Pardners

I went to a dinner with my dad last night and sat on one of the hardest g.d. chairs for the most miserable 2 and a half hours of my life. Made miserable by the chair and the fact that I was missing Survivor and CSI: Las Vegas, not by the company.

A cowboy poet was there and I was impressed. Not only by his funny poems and stories but by the fact that every single fucking time he said, "Just one more...", he had us all believing him. When the president of the cattlemen's assoc. thing jumped up and said "thanks for the entertainment so-and-so" I think she might have been in danger of being stampeded by over tired cowboys, forest service managers, directors and a couple from the BLM that were so very much appreciative for her putting a halt to his long winded monologue. Hell, she mighta even been kissed a couple of times. I could have. I was so friggin' tired and then we had to drive 45 miles to get home. The old guy was tired and I was afraid he might fall asleep if I stopped talking so I blabbed at him the whole way home. Don't ask me what I said because I have absolutely no idea. Alas, we arrived home, safe and sound, none worse for the wear (unless you DON'T include this morning) at twenty after ten. I went to bed as soon as I gathered up the sleeping kid and the minute my head hit the pillow, I was instantly awake. I got a new alarm clock and the glow from the clock on this thing.... good lord. It kept me awake until close to midnight. WOOONDERFUL. My point? Oh yeah, I'm tired and probably make no sense whatsoever. Welcome to my world.

I am always tired. Some days, it's worse than others. As soon as the lights in the boy's eyes go out, my mind goes to racing. I over-analyze everything; conversations, situations, looks, snubs. I worry. Constantly. About money. About the day one or both of my parents die. About my role as a parent. About my ability to provide my kid with the things he needs, what he wants and what it is he'll settle for on the inbetween. I spoil him, I know. But he's the only one I have, the only one I'll probably ever have and so why not? As long as I can teach him to be grateful for what he gets and gracious about it, then oh well. He's mine and no one else's.

My older sister asked me today if he still slept with me. Well, yes, he does. And I know it sets both of us up for problems. i.e. him not being able to sleep by himself and the issue of what will happen if/when I have a boyfriend, or even worse a *gasp* husband? I know that I should not let him, but you know what? Both of us are busy, from the minute we get home, him - playing, me - exercise, housework, the occasional TV time, my never ending addiction to the internet. And bedtime is "our" time. He tells me about his day and we talk about stuff that he doesn't understand (Current issue: Dying. Where do you go? How come you can't come back like in cartoons? Why do we have to die? And I don't wanna die!!!). And this is my favorite part of the day, every day. It is something that I look forward to and when I am having a particularly BAD day, I long for this time. When it's just him and I and no body else matters. Just us, reconnecting.

For me, nighttime conversations are the quality conversations of any relationship. What you reveal to a person or have revealed to you, in the dark of night, with your guard down, those are the things you keep. Those are the things that remind you of who that person is. I've always had key conversations with people I love after dark. Something about the darkness and the anonymity of that cloak of darkness inspire people to reveal the true soul and feelings within, sparking the bond.

Anyway, he'll end up in his own bed someday, just don't ask me when. Nighttime is hard for both of us. Being there, in the dark with all of our insecurities and fears creeping up to claim us whilst we let down our guards, and us being there together, for us right now, it's our solution. Since we're pardners and all.