Woman on the run

Sorting out my desk (I'd lost my checkbook, and was gearing up to write a huge sum of money to my contractor), I found a c.d. that I'd buried in the back of a drawer. Actually, I'd forgotten about its existence.

And when I saw it again, it brought back memories that I've been attempting (not too successfully) to bury also.

I stared at it. Then I put it aside. Possibly, in a week or so, it will disappear in a pile of papers -- there isn't a lot of room in here right now.

I know I'm not ready to play it.

This morning I had a challenging conversation with my contractor. Items in a change order concerned me -- and, as it turned out, I'd been reading the complex document completely wrong. I could see the man supervising the entire renovation of the house become more and more uncomfortable.

Finally he blurted out that his wife (who runs the business side) thought that I thought they were making a lot of money from the project. While I assured him that it wasn't the case, I felt very uncomfortable. I have the sense we haven't said what we need to say to be "clean' with one another.

Raising questions, trying to get to the core of the matter, as uncomfortable as it sometimes can be, is my way of life. I figure that it's better to have your cards on the table -- and I hope for that in return.

But truth -- this kind of truth -- between two people is unusual. It doesn't happen a lot. It's much easier to not communicate, to hide behind daily routines, to languish in limerence, lust or lassitude than tell someone you are furious, or anxious, or feeling vulnerable.

And when you can do that with someone...it can be pretty scary. Who wants to be that open? It's so much easier to get hurt when you are naked -- or maybe it's tougher to hide the scars.

I will leave the c.d. on the desk. When I can play it again, and just appreciate the music, I'll know what I've gained -- and what I've lost.