I just can't talk to that man...

Kris does not work for a specific oil company; He works for a company that contracts out their divers. So, unlike people who work on one set of rigs (one week on, one week off, or the like), Kris is always on call. This limits our ability to plan any holiday, birthday, anniversary or vacation. In only one year, I have learned to accept this fact (and I believe that I am entitled to a large reward), but what really drives me nuts is that we have little to no contact when he is out on a job. There is rarely an Internet connection and the satellite phones provided cost upwards of $1.00 per minute. Of course, his cell phone does not have reception in the middle of the ocean (I guess the “can you hear me now” guy didn’t make it into the Gulf of Mexico). Sometimes I don’t talk to Kris for weeks at a time. What is worse is that he cannot always tell me if a job has been delayed. I may think that he will be home in 3 days, when it will really take him 5. In those two days I can conjure up some pretty crazy ideas of why he hasn’t come home. Most of them involve a hospital bed and the phrase "clinging to dear life". I was cursed with an overactive imagination.

So, my new "thing" is staring at passing traffic, sending psychic messages to the universe (how easily the “ic” becomes an “o”) and hoping to see Kris’ big, red truck. His truck has a V8 engine (I say engine in case you were thinking vegetable juice), so his arrival is always preceded by a loud rumble. Even the dog recognizes the sound of this truck (I like to think that he is exceptionally smart anyway).

So, last night went something like this: There's a truck coming…it’s not red…well maybe it just looks black from a distance…nope not him. Wait, I see something red…could it be…no it’s not a truck. I hear a rumbling sounds…no, it was just another car…why is their car so loud? They should get that checked out. And so on…but, no Kris.

Then the pointless bargaining began: If I do the laundry like I should, instead of just sitting here, then he’ll come home. It’s insane, but productive. I have very clean dishes, too.

I guess until someone invents a phone that runs on anxiety instead of cellular towers, I will be spending my days sitting on the porch of our very tidy house with clean dishes and fresh laundry, staring longingly at passing red trucks...and occasionally black trucks and inexplicably loud cars.