Now I'm ready to go home

The conference was over at about 1 p.m., but my flight back isn't until tomorrow; I don't know what I thought I was going to do with the extra time when I booked the ticket -- have dinner with some friends in Denver, maybe -- but after the weirdness in Colorado Springs, I woke up just wanting to go home.

I called to see if I could fly standby this afternoon, but it would have cost $125, which, really, is too much to pay to leave a beautiful place, so I got in my rental car and started driving with no particular destination in mind.

In Boulder, I stopped at the Celestial Seasonings factory and took a tour -- a random tourist-y thing I never would have done when I lived there. It was interesting -- pretty low on the excitement scale, I suppose, but it smelled fabulous and I liked seeing the originals of the artwork on the boxes. They were packing my favorite flavor while I was there (Madagascar Vanilla Red) AND I got an all silver quarter from 1964 in change while I was there.

After the tour, I headed toward Estes Park -- I wanted to go to Rocky Mountain National Park, but I was pretty sure I didn't have enough daylight... I didn't see anything I felt like stopping for in the town, though, so I kept going and made it into the park by about 5:00.

There were elk everywhere -- I've never seen so many in one place. The male in the picture above was yelling back and forth with another male; they sound kind of like whales trying to talk cow -- a high-pitched, vaguely musical, complaining sort of moo.

I made it to Bear Lake -- my real destination all along, although I wasn't too worried about whether or not I actually got there -- just as the very last of the light was going. It was quite a bit darker than it looks in the picture below -- the shutter was open for about 3 seconds. It was a great day; it reminded me of all of the things I love about Colorado. Now it's almost midnight, I'm in a crappy, over-priced hotel by the airport, and I am ready to sleep.

Not exactly what I had planned...

Actually, it was -- the day was exactly what I had planned. I wanted to go to Garden of the Gods and hike around, and then I wanted to go to Poor Richard's; that's exactly what happened. At one level, it was beautiful.

My old friend had invited her boyfriend to come with us, and he was going to come, but then he decided he wasn't going to come. That was the extent of my involvement -- she said he was coming, and then she said he wasn't. He had decided that I did not want him to come; I never figured out why. I would, in fact, have been perfectly pleased to have him come with us.

We talked about it while we were hiking and at Poor Richard's. There is no reasonable explanation for his perception -- I mean, not one that is based on my behavior. It is reasonable to explain it by saying that he's fucking nuts.

By the time we got back at about 5, he had been drinking. He came into the room where I was stuffing my belongings into my suitcase and started yelling that I don't have to leave yet, and he knows I don't give a shit about him, and he knows he's not my friend, and he's sorry that he tried to be my friend, and I should have invited him to Garden of the Gods, and I should think about someone other than myself sometimes. Blah blah blah. There was a lot of it -- some I don't remember, I guess.

He was standing in the doorway mid-rant as I pulled my suitcase off of the bed; I said, "I'm going to leave now." He didn't move, so I said, "Can I leave?"

He hesitated and then turned from the doorway to tell Heather, "If you ever bring someone like that motherfucker (me) in the house again, I won't be responsible."

Ingratiating, placating, she asked, "Like what, baby?"

I tried to pull the door shut behind me, but he grabbed it and said, "Don't you touch shit that belongs to me." I let go of the doorknob. I walked through the garage and down the driveway. I got in my rental car. I drove away.

I wouldn't be surprised if he beat her up after I left -- I would, in fact, be a little surprised if he didn't. If he did, he's done it before. They've been together for 10 years. She's intelligent, financially independent, self-aware, and she has a lot of resources. If this is her choice -- and it clearly is her choice -- so be it.

I'm not willing to watch, though.

As I drove up I-25 to Denver, I called Deb. (Deb used to live in the pink house when I lived in the green one.) Deb talked to me until my stomach stopped twisting, and made me laugh, and I missed her.