Heart Update: Emotional Edition

It’s been two weeks since I left Nikki. I’m trying to avoid marking the anniversary. I did that a lot in years gone by, and it never really helped. Not sure why I did it in the first place but to annually punish myself for hurting others. This one is going to be easy to remember, though, as the Friday before Christmas. I’m trying not to think about it.

The following morning, I made the fastest decision I’ve ever made in my life about finding a place to live. There was only one location whose leasing office was open on a Saturday. When I told them why it was urgent, they expedited everything. About three hours after my first phone call I was approved to sign the lease, though being Christmas week, it would be another several days before I got the official paperwork signed and they keys were in my hand.

In the meanwhile, my parents had flown into town on Christmas day, so I shared their hotel room until I was able to get movers together. I wanted to socialize with them and enjoy their company, but I just didn’t have it in me. It was during their trip that I laid my motorcycle down and found out my uncle Nick had a heart attack that would be the end of him a few days later. The following week would present my brother’s release date from prison after 24 years, a series of tests with my cardiologist, one last pass through the old apartment to gather up the things I’d forgotten, and a Serbian tradition my uncle adhered to called a parastos which includes having a memorial for someone 40 days after they pass away. That makes it my mother’s birthday.

Mixed in there was getting to reprise one of my favorite roles I’ve ever played while staving off a chest cold bad enough to give it to four of the cast plus the stage manager.

Unpacking has been an unusual chore. Unboxing the hastily packed keepsakes and presents and saved bits of handwriting is like finding emotional land mines over and over again. Sometimes they hit me right away. Sometimes it takes a few hours, or even a day or three. This apartment is so tiny compared to any place I’ve lived alone. It’s nice enough, but it took five days just to figure out where all the furniture was probably going to go.

Messages of kindness and support from my friends are wonderful and helpful, though there’s a tincture of guilt and surprise that no one has stepped forward to call me a son of a bitch. Maybe that’s on its way.

I’ve also had tremendous financial support from my parents. At some point during their visit I realized that I make most of my income from various suburbs, and I no longer have access to a vehicle I can use in winter. One morning I said to my dad, “If I asked you to help me buy a car, what would be the next step?” Four hours later I was sitting in it. They also covered the movers and took the edge off the startup costs for a new place to live. I wish I could at least have repaid them by playing a good host while they were in town.

It’ll be okay, everything happens for a reason, it won’t hurt forever, I did the best I could. Sure.

Tomorrow morning begins seven consecutive days of one of the largest stage combat workshops in the country. I’m going spend the first few days learning techniques of the Spanish Rapier and trying very hard to leave the sword of Inigo Montoya at home. I’ll spend the rest of the workshop bolstering my career, visiting with friends I only see annually, and coming up with disarming answers to the question, “How are you?”

Still perpendicular to the ground. Still moving forward. The rest is variable.