I finally broke it off. With Facebook. I had had enough of the politics, the misinformation presented as fact, the snarky remarks from and at the people who don’t agree with the poster. I let it get to me and decided I did not need Facebook. I don’t need to seek the approval of total strangers and to look for the “like” on a post as if it meant something more than mild agreement. So I deactivated my account. The next day I had a session with my counselor. He’s worked with me for almost 2 years. I told him of the breakup and he thought it was a good idea. He shared I’m not alone; that FB is crazy-making for a lot of his clients.
So after my session, when we agreed that my hyperactive stomach may not be all nerves, I was on my way to the store to buy some omeprazole to handle the physical problems of hyperacidity. On the way to the pharmacy, I realized I needed to stop by the auto repair shop to see if some knobs for Mrs CorC?’s Honda that my mechanic had ordered had come in. As I pulled in, whom should I see there but RBA, my elder son! I did not recognize him at first, because I wasn’t expecting to see him there. He was supposed to be in Hickory, North Carolina where he was transferred about four months ago. His wife told me a couple weeks earlier that he was negotiating a move back here. Evidently, he had accomplished it very recently.
Had anyone told me forty years ago, when RBA was an infant, that seeing my adult children would make my day, I would have looked at them in disbelief. But it’s true. When RBA or CD come over, or even if I see them by chance, I am floating on air. A lot of my sadness clears up. The issues that dog me, e.g. no sexual intimacy in my marriage, fade to the background.
Mrs CorC? came home. We went out for dinner. I read when I got home. I purposely left the smartphone downstairs to keep it from tempting me when confronted with boredom when I went upstairs to listen to the Ten O’Clock News news, silently wanting it to end. The hard truth is that the smartphone within easy reach has morphed into kind of a cyber-cigarette, to calm my nerves, to keep me from truly being with people. I guess being secondary in a relationship to a tiny little computer just might generate a resentment or two.
With any luck, I will grow up before I die.