Killing Time

Tuesdays: the night that I am free from the children to do whatever it is that I want to do. Since the separation I have spent many Tuesdays drinking beer or wine or martinis at home. Every once in awhile I'll meet a friend out and have a beer or two with one of them, maybe dinner. Not tonight. Tonight I want to dive straight into the pool, hoping against hope that I am jumping into the deep end, thereby avoiding cracking my skull wide open.

Where do I start? Do I start with the memories? Perhaps a rendition of every detail isn't necessary, but maybe I can juxtapose the memories made with the memories-to-be-made. Shallow waters. I'll stay away from the memories.

How about the regrets? Shall I dive into them, thereby drowning myself because of the unending depth of them? No, too deep, too many things to pull at my ankles, to keep me down. I doubt I'd ever be able to get out of that pool.

How about the pool of shame? Greasy waters. If I jump into that I'll emerge dripping and shiny, unable to remove it from my body, hair and from the inside emerging outside.

Shall I think about the children? Hell no. I can't do that without tripping on the concrete first, cracking my skull open, falling into the shallow end and sinking to the bottom of the deep end.

How about the future? Maybe it is time to surmise and surprise myself, and all of you. My future is not going to be spent poolside, that's for sure. I am going to be on the beach, basking with the kids rolling beach balls across my tan legs, burying my ankles in the sand after we've finished building our sandcastle. The heaviness will have been left with our winter clothes, packed away into a plastic garbage bag for the dump.

Isn't that the way it's supposed to be for me? To think about what is waiting for me in my future - the beach, the sun, the warmth?

I am standing on a two foot square of concrete, with four 26' rectangular pools surrounding me and I am simply unable to move without diving in. I just can't do it tonight, I want to, I just can't. I simply do not have the proper swim gear available. I'll stand here, letting my legs cramp up from being in this position, avoiding each of the pools, stretch once in awhile, maybe stand on one foot, do some jumping jacks... and wait. I'll stand here and wait for enough time to pass, for someone to miraculously hand over some floaties, rings, flippers and goggles so that I might find the courage to position my hands over my head, bend at the waist and swan dive into one of them. Maybe paradise will be available to me, maybe my fairytale ending will crown me the next Cinderella, or maybe I'll just pretend that the answers are somewhere hidden in the bottom of a beer bottle.

I think I'll just take a long bath and call it a night.