Oh, the irony…

So, remember way back last year when I was going to abandon all ties to my present life and escape to South America with my very blonde, very skinny, American boyfriend? Remember how much I loved him? Well, if you don’t know, now you do. I went so far as to shell out $800 for a course so I could teach English abroad. I was ready. I was set. And then…then something started to go wrong, though it’s hard to say exactly what the symptoms were seeing as how we were a mere 5,000 miles apart. But in the course of a month or so it began to disinegrate. I called him, he called me back, and while I paced the road outside Dorothy’s house, we had an explosive breakup. (Note: this now happens to be the road I live on…) The only nice thing about the whole fiasco was that I was pretty drunk to begin with. Mango white wine sangria around a bonfire had taken it’s toll on me and it’s the only possible explanation for why I didn’t shed any tears on that first phone call. As breakups go, it was by far the worst in my dating history. Colleen had to send me home early from work the next morning, all I could do was stand there and sob. I hardly ate for a week, which for me was most uncharacteristic. So in blunt terms, it sucked ass. I was depressed, I was mad, I was hurt. Then I decided to get over it. And I did. No, it wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t quick, there were a lot of rebounds, but I moved on and consider myself a very happy person.

Since the nasty breakup I’ve seen Abe a whole bunch, we even had a mini fling over the Holiday season, when he came back from Brazil. None of that bothered me, I was distracted by other people and had a lot going on in my life. He left after Christmas but now he’s back again, actually he’s been back for a couple months, minus the three weeks he was off in Montreal visiting his girlfriend; also, not such a big deal.

Fast forward to last Friday. I invited him to come over and help me eat an overabundance of food which Faith and I had prepared for our first client presentation. But first, I said, I need to go for a run…so, if you feel like it…so we went for a run. Upon returning, we brought out the red wine, the cheese, crackers, bread, candied nuts, tapenade, chutney, and with high spirits began indulging in a mid-afternoon snack. We took our wine down to the beach and sat on the bulkhead. Within a few minutes the nextdoor neighbors came gliding up onto the beach in their double kayak and asked if we’d like to take it for a spin. Hell yeah we did. So off we went, fighting most of the time over which direction we would paddle. It was a jolly time. A really swell afternoon turned evening. We returned to the food and drink and as it got dark I lit the several candles in my living room. The conversation weaved, as they generally do, in and out of various topics. Somewhere in the midst of the topics he told me how his girlfriend, (who lives in Montreal), was trying to get a job in Sao Paulo, where he happens to live. At first, I didn’t say anything, then, some minutes later, I asked why his girlfriend would be trying to get a job in Sao Paulo when she lives in Montreal, why would she want to be in Sao Paulo? “Well, for me”. That’s what he said. I nodded my head slowly and got very quiet. The dish cloth I was knitting suddenly became intensely absorbing. I asked if he hadn’t learned his lesson before. He shrugged, in that half embarrassed way that said he knew this might come up sometime. It seems he may have stammered through a few more sentences before asking me if that hurt my feelings. Now folks, I did not want to cry, I mean, I really didn’t want to cry. I wanted to show how tough as nails I am, how I’m so over it. But there comes a point where you have no choice but to be completely fucking honest; with yourself and with everyone else. One tear escaped and rolled down my cheek, and in my denial I did nothing to wipe it away, because that would be admitting its very existence. Then another escaped and another, and then more than I could deny. There was no sound, just tears. Hurt feelings was the simple way of putting it. I told him that I am grateful that I didn’t move to Brazil to be with him, that if I had done that I wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing now, wouldn’t have the people I love near me. I said that I am happy and I love my life, but that doesn’t make it any easier when I have to hear that someone else gets a chance I was never given. I said that the truly horrible part is that I can’t figure out how to feel for someone else like I felt for him. I don’t know how, I haven’t felt that way ever before, or since then. He looked pretty stricken, but here is what he said, here’s the clincher: “Well, I think I’d be pretty upset if you did find that with someone else…”


What the fuck is that supposed to mean? This is how I know that he’s not worth another tear, not one more. It’s because I know him better than any other girl on the planet that I can truly say it’ll never happen. Just tell me that it’s not absurd for me to feel pissed about this whole revelation, that somehow I’m justified in feeling sad even though I’m happy where I am. 


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No Boys Allowed

Alright ladies, I finally got this whole blog thing up and running. We’ll see how it goes, considering I have no internet access at my house and I must actually go somewhere to have basic modern conveniences such as, but not limited to, a washer, dryer, TV, microwave, AM/FM radio, CD player, and the almighty world wide web…it’s a tough life on the shores of Liberty Bay, let me tell you…Anyway, I’ll try to use this blog as a reason to be disciplined…I’ll try. Promise. Okay, I don’t promise, but…nevermind, here goes..

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