Duck!

I've made it pretty clear, I think, that I miss Capt. I'm not just grieving for HIM, the person, individual man, but for the loss of what I thought our future held. When you're in a relationship, it's not just about the here-and-now. There's plans. The front-porch-and-rocking-chair plans. Stone crab claws in Key West. Charter boat fishing. Big stuff. And little stuff, too. A new recipe (hey what if we add this...?), Hemming up pants. A puppy for his birthday. Boom. Gone. Replaced by cognitive dissonance and tears. And no small amount of anger.

ANGER?? WHAT?! Yes. Anger. That he didn't take better care of himself. That he left (however unintentionally) me with all this...stuff. Emotional baloney, fishing gear, unhemmed pants. Welding things...I can't even tell you what they are. They're heavy. That's what I know. HIs office is full of his things. Files, more fishing gear. Boat stuff. And there's a fishing boat in my driveway I am wholly unqualified to use. He told me who to take it to, who'll sell it for me. (Good grief, Capt! Don't be saying things like that! you're going to want it when you're better!) 

You know, he was going to teach me how to weld. I want to know. I want to learn how to use the plasma cutter, get a CNC machine and table, and make cool things. First, we have to get the roof on the shop. See? More plans shot to hell.  We were going to rent a small crane and get the roof on the shop. He was going to weld the trusses into place. Put in rafters and a metal roof. He was going to paint GO ARMY GO RANGERS on it because we're in the flight path of the folks training at Fort Benning. Pffft. So much for that.

And all this dive gear! I can't use the tanks, they're too big and heavy. I can't use any of his equipment- the side mount BCD, gloves, fins, whatever. How do I clear his computer so someone else can use it? I DON'T KNOW. Grrrrrrr......And that wetsuit....the custom one made to his measurements (which were peculiar)? Dangit. Is there another 5'7" diver out there who wants a cold-water wetsuit and is built like a 250 pound fireplug? Probably not. Sigh.

So yeah...I'm PISSED. I've got a shit-ton of stuff I can't use, that I've got to figure out what the hell I'm going to do with it, and no. I'm not going to apologize for using unladylike language. I'll get over it. At some point I'll decide what, when, where, and who, and the stuff will go places and to people who will make better use of it than I will. Until then, I keep the door of his office closed.