The more things change, the more they really stay the same. Ian is here and it’s as if there has been no time between the last time I flew out to see him (spring of 2019) and now. The last time he was here was probably the summer before that. So, four years.
Here’s how it goes. He sits on the black recliner that is on the left in the room (which is from my vantage point of my couch). He is on his Steam Deck (which is new) while wearing sweats. I’m on the couch in my booty shorts (new) and a t-shirt, looking at my laptop. Shadow is in his bed in the corner of the room, taking his tenth nap of the day. I have one ear bud in to listen to a YouTube video so I won’t disturb him. We both do our own thing, but then one of us will say something, and we’re off to the races. Right now, he’s playing a game while I’m typing away. This is how we spent many hours.
Earlier, we actually went out and did things. Went to a vape shop (for him), the T-Mobile store (also for him), and then Target (for both of us). It’s true that you can’t walk out of Target having spent less than a hundred bucks. Even if you go in to buy one item, something else will catch your eye. You WILL buy rubber plates, tumblers, and bowls on steep sale. Or is that just me?
But we just slipped into our easy way of interacting that we’ve always had. When we got to Target, I made him push around the cart because that’s one performative gender role construct that I have no problem exploiting. I don’t like pushing around carts, so if he’s fine with it, great.
In general, that’s how I feel about chores. If there’s one that someone doesn’t mind doing, then they can do that. Like I hate the thought of doing laundry, but I don’t actually hate doing it. I used to not mind doing dishes. I don’t like doing them now, but if someone cooks for me, I most definitely will do the dishes.
On the other hand, I hate vacuuming. So much. It’s probably my least-favorite chore of the daily ones. That’s not true. Cleaning the toilet is the worst. And the fridge. But vacuuming is up there. I also don’t like tidying up in general. I’m a slob, and it’s my shame, honestly. I can’t seem to make myself clean, no matter how much I exhort myself. I know it’s a sign of ADHD, which I have suspected I have. It’s not something that I’ve ever tested for, but I have the suspicion that I have a mild form of it. I have the hyper-focus thing, daydreaming, and procrastination. I know that the inability to make yourself do things, i.e., considering yourself lazy, is a hallmark of ADHD. I know that I should probably get tested, but I…just don’t have the energy right now.
It’s been almost a year since I died. sitting with Ian makes me feel like nothing has changed, but everything has. But nothing really has. But everything has. It’s a strange feeling.
We have a rhythm that I really enjoy. It’s just chilling around, doing our own thing, and then talking about this, that, or the other thing. It’s been too long. There are reasons for it, of course, such as the pandemic and me dying. But it’s like no time has passed by. But. It has. I keep going back and forth on this. We are interacting in the same way, but we’re also aware that so much has changed in our lives. Not just the pandemic, though, of course there’s that. But, also, he’s had personal travails and growth in his life whereas I’ve died. Twice.
I know I keep saying this, but it’s pretty seminal to my life as it is right now. Before I ended up in the hospital, I had no clue as to my future. More to the point, I didn’t think I had one. I mean, I knew I would continue to live every day until I died, but I didn’t really see the point. Now, however, I do. The point is the joy in living each day. the point is what I have to share with the rest of the world. The point is that I am not dead.
Having Ian in my house, sitting in his recliner and scrolling on his phone is the point. He is my second-oldest friend, and we just picked up where we left off. He’s the kind of friend who, even if we didn’t talk for weeks, we would never notice the absence (except to wonder why we didn’t talk for weeks).
My parents wanted me to have a roommate because they would worry that what happened to me would happen again. I told them that I had a system and it worked. That system is me messaging Ian every ‘morning’ without fail to say hey. When I didn’t, he got worried about me and contacted my brother. The system! It works.
My brother tried to set up a button that I could press if I got into trouble, but he could not get it to work. I already email them (my brother, my mother, and my father) once a day at 6 p.m. (thereabouts), I didn’t even want to do that, but it was a compromise I was ok with making. In other words, if it would get them to shut up, then, fine. I could send the damn email around the same time every day.
I have accepted that this is just part of my life now. I have been saying that a lot, but there are things that are acceptable in exchange for being alive. The list includes but is not restricted to not being able to do simple subtraction in my head, forgetting a word every now and again, and other things I put down to my brain damage. I love that I have that excuse when I make a mistake or can’t remember something. It’s a great thing to pull out of my hip pocket, but I have to make sure that people understand the context. I wouldn’t want to make it seem like I was making fun of people with brain damage. I mean, I’ve earned the right to make the joke, but I also understand the optics.
I asked Ian if he didn’t know that I had had two cardiac arrests and a stroke, would he have noticed anything different about me. He said without hesitation, “No way.” He would not lie to me (and if he did, I would be able to tell), so I was pleased to hear him say that. I mean, I’m pretty sure that I’m not noticeable any different, but I notice my hesitations when I am searching for a word I don’t remember or tired.
I’m pleased with where I am right now. I am a much better person than I was a year ago, and I’m hoping that I will only get better form now on.