“She was convinced that women were as often victims of themselves as they were of men.”
― John Irving, A Widow for One Year
Well Mom, I’ve decided to write you everyday this week. At least that’s the plan.
I’m so bad at this part of a break-up – moving on. I have this obsessive tendency to think too much, which leads to frustration, which leads to anger, which leads to random texts to the dumped one. Ugh.
My last, and god help me make it so, were the following words of wisdom found whilst pursuing my Facebook feed:
Treat me like a joke and I’ll walk out of your life like it was funny.
True though it may be, I’ve gotta stop it. So, henceforth, I’m writing instead to you.
What I find so much more aggravating about break-ups in this texting world, is I just find it so hard to articulate my thoughts within such a boxed in medium of brevity. There is no sense of closer right now, so thus I shall write to you, dear Mom.
If I’d done nothing, I would today be just as unsatisfied as I was last week. I know I’m doing the right thing, but that makes it in no way shape or form any easier. But writing about it down does.
Which seems rather a dichotomy, me thinks. I can write about what I feel in this way, but texting, em, not so much – since I am not BRIEF, and nothing I have to say can be articulated in any satisfying way on that itsy-bitsy screen only to await their reply. Nope. Nope. Nope.
Oh how I hate cellphones, I hate texting, and I hate how it interrupts so many facets of life. Last time I saw blue-eyes, once he had been reunited with his blawdy phone, he spent most of his time texting. Oh, yeah, the whole time going on about how much he hates it of course.
Then two days later he uses texting as a shield from actually walking his rotten ass down here and say to my face what he had on his mind. At first I thought he was out on one of his engagements he’d mentioned, ppft. Not. Then he texts “going to the {insert bar name here} for a beer“. If he’d been in the same room with me he’d have open wounds down the side of his face right now…which may very well be why he hid behind his phone.
I know I’ve done the right thing – I know I’m right – perhaps I may not have orchestrated either the events, or my words, well, in a manner for which I’m proud :-\ but at least I finally did the right thing. Unsatisfying as it is, I am right.
I do believe, towards my defence, that Menopause and daily hot flashes are not helping. I do believe my hormones are dipping and peaking all over the place – hence lately I’m rather emotionally spastic.
“End the affair briskly, and without allowing the slightest room for doubt,’ Griselda continued. ‘Tell the gentleman that while you are grateful for the lovely time that you spent in his company, you have seen the error of your ways and wish to lead a celibate existence. You can add some flummery about his having given you pleasure you never experienced before, if you wish.’
Imogen nodded, wishing she had Josie’s little book to take notes in.
‘On occasion, a hitherto rational man might act in a thoroughly distracted fashion when you inform him of your wish to end the relationship. I generally inform them that while I am not betraying poor Willoughby (he /is/ dead, after all), I have decided, upon reflection, that I am betraying myself. They never have any adequate rebuttal, and you can part on the best of terms.”
― Eloisa James, The Taming of the Duke
I could have conducted myself with class and wisdom, and choose instead to demonstrate my superiority, I could have told him he’s not ready for a relationship, and clearly not ready for the likes of me – or deserving of.
So, when he said the next day he thought it was clear last night what I wanted, I thought, really? How on earth could he have thought that? It wasn’t clear at all…it was muddled, angry, confused, distorted, slurred, jagged, angst-ridden drivelled emotion, sprinkled with uncertainty and longing for more…clear? No, not clear at all.
But then I thought, clearly he had his own motives for believing it was clear. Clearly he went out on a tangle that night in said bar, and perhaps it was clear the next day to him that he liked that life far more than he desired me. Or, he just wants to remain a drunk. Fine. Remain.
Apparently when ones 35 year marriage tumbles open and is scattered to the wind, ones mission henceforth is to have as much fun as possible, which constitutes as much libation as one wants for as long as one wants. What the hell is wrong with men?
Rather then going over and fixing this thing you supposedly value, one instead determines the best course of action is a bar.
Again, man oh man Mom was I right.
During my time in the Big Smoke, I in fact learned that not all men are naturally destined to grow up to become this way. You know what Mom? There are intelligent, interesting, sexy men out there who are actually mature, and as well fun. Men are not all backward, idiotic, drunks with this mindset that women ruin a man’s fun. I tell ya, what a revelation. There are in fact men out there who find a woman’s company engaging and meaningful!! Whoa. There are men who have diverse interests, beyond work, drink, sleep, fuck, work, drink, sleep, fuck?
So I find I have fallen again into bed with the familiar. Alas, I have great faith still there is somewhere out there in this backward place that can tick all the boxes. Oh where oh where can he be.
Aside from the lying etal, Tim had that sophisticated edge. He had taste and style, and knew how to dress himself. He had no need to hang with the boyz, or garage surf out of reach of the house-servant/wives/girlfriend shtick I see is so common in these parts. He didn’t need to spend entire days, weeks, months glued to “his team”, or “his sport” or whatever crap men use to sit as inactive blobs of flesh whilst other, more healthy, faster males bash around some ball or such.
It is days like these I miss him. He was unique, if a wee bit controlling, and a host of other malady’s, yet, I loved him, flaws and all.
“Some things just couldn’t be protected from storms. Some things simply needed to be broken off…Once old thing were broken off, amazingly beautiful thing could grow in their place.”
― Denise Hildreth Jones
So Mom, I guess that’s about where I am right now, I suppose my life has been akin to pruning a Spirea after its spring bloom, to encourage more flowering. Cutting away the things I no longer require, the things that get in the way, the stuff that hinders me, it must go…and go it shall.
by PaulaB 