And Empty Chair

I have to admit, I'm tired.

Some people who don't know might think I live some kind of charmed life.
I travel to some exotic foreign destinations, work from home and have nobody to answer to but myself.

That's not charmed.

It's tiring.

I want somebody to answer to. Somebody who gives a rat's ass if I'm alive or dead.

Somebody to ask me how the day went, to bitch at me because I forgot to get something at Jewel's. Somebody who is sitting in the chair next to me, or lying on the floor watching TV.

No, I don't have that. Not in years.

When I come home. Or when I power down the computer for the day, that's it.

The day is done. The house is cold.

That's one more reason I want to sell it.

I'm tired.

I don't understand.

I don't understand how the cop, Drew Peterson, who is accused off offing his fourth wife, can even have a fourth wife.

I haven't been able to convince even one woman to take a chance with me at all. He has had four. And he may have killed two of them. His last wife was nineteen when she married him; he was fifty.

Not bad.

He gets a nineteen year old to marry him. I can't even get company to have a drink on a Friday night.

I'm tired.

I will not do the online dating thing ever again. I will not!

I have friends. A good number.

Some I had to reconnect with after being isolated for so many years, but they will not be sitting in the chair next to me when the day ends.

After the week I've just had you just wish you had the physical presence of someone. No words have to be exchanged, but just another body who sees you everyday is worth so much.