Ok, it is official. I am obsessed with updating my live journal thoughout the course of this trip. We are currently at the Spring Hill Suites Hotel in Bothell, Washington. It is 1:15 AM Pacific Standard Time, which means it is 4:15 AM back home and I have been up for over 22 hours now. I’m waiting for my boss to finish up on his laptop so I can use it to get online and type these entries all over again and into my live journal. I wanted to get right on and type my last post, but instead I’m wrigint more while I wait for him to wrap up what he is doing. Yep, definitely obsessed.
George just made the comment that it’s 4 AM, and we are getting our second winds. He’s right. We’re up talking about business, and our personal lives, and various other topics that three men who have nothing in common come up with late at night in a hotel room.
We got to talking about our wives, for one. George has been married to his current wife for twenty years. He was married to his first wife for 10 years. I was only with Jody for a total over seven years, and most of it seems like an unreal blur to me at this point. Isn’t that odd? I’m not saying that it is a bad memory that I’ve wiped out. Quite the contrary. I have many wonderful memories of my time with her (AND many bad ones, as any marriage will). It’s just that the whole experience just seems like another life. Another person. An existence that doesn’t quite belong to me. I remember certain key events. I remember when we started dating, the night of my 21st birthday party. How I had almost blown the whole thing by joking calling her a “fucking bitch” that night. I remember the nervousness in her voice when she told me that that people in the theater company were already talking about us. I remember watching “Hellraiser” at her apartment and how much it freaked her out. I remember driving back to Winter Haven from St. Petersburg one day and playing with each other during the whole two hour trip. I remember how we used to make out for as long as we possibly could in the parking lot of the Polk Community College theater, and how I was usually late for work as a result. I remember reading poetry to her on our first Valentines Day together. I remember asking her to marry me a few days after that at Epcot. I remember the night Alex was conceived. I remember a lot of nights when he could have been. I remember lying next to her while she was pregnant, and feeling Alex kick my back through her belly.
I remember all of these things and more. The list could go on and on. But they don’t feel like my memories any more. They feel like they belong to someone else, and I’m just borrowing them.
I need to go to sleep. I’m being wayyyy to thoughtful for my own good.