Since We Last Spoke…

The major difference between a blog and a handwritten diary is that it is so easy to let the blog fall by the wayside.  Opening up the diary, that blank page stares at you like an accusation.  I had to come to this site just now and then look to see that it’s been about six weeks since I last posted in here.

I have been single again for a month.  When Betsy emailed me that she thought we should part ways, my reaction was more relief than it was sadness.  I think the evidence has always been plain to me that I am probably not psychologically or spiritually equipped to be in a relationship, and probably never was.  My reaction was to be the textbook anti-stalker.  I immediately unfriended Betsy on Facebook, and then mailed her the pair of pajamas that she had left in my bedroom closet for when she came up to Columbus.

Susie will be following in my footsteps at the Columbus State bookstore in about two weeks.  The autumn semester begins on the 31st, so I’ll be back to 12- or 13-hour work days in two weeks or so.  She was a little shell-shocked from her brief job at Charley’s Philly Steaks, so she was reluctant to go to the bookstore’s open interviews.  She went in on a Monday morning, and on Tuesday, she learned by email that they hired her.  And on Wednesday, she and I went to a clinic off Bethel Rd. so that she could have a drug test.  (That was new to me; I did not have to take one when the bookstore hired me in December 2010.)

I’m hoping the bookstore job will lead to something permanent for Susie.  She will be available any hours the store is open, but at present she cannot exceed 27 hours per week.  I know she’ll be happier working in a bookstore than she would be in food service, so I’m hoping that they’ll ask her to stay at the bookstore once the rush period ends, which is usually right after Labor Day.

Beside the drug test, Susie had to clear some other bureaucratic hurdles before it became official that she is soon to be an employee of Columbus State Community College.  First, she had to prove that she can legally work in the United States.  I wasn’t able to lay my hands on a copy of her birth certificate immediately, so we took her passport to Columbus State’s H.R. office.  She also produced a brand new Social Security card (brand new because she lost hers when her wallet was stolen), and a brand new State of Ohio ID (Ibid.).

Both Susie and I looked forward to Pride this year, especially after the Supreme Court ruled that all 50 states had to recognize same-sex marriages.  (I learned the news from Susie moments after the Supreme Court announced the decision.  She was on her laptop in the McDonald’s near the OSU campus, and saw it on a TV tuned to CNN.  She emailed me immediately–lots of capital letters and exclamation points.)  However, Pride was a washout.

Literally.

We went to the beginning of the Pride Festival Friday night in Goodale Park, and visited several of the vendors’ booths.  (Susie bought the T-shirt she wanted to wear on Saturday, showing the word OHIO with interlocked female symbols for the first O, and interlocked male symbols for the second O.)  But on Saturday, it was gray and rainy from the time Susie and I left the house.  We camped out at McDonald’s and decided to wait until the rain stopped or lessened.

And it never did.  The organizers pulled the plug on the Festival a little after 1 p.m., because by that time, it was still raining, to the tune of one inch per hour.

There’s more to cover, so I don’t want to throw everything into one entry and then wring my hands about not having any material to put in future blog posts, so I’ll end it right here.  That, plus it is now after 2 a.m., and my energy–both mental and physical–is beginning to flag.  It’s becoming harder and harder to hit the right keys.

I like to think that my readers await my blog entries like episodes in a soap opera, like "Love of Chair" (from THE ELECTRIC COMPANY).

I like to think that my readers await my blog entries like episodes in a soap opera, like “Love of Chair” (from The Electric Company).

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