Do You Want Vindaloo With That?

My emotions are going in so many directions right now I can hardly see straight.

You may or may not know that yesterday was Steve's birthday. I spent the day doing things that Steve would have bugged me to do: get a haircut, get the shopping done, restock cat food and supplies and get the hell out of the house for a change.

I did all these things and felt very good about it. Then, last night, I had a very disturbing nightmare; the first one I've had since Steve died (at least the first one I remember vividly). It had to do with theater and cats and Steve somehow coming back as a kitten and bonding with our cats, all happening in the house area of the theater. There seemed to be Serlingesque overtones to the reincarnation, but nothing upon which I could put my finger. Doesn't sound very scary, I know, but it was terrifying to go through it.

In the dream, Steve fell down a flight of stairs and died, and some folks thought I had pushed him. Part of the banister was lodged in my right side, which was somehow proof that I didn't, but I couldn't convince some people. Oh, my: get me to a therapist, stat. It was also the first time in months that I really sweated in my sleep, almost like I broke a fever, and perhaps that's not too far from wrong. And I'm wondering, did Steve have a hand in this? The whole experience was meaningful in some abstract, symbolic, spiritual way. Somehow, I feel progress has been made somewhere in my life or my soul. (We humans are such a superstitious lot.)

I had my first contractor coming over this morning around 10, a drywall guy recommended by Bob McBroom (Steve's ex and one of the few people to really be there for me all these months). He was a drywall guy, so it was a fairly quick tour of the house: Pull down the popcorn on the ceilings, finish off the tray ceiling in the kitchen, patch a couple cracks in the bedroom walls. (I just got his estimate by e-mail: $2750, including closet ceilings.) I guess I'm going to have to get used to strangers tramping in and out of the house for the next couple months.

Before Kevin (the drywall guy) showed up, I got a telemarketing call for Steve. I have a love-hate thing going on with telemarketers these days. They call and ask for Gary (none of his friends ever called him that) and I say, as coldly as possible, "Gary's dead." Then on of three things happen: 1) the caller expresses their regret at my loss and hangs up or; 2) they offer condolences and ask if I'm the new homeowner, then go into their pitch or; 3) they just hang up.

This guy, obviously calling from the dark subcontinent of India, started asking when he died, said he was a friend of Gary and this was a personal call. I started confronting him about the information he wanted and asked what the call was about. He asked my name and I said it was Mark. Then I asked his name and he said "Dwayne." Yeah, Dwayne the hindu. Dwayne the global telemarketer. Dwayne the bathtub, I'm dwowning. Dwayne the asshole (and is there a more universal human state than that?).

Usually I play a bit with these telemarketers, much like a cat playing with a cornered mouse, then hang up. This guy was obnoxious. This guy got me. I was fuming when I hung up the phone. I guess cruelty in any form or degree eventually comes back to bite you in the ass. And I realized our call had been just like a colonoscope: fiber optics with an asshole on each end.

Well, enough of that. Next comes painters, then comes flooring guys, then comes movers. Estimates and quotes and finally a budget, hopefully to take me through escrow, which I have an ugly feeling is going to hit just about in the dead of winter (not a problem here, but a definite factor on the Wisconsin end of things). Whatever happens happens. I just want to take it a day at a time and pray everything unfolds as it should.

As for my Days to Deal With, next up is our anniversary in August, then the anniversary of his death in October. Will the house be on the market by that time? I hope so. Once escrow closes and I'm flush once more, I'm sure I'll know what to do next. There are lots of steps between here and there, and I can only deal with them one at a time.

But things are good, considering. As the vanity license plate on the car I inherited from Steve says, "OK TODAY."