"Celebrate!"
That's what a friend emailed me. I'd told her that Tuesday was my anniversary, and she said, "Celebrate something else!"
"All I'm doing is going to the bank." I replied.
"That's a perfectly good reason to celebrate."
I didn't have the heart to send a letter back saying that the reason I was going to the bank was to close our final joint account. "Celebrate" just didn't seem to fit. I know that some would say that celebrate fits;. MyUnwife probably would, but not me. Sure, it's one more step towards closure—I do want that. But a reason to celebrate? That would be like Humphrey Bogart dancing a jig while Ingrid Bergman boards the plane, then bumping Claude Rains on the way off screen to grab a beer.
"You rock."
No, it's not a celebratory event, or maybe it's just me being weird. I've been told I can be a little odd sometimes. Hell, I felt bad for emailing MyUnwife yesterday about a notary public appointment. Here it is our anniversary, and I'm asking when she wants to sign split up paperwork. It seems callous.
I finally decided the more humane approach would be to email her like any other day and pretend the special event never existed. Isn't that what we're working towards anyway: erasing the chalkboard of our marriage? You can never get it perfectly clean though. There's still a lot of dust blurred across the surface. Things that were, things that might have been, things that I just can't remember exactly, all blurred together. It's like right after the teacher pulled out the colored chalk. You couldn't read anything off the board until somebody actually washed it. And how do you wash this? You can't, it's indelible.
I can't forget. I remember it all: the stuff, the events, the important days. I've always been good about birthdays and anniversaries. I know, I've heard the cliché about guys who always forget. I don't know how that's possible. If it's important to your partner, then it's important to you. It's a team thing. If you suck at remembering these things, then create a way to remember. A mnemonic device, a string on your finger, a tattoo on your inner thigh, whatever.
Forgetting is a bad sign. It suggests the other person is insignificant, whether that's true or not. That's why I made sure that if I had to make room for her stuff, I'd forget something of my own. Maybe that's why I don't remember my sisters' names. I just call them thing one and thing two. It's cool because I can use the names interchangeably depending on what the get me for Christmas. I'm a thinker.
"Celebrate!"
That’s what the TV ad said too. They also tell me that if I use their product, my celebration can include the possibility of serious skin reactions or stomach and intestinal problems, such as, but not limited to, bleeding and ulcers that can occur without warning and may cause death. I stopped celebrating like that in my early twenties.
So I closed the account and hugged my teller. He seemed unsure of intentions, but when I didn't grope him, he put the pepper spray back under the counter. I called the County inspector to come out and look at my water heater. He'll be impressed. I have hot water. That's reason to celebrate.
I went to Bible study last night. Those guys are true blessings. It's odd how God led me to that church. There's a long story behind it but that's a celebration for a different time. Lets just say I'm thankful that he did. I've also been contemplating the Matthew 10:36 thing, but I don't know. Maybe I'm just looking for outside reasons. Give me answers and that's a good reason to celebrate.
I also made some personal changes that I'll tell you about later this week. I'm still trying to decide if I like them enough to share.
Ohh look, suspense. Sometimes that's reason to celebrate. Sometimes that's just a reason to call the police.
I let you decide for yourself. You’re a free thinker.
And that indeed is a reason to celebrate.
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