On the end of temporary

The boss basically said you know how you're a temp? Well, you may be much more temporary that you have been thinking . . . and I understand his desire to soften the blow, but I'm not a fan of grey area in business. My personal life is one big grey area; a shifting landscape of love and art and forgiveness and happy compromise. I need him to say, your contract ends on the 14th. That's information I can use. This is . . . well it is what it is. We are all caught in a web of our own spinning. I resolve to be more of my true self and to avoid actions born of fear or shame. I actually find myself wishing that I could be laid off by someone I don't like, so that I can finally unleash some righteous anger, but he's a good dude. So, I internalize it. I go back to my quasi-cubicle and I weigh the odds. My experience tells me I won't last through the end of the month. Cedar fever is not a good backdrop for this kind of information. I start to think about her . . . about the subconscious truth that will live for a fraction of a second in her eyes. How will I tell her? Does it do us any good to worry her with this maybe information? Is it untruthful not to tell her something I don’t know? I realize I’m just like my boss. That tears it. I decide to drop the news after our son has gone to bed. I fret. I worry. I need her to be strong. I need her to tell me that it is going to be ok . . . and then a remarkable thing happens. She is strong. She tells me it will be ok . . . and I almost crumble into a weeping heap at her feet, but instead I just act like it’s no big deal and escape to a late writer’s meeting. She is my yin and too often I have let her walk this earth unsure of herself, unsure of me, unsure of us. It is an injustice I aim to remedy. I get home late and she is just finishing work on her fourth job. She tidies up a bit and then lets me have the living room for nerd time. I put something I don’t really care about on the TV and work to clear my nose and throat enough to maybe get some sleep. This is just a day; just one among an amazing string of days spent loving her. It may be an eclipse kind of day, but I know there will be more like this; more days where I am awestruck, where I feel lucky and proud and grateful. The cedar fever is relentless and I feel just terrible. I go to bed without kissing her, without touching her, but there is no distance between us. Hump day . . . wodensday . . . midweek; at once a day to be endured and one of the wild hunt, a day of commerce and messages, a day of fasting and woe. And I think yes and yes and yes as I whisper I love you and drift off to sleep.