Just Walked Away

I was prepared for the encounter on Friday.

I met w/ my therapist to discuss strategies to avoid an inadvertent slip and fall down the crazy staircase. I had my makeup professionally applied at MAC for some intense smokey eye/glowy skin action. I gathered a posse and I DO mean a posse of fabulously beautiful women that I knew I can count on for ANYTHING, to accompany me and serve as emotional linebackers. Donned a casual yet uber sexy dress, borrowed from Goldie giving me curves worthy of a Christina Hendricks Esquire photo shoot. 

I compiled a survival kit of prescription strength uppers, a bottle of Prosecco, and pout enhancing lip gloss in my purple patent leather clutch, and away I went: ready to face the monster in my closet and prove its non existence. Assuage fears and see the ex for the first time since he left me with a tear stained face, shivering in the middle of a Philadelphia train station platform over two years ago. 

And he didn’t show. The fucker didn’t even have the decency to show up long enough for me to torture him with aloofness coated in sexy and casual indifference dripping fabulousness.

Perhaps he simply was too much of a coward to face me. Perhaps he simply found a more enticing offer for the evening. 

Ironically though, while I was worried about this man walking back into my reality and giving myself a near ulcer over what this unsuccessful, unmotivated Peter Pan might think of my outfit, my waste line, my boobs, my hair, my smile, my eyes, my words - I saw three amazing bands, including my favorite, Atomic Shotgun - experienced the Red & the Black, a bar to which I had never been, and managed to make some new friends who found yours truly to be rather charming. 

Life truly happens when you’re making other plans. I’ll try to remember that when I’m spending time and emotional currency worrying about something and someone that truly means nothing and adds no value whatsoever to my world.

With that, I finally walked away.

Frankly,

Scream, Shout, Let it Out

I was having drinks, sitting in someone’s quiet living room, in a circle of laid back, care free conversation with friends. The room was light and airy close to the ocean, but I wasn't quite sure. A safer place could not be imagined nor could a more comfortable way to spend, what seemed like a lovely afternoon.

Eventually the tone shifted and a nagging, pressing feeling emerged and refused to be shook off. The mood of everyone present was unnervingly altered from casual and light to secretive and knowing. Worried glances exchanged from face to face communicating something I wasn’t meant to see or information no one wanted to share.

Gradual, vague recognition crept up and a realization set in. He was here. A seeming impossibility but it made sense - he knew these people. His family was here. After all this time, silence and separation the possibility propelled my stomach into my throat and then plunged it back into place leaving a painful lump of anticipation temporarily disabling speech. The comprehension that he could, at any minute, enter the room and become a part of my line of vision set my eyes darting about, searching for some kind of warning sign or herald that would somehow assuage an unanticipated appearance.

Panic then set in. Utter terror at the thought that in this safest of places, he could suddenly be thrust into my reality unannounced and uninvited. Disjointed thoughts about everything I had left unsaid and the rage I had yet to unleash face-to-face whirled around the growing confusion of my mind.

Alarms worthy of of a DCFD station clamored in my ears as the room spun before my eyes. The previously airy space seemed to be loosing oxygen with every passing second. I couldn't understand why someone, anyone wouldn't smash one of these wall sized windows before we all lost consciousness. I had to sit down.
I fixated on the beach below, staring intently on the point at which the surf rhythmically and calmly met the shore. Taking all the effort I had to stay grounded and present before the panic overtook me completely. It was too late. I could sense him walking into the room behind me. Even though I could barely see through the distortion of the moving room, there was no mistaking him even beyond the chaos pounding behind my eyes and blurring my vision.

It wasn’t rational. I didn’t think. Fight or flight they call it? I had been fleeing this moment and these feelings and this fear for so long that the fight, the savage, overwhelming fight was the only response my swirling brain could conjure. Even so, my body seemed at once too small to contain it. The tidal wave of grief, passion and rage crashed upon me a thousand times more fiercely than I could have imagined washing away all cohesion or sense. Nothing but an echo of screams, incomprehensible noise, filled the space.

Unaware of words, unaware of thoughts, unaware of anything but the explosion of exhausting emotion and a newly discovered capacity for rage erupting from within. Hurling every remnant of sanity, feeling and self control at him one decibel at a time. Yet, he stood there placid. He seemed infuriatingly unphased at to the emotional explosion of atomic proportions to which he was seemingly immune and I longed to return to the flight strategy of before.

As I sobbed myself awake and realized that I had been screaming to the darkness of my apartment only and that this encounter had not, in fact, been real. The rage, exhaustion, and grief, however, truly did exist in an organic, almost tangible way.

It wasn't the first such dream I had had that had managed to break through the numbing effects of the tranquilizers, the Ambien and the Merlot all meant to keep my subconscious at bay. It was, however, the last such nightmare.

Nine months ago, I realized that you can only dam up a river so long before that dam collapses and the river swallows you whole. Since then I’ve let the water out, released the pressure, taken more than several deep breaths, put on my big girl panties, dug deeper, realized more and faced my fears. All but one.

Frankly, it is for that reason I feel I’m strong enough after two and a half years for Friday night. Because Friday night, I know I will not be dreaming when I see HIM standing in the room.

Hardball

Dear Fuckhead:

So its come to this. It's sad really, but apparently necessary given the fact that you obviously can't respect my repeated requests to leave me the fuck alone! 

You're the one who chose to take yourself out of my life. For once in your underachieving, maturity stunted, drug laced life – own the decision you made and kindly leave me be.

I’ve asked you nicely, I've asked your forcefully to stay out of my life and off my blog. Sadly, you have chosen, in your characteristically narcissistic and selfish manner, to ignore my requests. This begs the question - why?

The only conclusion I can reach is that in your mind, your visits are some twisted sort of compassionate, altruistic attempt to insure that your absence hasn’t yet led to a ritualistic slitting of my wrists. Please do not confuse me with your mentally unstable ex-wife. I am beyond fine and also, unlike your ex-wife, I do not and never will want you back. (Damn it feels good to say that and TRULY mean it).

This is the last time I will ask you – stay out of my life - stay off my blog. My thoughts and my life should no longer be of any interest to you. If you choose to continue to ignore this request, simply put: there will be consequences. I know you're somewhat unfamiliar with that concept, so put down your bong and pay close attention:

If I see you trolling my site again, the next email I send will be to your girlfriend asking her to please tell her boyfriend to stop harassing me. I'm sure she'd love to know with what a regular interest you take in your ex-girlfriend’s life. I know I would. Let's get her opinion on this, shall we?

I will then post her name along with photos and proceed to conduct a worldwide poll of my readers as to whether or not she does, indeed look like a man.  I’m predicting a favorable outcome. 

So, Fuckhead please wave one last goodbye as I hope to never see you here again. And even though the knowledge that you more likely than not, will choose to continue to violate my privacy, I hope whatever feelings you have for the current "love of your life" (ya know, its truly amazing how generic you really are) will make you think twice. 

If you do not, in fact, know me well enough not to doubt my sincerity I have three little words for you: Just try me.

Goodbye,

Fabulous Annoyance

Thank you all for your "welcome back" posts and messages! Too cute! Also a call for more posting - here's the problem, kids:

Right now, while I AM, in fact on a complete upswing and life high (and wearing the most BEAUTIFUL silver and black lace skirt about to set off on a holiday party tour, what I want to do is to bitch and moan and rant and rave (via keypad). But I'm trying to restrain myself! I'm trying to stay composed and to keep smiling and pour myself another glass of champaign in the middle of the afternoon (they're office parties) - and take a deep breath and let it go. Because #1, bitter and resentful is ultimately, unattractive. #2 I am anything BUT un-attractive :) and #3. I'm determined to continue the aforementioned upswing and be happy!

With that in mind, I will say the following, potentially unattractive lines with georgous hair, flawless makeup, a beautiful smile and shoes that could literally kill (or at least cause a signifcant amount of pain if strategically hurled in the right direction):

Fuckhead: If you have something to say to me, feel free to say it (my phone number remains unchanged). Is there something you'd like to know about me? To discuss? Subjects to chat about? If so, I'm all ears!

If not, why don't you take the time you spend reading and checking my blog and thumbing through the archives and instead, recycle it into additional quality time with your oh so "beautiful" girlfriend (I'm all about energy conservation these days)!? You took yourself out of my life a year ago, so please do me (and her) a favor and truly TAKE YOURSELF OUT!? But, now that I think about it, follow through was never your strong suit. Merry Christmas!

Frankly,

Questions I Don't Want Answered

I’ve been having dreams.

Mostly about Fuckhead.

In my dreams we talk. I’ve been asking him a lot of questions but I always wake up before I can ask him the one question to which I want to know the answer to: Do you miss me?

Last night was the worst of all. In my dream, he was married to the she beast and they had just had a baby. I cried (in my dream) and I cried and I screamed and I screamed. It wasn’t a fun night. That’s absolutely the last time I allow myself to fall asleep without some kind of artificial somnial enhancement to block such dreams from my head – Ambien being my personal drug of choice.

I assure you, this isn't some deep seated unconcsious desire for some kind of cinema-esque reunification. I don’t want him back. I don’t. I promise. I don’t want a pot smoking, un-motivated, emotionally dependent man still attempting to relive his frat boy glory days. 

But I do miss being happy and completely in love – that kind of love that you read about, that you hear about, the kind of stuff that inspires tales such as “The Notebook” – emotions that you never thought possible until experiencing them; that love the brings along with it the possibility of all things and the strength to handle anything life throws into your collective paths.

I had that and it's dissapation has left quite a large hole.

Frankly, it's probably best that I don’t sleep long enough to hear the answer to that one question.

  

 

P.S. I'm thinking about starting to password again - what do you think? I just hate that the more noteable ex's in my life have access to these pages and I find myself holding back more often than I'd like to admit. So what's your opinion? Passoword or start a new blog all together?

Hey, Romeo

Juliet was on my mind.

I wondered what she would have done if Romeo had left her, not because he was banished, but because he lost interest. What if Rosalind had given him the time of day, and he'd changed his mind? What if, instead of marrying Juliet, he'd just disappeared?

I thought I knew how Juliet would feel.

She wouldn't go back to her old life, not really. She wouldn't ever have moved on, I was sure of that. Even if she'd lived until she was old and gray, every time she closed her eyes, it would have been Romeo's face she saw behind her lids. She would have accepted that, eventually.

I wondered if she would have married Paris in the end, just to please her parents, to keep the peace. No, probably not, I decided. But then, the story didn't say much about Paris. He was just a stick figure a placeholder, a threat, a deadline to force her hand.

What if there were more to Paris?

What if Paris had been Juliet's friend? Her very best friend? What if he was the only one she could confide in about the whole devastating thing with Romeo? The one person who really understood her and made her feel halfway human again? What if he was patient and kind? What if he took care of her? What if Juliet knew she couldn't survive without him? What if he really loved her, and wanted her to be happy?

And what if she loved Paris? Not like Romeo. Nothing like that, of course. But enough that she wanted him to be happy, too?

If Romeo was really gone, never coming back, would it have mattered whether or not Juliet had taken Paris up on his offer? Maybe she should have tried to settle into the leftover scraps of life that were left behind. Maybe that would have been as close to happiness as she could get.

Maybe I was reading too much into the story. Romeo wouldn't change his mind.
That's why people still remembered his name, always twined with hers: Romeo and Juliet. That's why it was a good story. "Juliet gets dumped and ends up with Paris" would have never been a hit.