Today was Tuesday.
A typical Tuesday totals tremendous trust and tribulation (I LOVE alliteration).
Allow me to start again... THAT sentence was just to send one particular reader reeling, trying to figure out if it's time to count syllables, or what he is to do now. He will either (1) ask me the meaning of alliteration the next time I see him or (2) have looked it up himself in some old dusty, real dictionary (why trust Google to take seconds when you can spend ten minutes looking it up yourself?), or (3) he will have an alliteration planned for me and my enjoyment and will do the equivalent of "performing" it for me just to prove that I can't get one over on him. Or, in his recently learned language of "the times," just to prove that he's "The Bomb".
I look forward to any of the three.
God, I love him!
Again, a typical Tuesday has me in the last appointment of the day and will last as long as is needed. I like to think it's because I'm special, engaging, and/or intriguing when it truly could be because it takes him longer than 50 minutes to figure me out. There has to be the introductory banter between the two of us. This is enjoyable to me because it's enjoyable to him. I like -- no, I crave being enjoyed.
That is followed with a series of what I characterize as compliments to which, after almost a year and a half, I'm growing more accustomed to. Should I say anything other than a resounding, "THANK YOU!" which is the equivalent to me of, "I KNOW I'M GREAT!", I am sufficiently scolded until I answer somewhat closer to expectation. So, I become coy and reluctant, and try to match the level of enthusiasm expected. If I come close, I get it repeated for me by him trying to match my voice, my facial expression, my eyes -- whatever it is he happened to notice. Then, I get asked to repeat the same expression. Doesn't he know I can't? It's natural. It's me. It comes out and you'd better catch it then because you may not get it again. Nah. He doesn't know that. He's just enjoying me.
And just recently, I was informed that these were not compliments as I have labeled them in my mind for some time now. "They are truths," I am told.
Does one say "thank you" in response to a truth? On Tuesdays, one'd better do it or suffer the scolding of someone who will persist until I acquiesce. As though my arm had been bent behind my back and I was to say, "Uncle". Instead, it's "thank you" with sincerity that better be as close to real as I can get it to look.
I think I'm supposed to believe what is being said to me -- this compliment or "truth". That is still a work in progress.
Today was NOT a typical Tuesday. I was NOT in the last appointment of the day, but instead was a 3:00. Meaning two things. First, there was someone in the waiting room waiting to get into MY seat before I was finished with it. Second, there was an office assistant (aka "wife") chomping at the bit and sending odd sounds to ring through the iPhone as someone else tends to lose track of time when I'm in the room.
Today, with one hour rather than two or more, I had to get down to business. I had to use my teacher voice and mannerisms on occasion and even hold up one finger to stop someone from interrupting so that I could get from point A to Z in that one hour. Generally, I allow for some processing, some questions, some advice. Today, the questions had to be five words or less. No advice. Basically, a "shut up and listen".
I am not at fault for how I had to handle today. I created this blog as a way to communicate some things and even directed my friend to this blog via the iPhone. However, I needed to be extremely specific as in, "This is a blog. A blog is a ..... I wrote this blog. You should have this read before you see me next."
I sometimes think that when there's the same level of intelligence and wit that there's the same level of understanding of the unspoken. In other words, I often .... this is going to cause a chuckle, but I often forget that my friend is a male. As a disclaimer, there is nothing feminine about him. He just cannot read my mind like my girlfriends can do.
Today, Lord have mercy, I nearly threw the entire time off track when I described a recent event as "sultry". A lover of words like me, I swear he tried to spend a full five minutes on the word "sultry". "Where did I get that word?" A: Out of my head. "I haven't heard that word in many years." A: Yes, so..... "Wait a minute. Do you know who Mikey Spillane is?"
I could literally hear brakes squeal in the room right then. Do I know who Mickey Spillane is? Seriously!?! Do you realize that you did not (again) read my mind via my text which has put us inordinately behind, and I've already done a public speaking stint today and I'm on my game, and I've got one hour to get from A to Z, and you want to talk about Mickey Spillane!?!
I agreed to Google Mickey when I got home which I have done. The most interesting fact is one that could give away my location. But the whole road to Mickey Spillane came from the word "sultry". Mickey Spillane must have written about "sultry" women. I have no clue and had to set about describing what sultry meant to me. And because it might not be entirely obvious to my small audience, I've inserted a video of the song and the singer. Perhaps one should read before watching the video. Perhaps one will do whatever IN the hell one wants to do and would be O-ffended at being told how to navigate a blog. In spite of the fact that one doesn't know what in the hell a blog is even thought he's looking at one right now. Am I correct? Indeed, I am.
Mickey Spillane? Hell, I didn't need anybody named Mickey to be sultry. To feel sultry. I can get there all on my own.
So don't plan for me to give a dissertation on Mickey Spillane next week. I Google him. I find myself and Diana far more sultry than Mickey.
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