It’s been about a year since I took off in the Beast on my quest to cure my permanently broken heart. I want to tell you that I did the best I could. I want to tell you that I made some progress. That I found some new hope. That I had touched a pure heart and felt something stir in the scar tissue of my own. What I can actually tell you I received was admin closure of my request.
Yesterday, I shut off the water to the Beast and drained her. I’ll put her into storage soon for December. I started looking for work and volunteering at the local maker space handling the laser cutter and holding technology workshops. I’ve been working out at the local Y to occasionally surprised looks when folks realize that this is my 40th time around the track.
I am brokenhearted. I know that’s a bit “broken record” but I actually feel it lately. I’m slightly toxic and radioactive. Literally. I met a woman I really liked back in July. Fate and illness kept us from entering emotional territory for a while, but we made it there. The next day my face stopped working for three weeks. I think we both took it as a sign that it was not meant to be. That was a kick in the balls, but at least I was expecting it.
Then there was a kick in the balls I was not expecting. I was kicked to the curb by someone I considered to be a friend. I was a damned fool. Thinking back on the time we spent together over the last year, I realize now that she had not said or did anything that should lead me to believe that she would stand as my friend. In a one-sided conversation she told me I was inappropriate and disrespectful, then proceeded to interpret everything I said in the worst way imaginable. But the fault is mine. I didn’t see this coming. And what kind of friend am I that I was so surprised by the way she felt?
Somehow, that one hurt more than a lost romance. If I had left Seattle in May, I could have avoided all of this heartache. I could have seen Alaska. I could have still had my friend. But I’m not even so sure about that.
The reason I am radioactive is my cardiologist. During my regular check up I told him about the heartburn I experienced after having a burrito at a local taco shack. He decided I needed a nuclear stress test. Now he’s decided that I need to go back in for another procedure. It might cost me the ski season. It might cost me my hair. And, it might not even do me any good.
Despite what the test revealed, I decided to still take my niece and nephew to ski, then to continue on my trip to Maui even though I may not be able to do the volunteer work I was planning on doing. After the procedure I’ll make a brief trip back to Montgomery county, where I have not stepped foot for all of 2023.
So I’ve got a lot on my plate. I’ve been ripping strips out of my soul to write the snippets of Hamburger Heart and it’s been exceedingly unpleasant. I might delete this post later. IDK. For now, please enjoy my administrative results.