[I originally wrote this back in September 2012. I’m transferring some of the writings from my personal blog to this public blog. I thought about not including this one because of the fact that Richard and I aren’t together anymore. But, at the last minute, I decided to include it anyway. This is how I felt at the time, and I don’t want to forget those good feelings. (Besides – the new washer ended up not working anyway. Ha! There’s a sign I should have heeded…)]
So….my washing machine quit on me last week.
Every time something like this happens – any household-related catastrophe – I’m reminded that I’m alone. I’m not married; there’s no man rushing in to save the day and fix what’s broken so that I can blissfully go on with my life without giving it a second thought. Nope. Not me. I’m single. I like to think of myself as strong and independent – and I am – but times like this, I feel like a pathetic little girl that just wants someone to come along and fix it. Ya know?
And even the washing machine itself is a sore spot. I had a good washing machine in early 2008. But, I got married. As someone who had already been divorced once, you would think I would have been smart enough to know better than to get rid of everything I owned in the free world and blindly move in with someone. But nope. I thought “love” would conquer all. Psssh. So, away went my furniture; away went my pots and pans; away went pot holders, floor mats, shower curtains; away went my washing machine.
Then, I divorced. Again.
I did my best to re-stock on all I had lost just two short years earlier, but most of the things I acquired were secondhand. (It’s friggin expensive trying to start over from scratch, let me tell ya.) And among these secondhand necessities lied the washing machine in question. The washing machine that broke on me (mid-wash, mind you). The washing machine that, once again, reminded me that I’m single. Divorced. Alone. A dumb ol’ helpless girl.
But this time…this time was different.
This time, there’s Richard.
I had almost forgotten what it felt like to have someone care about me like he does. (Or have I ever known? Hmmm. But I digress…) I was texting him about the washing machine incident the night it happened, and he immediately called me because he could tell I was upset. He started talking about what ‘we’ could do to fix it. (“We?” What’s that??) He calmed me down with his ever-calm demeaner, and told me to pack up my laundry and head to his house. Which I did. (Any ol’ excuse to spend time with him would do, right?)
So, for the past few weeks, I’ve been washing my clothes at his house. Bless his heart. And then, just a few days ago, he told me that his mom has one in storage that I can have. That I can have. Oh, happy day. So, off we go to pick it up. And what do I see when we get there?
It’s the exact same washing machine as the one I gave away in 2008.
Of course, it’s a coincidence. But I’m Melissa. And being Melissa, I see meaning in everything. And this is no exception. Sure, it’s just a washing machine. But it’s the same washing machine. It’s almost like I’m regaining what I lost. Ya know? Reclaiming what was mine. Righting wrongs. Erasing mistakes. Avenging evil!! (Ok, maybe that last one was a tad dramatic…but you get the picture.) Like, in some small way, I’m back where I started. I’m starting over.
No, wait. ”I” am not starting over. “We” are starting over.
Yeah. I think I like the sound of that.
And on that note: