Wasteland

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It’s Sunday and this is always the worst day of the week.
It popped into my head just now how when Bob and I first got together and I didn’t have Wi-Fi – for some reason I don’t think that he did in his apartment either – which for both of us was very much a money thing – we would drive around in his car and he would try to hijack someone’s Wi-Fi. I can’t really remember what we were looking up but I do remember that. Quite a few times, actually.
And then, too, we would go to Panera and I would read all the free Sunday papers while he would use their Wi-Fi for his work.
He’d refill his coffee cup more than once and still take one more for the road. I can see him…driving, hand on mine, smiling and every once in a while, grinning at me and moving his eyebrows up and down. He’d tell me that he loved having me in the passenger seat…
I also have to laugh – and I’m laughing right now literally, out loud – at how he always put a tilde on the “n” of Panera and then pronounce it as such. No point in correcting him…

I know he’s above all of that now. Well, not the pronunciation of Panera, but even going in one.

We were in our 40’s but so often, for a myriad of reasons and a whole host of situations, felt – and acted – like we were teenagers.
But I am so not young.
And he left me permanently damaged.
And bouncing back isn’t something I could do as if I had been so much younger.

I miss those days.
And the smiles across the table.

 

Btw, HB, PJC

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