60 minutes...

Finished second service at noon yesterday. Packed up my stuff, locked my office, looked for Kevin. Paced back and forth from entrance to entrance, called his cell, called home, called work. Repeated process. Scanned various parking possibilities. Repeated process. Began to panic at 12:45. That's right. 12:45. My cell phone rings. It's my guy. The one who was supposed to be in said service, the one who dropped me off nearly five hours prior. The one who had lost track of time, showed up to look for me at 12:30 and then drove to JK to call my cell phone. The one who, as we waited in Wendy's drive-through at 1:00, was consistently casting the blame for our failed rendezvous on me, the perfect one. The one who says he's waited on me enough over the years to call us square. I could live to be 500 and never completely understand his logic.

I will summon these feelings of frustration at my convenience for the next day or two. Just because I can. Make me wait an hour. The whole stinkin' place was locked down. I thought he was hurt or something. Cryin' out loud.