, that I'm unworthy of the affections of such a wonderful woman, and I start pleading with her to go home, try to forget me, and go find some guy who isn't carrying so much baggage that he practically needs a psychological valet.

And while I can see that happening, I can also see the results. Becky would refuse to leave. She'd hold me and let my tears flow as necessary. She'd remind me that she loves me, and that she doesn't want anyone but me. In short, she would offer to be the valet that carries my baggage for me.

I was right. I'm finishing this post, and Becky leaves in 48 hours. You'll all have to excuse me now, as I go spend some time trying to slow my heart, which is now racing with excitement and anticipation. =)

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