Sharing a drink they call loneliness

lonely-robot_00445841-1 I can hear thunder rumbling outside.

It’s about time for the late afternoon/early evening thundershower down here. It’s hot enough and steamy enough that we get one of these a day. Some days, we get two or more. Once again, I am thankful for my air conditioned townhouse. It would probably be pretty miserable otherwise.

We have been in North Carolina for almost a week. Gina and Kimmie and Frankie have been in Arizona for just about a week. This will be the first Friday Night Fiction Party that I will have to have on my own. Not much of a party, huh?

Yes, I miss them.

I mean, I haven’t really gotten all that much writing done over the last month or two, if I’m honest. First I was busy worrying about whether Gina and Kimmie were going to be able to get the money together to return to Mesa. Then I was worrying about whether they would find a place to live and a way to get there. For awhile, I was even wondering what I would do if they couldn’t leave when I did. Oh, and naturally I had to do a little worrying about my own money situation, too.

In the end, everything turn out fine. They found a place to live. They managed to rent a vehicle to get them there. Once they got there, they found some dirt cheap furniture to get by with. Gina found a job before she had been there for five days — a good job with benefits and overtime pay. Much, much better than the last job she had out there. Between them, they are sharing a bike now, but that can’t last for long in 108 degree weather. Once Gina gets a car, Kimmie will feel able to start looking for work.

All that perfectly good worrying, and for what?

I’m glad things are working out for them. In some ways, things are working out better for them than they are for me … a few money issues that will resolve themselves when school starts next month. It’s all been a huge load off my mind.

Besides that, I just miss them.

We used to have at least one party every weekend. We pretty much stopped having them as we got closer to moving and succumbed to anxiety. The girls had lost interest in booze when they found they had other, more exotic options. I stopped drinking as much when I started taking a prescription anti-depressant and found it was doing its job. And the talk, the conversations that were the mainstay of those intimate sessions … well, that stopped, too. I’m not really sure why my daughters stopped talking to me but, when they did, the parties pretty much dried up.

I suppose it was going to be inevitable that they were going to stop talking to me eventually. The development of a sense of privacy is healthy. And it is an inevitable part of momming that the younglings eventually leave you behind to live their lives. They have each other to talk to now. I’m pretty sure that I’ll find people I can talk to eventually, too.

And in the meantime, it’s Friday. Time to slip the flash drive into the USB slot, mix myself a Toasted Almond and open the file. Who knows? I might even get some writing done.

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