Dancing

It seems to some of my friends that this blog is just a way of wallowing in my loss instead of “moving on” whatever that means. Could be, just as spending too much time with my sweet devastated man flips me into melancoly.

But what’s a gal to do?

Today he was standing eating a banana when i got there, and a quick inspection revealed a rather disastrous new haircut. Perhaps just a half cut, interupted by his impatience or terror,  since the sides were almost shaved and the top flopped over, perhaps in a semblance of the new style, but to me reminiscent of Adolf.

We got a bit of a quick fix done and then trailed upstairs to the Friday party, as we have done so often.

Don was very unsure of the situation but as the music got him dancing he allowed that this place was pretty grand. “I’ve never been here before.”

A timely reminder that every situation, every sentence, is constantly new, potentially threatening, and requires great effort. His trust in me proved once again, to follow up the elevator and into a strange confusing room.

As we danced and i hammed it up a bit i was rewarded with huge happy smiles. “We can do this every night,” he proposed, always eager to spend time with me and always up for a party.

I agreed, but as the old rock love songs flowed, i secretly wiped away a tear or two. How not?

“Will you still love me tomorrow?”