Jul. 29th, 2019 12:01 pm
Space for rent
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muckefuckLast night I had dinner with a fellow widow and we brought the conversation to a close talking about visitation dreams. He had an odd one recently where his husband returned and let him know he approved of his new boyfriend. Of course, a discussion like that so close to bedtime is inviting my subconscious to send me another. In fact, I got at least two. One is some vaguely-remembered claptrap bout the Isle of Bute (which happened to come up in conversation Saturday). The other was much odder: a Monshu dream without Monshu.
I'd just gotten back to my one-bedroom apartment and was sitting in the living room taking off my shoes when I was struck anew by the fact that Monshu wasn't there and wouldn't ever be there. I looked around at the cluttered space and the phrase "the walls reflected back his loneliness" drifted through my head while I considered the fact that I really needed to clean up some of the clutter that had accumulated since Monshu's death--despite being simultaneously aware that this was not an apartment we'd ever shared. Then I woke up.
The widow is someone I've vaguely known for years, probably through the Square Dance Cult. He only opened up to me about the death of his partner very recently and it sure is instructive to know that, fourteen years on, he's still dealing with some of the same things I am. Running to him at the beach was very fortuitous, because he happened to be with an online friend from last October who I hadn't yet met in person. He didn't join us for dinner, but he did give me a ride to the restaurant, which gave us more time to chat about Delaney.
The beach was busy but light on bears; I had to widen my gyre to find these. They were camped next to Campfire Daddy, who was with a few friends of his own. I made out with one of them, which was an unfortunate decision for multiple reasons, not least of which was that his beach towel was soaked with light beer. I blame the absence of Pasillero, who's spending a week in Toronto for his birthday.
It may have been there were more people I knew there earlier, but I'd committed to games with the gang and special guests (an out-of-town friend and a fuckbud) and didn't get there until nearly 6 p.m. They managed to pick two of my least-favourite games--One Night Werewolf and Seven Wonders. When it was my turn to pick, I chose "Superfight" based on the name, but it proved to be something much dumber than I expected. (I should've known JB wouldn't play a game that actually had mechanics for fighting.)
I'd just gotten back to my one-bedroom apartment and was sitting in the living room taking off my shoes when I was struck anew by the fact that Monshu wasn't there and wouldn't ever be there. I looked around at the cluttered space and the phrase "the walls reflected back his loneliness" drifted through my head while I considered the fact that I really needed to clean up some of the clutter that had accumulated since Monshu's death--despite being simultaneously aware that this was not an apartment we'd ever shared. Then I woke up.
The widow is someone I've vaguely known for years, probably through the Square Dance Cult. He only opened up to me about the death of his partner very recently and it sure is instructive to know that, fourteen years on, he's still dealing with some of the same things I am. Running to him at the beach was very fortuitous, because he happened to be with an online friend from last October who I hadn't yet met in person. He didn't join us for dinner, but he did give me a ride to the restaurant, which gave us more time to chat about Delaney.
The beach was busy but light on bears; I had to widen my gyre to find these. They were camped next to Campfire Daddy, who was with a few friends of his own. I made out with one of them, which was an unfortunate decision for multiple reasons, not least of which was that his beach towel was soaked with light beer. I blame the absence of Pasillero, who's spending a week in Toronto for his birthday.
It may have been there were more people I knew there earlier, but I'd committed to games with the gang and special guests (an out-of-town friend and a fuckbud) and didn't get there until nearly 6 p.m. They managed to pick two of my least-favourite games--One Night Werewolf and Seven Wonders. When it was my turn to pick, I chose "Superfight" based on the name, but it proved to be something much dumber than I expected. (I should've known JB wouldn't play a game that actually had mechanics for fighting.)