Minor Annoyances

To the sad, sad souls who sign up to follow my blog for the SOLE PURPOSE of leaving me pissy little comments, even though you know they will NEVER see the light of day - here ya go.   I would tell you to get a life, but I don't care enough about you to do so.

To the rest of you awesome, intense, over-the-top demi-gods and goddesses who are riding along with me - you rock my socks off.

An update on SP - yes, he is still among the living. It seems he has decided to defy every "death date" that is presented to him. He's a obstinate bastard and I love him to bits.

So, I learned this weekend that my possible new apartment is not far from the Spokompton Fire Training Center.  I experienced a moment of what can only be described as "glee." 

As for everything else- no, I'm not studying right now....I'm trying to get my crap all packed up, and going through the apartment "approval" process....it's taking all my time.  Okay, that and the 50 Shades of Grey series.   But I am still spending an hour a day on the treadmill, toning my amazing firefighter physique. 

We are almost there, my little chickens!

It Won't Be Long Now.

I talked to SP, briefly, yesterday afternoon.  Through the grogginess, the punch-drunk lushy talk that I hear now on the rare occasion that I get to talk to him, he told me that he's on a morphine drip, with a Darvocet-like drug administered every 6 hours as well.  We talked for about 5 minutes, and I'm sure that it was completely gone from his memory 3 minutes later.

My dad and the Internet (my 2 most trusted sources of cancer information) tell me that it won't be long now.  They also tell me that SP wouldn't remember from one conscious moment to the next if I were there or not at this point, which actually gives me some comfort.

In the meantime, I'm moving 150 miles away to start a new job.  I have to pack up everything I own, find a place to live, come up with a new parenting plan with my ex, and badda bing, badda boom, it's all going to happen within the next 2 weeks.

It won't be long now.

I look at my stack of firefighter books that I need to get through.  I see all the firehouses and events that I HAVEN'T visited, all the people I HAVEN'T written about for you, my dearest reader.  I don't regret, and never will regret, my decision to walk through this with SP.  The road didn't take the expected turns, but when does it ever?  However, I need to find my life and my joy again.

Yesterday I had a nice conversation with an attractive, intelligent, clever gentleman who has expressed a definite interest seeing me once I'm settled in my new home town.  And you know what, he's not the only one lately.  How am I supposed to react to that?? Part of me, a BIG part of me, loves the attention. Part of me feels like a complete jerk for even SPEAKING to another man while SP still hangs on. I feel a huge case of Survivor's Guilt for moving on with my life while the man who gave me his heart slips away.

It won't be long now.

I've talked to a few of my friends about this, about the whole "long-distance relationship with a terminally ill man, oh and did I mention that he never got around to getting divorced, oh and I'm pretty sure I'll never see him again because he doesn't want me there, but he really really loves me and doesn't want to die alone" thing.  My more protective, hot-headed friends are furious with SP and see him as a coward who has done nothing more than jerk me around, get my hopes up, and crush my spirit just to make his last days a little more tolerable.  My more rational, level-headed friends see me as someone who didn't want one of my oldest friends to die alone and unloved, and in giving him a few months of happiness while he could still enjoy it with no strings attached, I've done right by him and by the Universe.  But both groups are telling me to move on and LIVE.

It hits me at odd moments. Packing up my stuff.  Listening to music.  Driving down the highway.  The tears come and I have to stop packing; turn off the radio; pull over to the side of the road and allow myself to lose it for a minute or two.  I cry for him, and the fact that he's not even 50 yet; I cry for the time that we won't have together; I cry for all the stories we'll never write together.  But I don't cry for what we shared, even though it was so very, very brief.  I'll never cry over that.

It won't be long now.

You told me months ago that your love for me was unconditional, required nothing in return, and was perfect just as it was.  I'm holding you to that, my dearest.  It was perfect, and I am still here for as long as you need me.  Not so very long ago, I asked you what you needed me to do for you.  You said you needed me to live a nice long life, to be extraordinarily happy, and to find love.   Thank you, darling.  I will.

So yes, I 'm still here on the other end of the phone. Yes, I'll still keep on trying to reach you 3, 4, 5 times a day without luck. I'll cry when the call comes in telling me that you've decided it's time to go. But darling SP, I'm choosing to live again now.  Just as you wanted me to.  Just as you still want me to.

It won't be long now.

I'm sure that my decision to move on like this will raise some eyebrows.  Shocker there, my behavior usually does.  But before you judge me too harshly, please know that what SP and I have wasn't like what you and Mr. or Mrs. Dear Reader have.  It was tragic and ill-fated from its birth; it was destined to end with imminent death; it was roller-coaster high and low on a daily basis.  In other words, it was perfect.

Cabela's and ICU - How Was Your Saturday?

I went to the Boy Store yesterday, aka Cabela's in Post Falls, ID.  Here's photographic proof:

Do not be alarmed.  The bears were already dead when I got there.

Saturday was a long, sucky day.  I had not heard from SP since lunchtime on Friday, when he told me he was back in the hospital due to blood pressure and O2 issues.  So I spent Saturday running around Spokane with my friend Jackie, with a furtive glance at my phone every 15 minutes.  When I call or text, he almost never answers anymore; he's on a lot of drugs.  This puts me in a position of having to wait for contact, and being completely out of control like that is a LITTLE out of my comfort zone.  Let me just say, THANK GOD for Jackie taking me out of town, because if I would have been home all day Saturday, I would have been involuntarily committed to an insane asylum by dinnertime.

So finally, at 7:33 p.m., my phone vibrates and I see this flash across the screen:  "icu. near coma."  I immediately started dialing, but whenever he answered, all I got was static.  Evidently there's no cell service in the intensive care ward.  I was actually driving home and thinking - is this it?  Is this my last conversation with SP?  By a fucking TEXT MESSAGE? 

I texted him and begged him not to leave me yet.  I didn't hear anything for the rest of the night.  I shot off a novel's worth of texts to Alex, who about 30 seconds ago just told me he didn't get any of them until 3:30 a.m.  Again, THANK GOD, at 10:30 last night TG called me and we talked for over an hour.  Actually, I didn't really talk much; I just sort of sobbed and he just pretty much sat there and listened to me do it.   TG and I don't talk much anymore, he doesn't know all the details about my life and my relationship with SP, but you know what - sometimes you don't need to know.  Sometimes all you need to do is sit on the other end of a phone and listen to your ex-girlfriend cry, and that's enough.  And for me - it was enough.

At 3:58 a.m., I got this from SP:  "luv u".

It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I was able to talk to SP this morning, as he's been transferred out of ICU and now has cell service again.  He asked for a dirty picture, I sent him my Cabela's picture and told him that I was naked, but since his vision is getting so bad, he probably couldn't tell.  His response - "nice vag."  That's my SP.

So it's now Sunday.  I wonder what will happen today.



I Just Wanted to Say "Good Luck, and We Are All Counting on You."

Decision time, folks.

You may recall back in the dark ages (also known as "November") I had mentioned that a dream of mine was to go to NYC for the Tunnel to Towers Run, which benefits the Tunnel to Towers Foundation. This foundation utilizes its donations to benefit firefighters and veterans in some really amazing ways and was founded in honor of Stephen Siller.  Siller was FNDY and had just come off-duty on 9/11 when the first plane hit.  He immediately headed downtown to join his brothers from his fire house.  When he got to the Brooklyn tunnel, he couldn't drive though - it was jammed.  So he ran the distance with his 60 pounds of gear to help his fellow man, and gave his life doing so.

This is Stephen:

So every year right around September 11th, the foundation hosts a run to as a fundraiser...you can run in Stephen's steps, through the tunnel to Ground Zero, and if you're a firefighter, you can do it in your gear, just like he did.

Well, Kat isn't going to NYC, unless some mysterious benefactor shows up with a wad of cash.  HOWEVER, the foundation also hosts the same type of 5K runs all across the country, and guess what - there's one in Spokane on 9/22.

Now our question, dearest reader:  Does Kat participate and run, or does Kat volunteer?  There are advantages to both; participation is awesome, but if I volunteer, I'll still look hot at the finish line. 

Weigh in, please.