Oh my goodness: A thirty eight minute flight on a plane which was filled with excited and chatty senior citizens. Special Man Friend found a dirt cheap weekend package, and apparently it’s very popular with the over 65 crowd. It’s been a good giggle. (I know I’m no spring chicken. But come on! I’ve got fifteen years until I’m even sixty!)
We are here until tomorrow. It’s been good for me I think. Mostly the sleep. SMF played poker last night, and I slept from 8:30 on.
Wait. Maybe I am ready to be part of the Senior’s Fun Tour. Darn.
SMF saw Mrs. A several times in the last week. It was hard for me. I hate that it’s hard for me. I am trying to be gentle with myself. I have been able to relax more about his weekly date with her. But midway through his third time seeing her in a week, I just had reached some kind of critical mass. It doesn’t matter how secure I am in the fact that he loves me. It doesn’t matter how reassuring he is. It doesn’t matter how many self-love techniques I use, or poly books I read.
I am a poly girl, with a mono- minded heart. I work hard to be happy. I am loved, and I know that SMF will be there for me, whatever I need. But man, it’s hard sometimes. I am not sure how to navigate this specific issue. In three and a half years with him, I haven’t ever had to deal with him having three dates with someone else in a single week. It sounds silly when I type it out, but it is not silly. I am a good person with real feelings. I have to forgive myself for struggling, because the last thing I need is to be mad at myself for having feelings.
So do I suck it up and deal? Do I ask him to slow down a little for my sanity? Do I just wait and see if it happens again? I think this week may have been a fluke, but I was completely blindsided by the intensity of my discomfort. CC is out of town, and there has been so much going on the last few weeks, that date nights have been moved around and his time with Mrs. A has been inconsistent. I tell myself that he has consistently been there for me, and I am not losing time with him.
But there’s still part of me that is uncomfortable. I think I’m afraid. Afraid that he doesn’t have room for all three of us, and that I will get the proverbial boot. Afraid that she is cuter, funner (funner is totally a word), thinner, newer, smiley-er, easier, simpler, sexier… happier. And who wouldn’t want to be around someone who was happy.
Things have been really heavy lately. Special Man has not once, batted an eye about taking on what he can in an effort to support me, and to support my kids. He is my best friend, and my biggest supporter. The bulk of my life falls on me, and he knows that. But when he steals me away for a cup of coffee, or lets me cry while he holds me, or takes the kids to the library he gives me the chance to breathe. The chance to regroup. The chance to find some peace again. He honors his commitment to me.
That’s what my logic tells me. I wish my little emotional heart would listen to my amazingly logical brain. Damn heart.
I’m sitting on the fringes of a noisy, smokey casino, with a very bad cup of coffee, while he upstairs in our room, stealing a nap for an hour. (The biggest shock to my system on this little trip has been the smoke filled casinos. In Idaho, you can’t smoke in public places unless you’re in a designated smoking area, so this level of second hand smoke is making me nuts!)
Tomorrow we head home. I feel good. I had a doctor’s appointment a few days ago (a follow up for my cancer history) and she found a few things in my bloodwork that we are hopeful will be able to be corrected with changes in medication and , supplements and I’m making a six week recovery plan to deal with the physical and emotional aftermath of the last few months.
I feel positive. I’m looking forward.