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dropping like flies

Earlier today I thought that I when I sat down with my lap top to write tonight, it would be a eulogy to my relationship with Aaron. A relationship that was heady and unexpected and tumultuous and will never be forgotten. A relationship that has been limping along, on life support, for a while now. Those ties were finally severed. It’s even been made facebook official. Solely so I wouldn’t have to keep having this conversation…

“Hey. How’s Aaron? How’s the tour?”

“Oh, he’s good. The tour seems to be starting off OK. We’re not exactly together anymore.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you OK?”

“Yes. This has been coming for a while. I’m alright. He and I are still friends.”

And then I had one of those days. Not the kind that starts off bad and gets worse. Not the kind that starts off good and then goes bad. More like, started off bad, got better for a while, and then just plummeted. As I ate dinner, at 9pm, I thought that would end up being the topic du jour.

And then I had a conversation with Hollywood. Another long overdue conversation. Wherein it was determined that we just don’t see eye to eye anymore. And maybe we never did. A conversation that unleashed a slew of expletives into the relative silence of my apartment because of all the things left unsaid. Because of all the things that lead us to this place.

I stewed in the shower. Letting the anger just run its course. Fully intending to come here afterward and vent.

But now I’m here. And though it would be easy to expand on any of the above topics, they’re just not worth it. Because the crappy stuff about my day was just crap. Nothing that’s the end of the world. Just a bad day. And the relationship stuff?

Bottom line is, I know what I want. And I know who I am. And I know what I’m worth. So you can get on board and go with me on the crazy ride that is my life, accepting that things will change and people will grow and I will always be upfront about where my head is. Or you can get off.

Either way. It won’t change the fact that I’m going to continue living my life the only way I know how. By facing it head on. Day after day after day. Trying as best as I can to take care of myself.

anger

It took me a long time, but I’ve finally reached my anger phase of the grieving process over the Aaron situation. I’m not sure where the tipping point was exactly. All I know is that in the recent days the anger has bubbled over more than once.

Maybe it’s because in the last few weeks, I’ve had to explain the situation so many times. My closest friends have been in the loop every step of the way. But my more casual acquaintances are just getting up to speed. And every time I’ve heard the words coming out of my mouth, the more angry I’ve become.

How yes, we were both dating someone when we met it just didn’t matter to either of us. Then she got pregnant. That she knows about me, but not really. How much time she’s spending with him. How she’s travelling with him on the beginning of his tour.

And then this weekend he moved out of his apartment. Out of our apartment. The apartment that I helped furnish and make into a home.

And now he’s on his way. And he’s having to deal with a long drive with a baby and a cat that does not want to be confined in a carrier and a travelling companion that is, according to his description, not the brightest person around. Along the way they’re staying with various family members of hers. He’s having to deal with redneck cousins who love Fox News and want to draw him into race discussions. He’s starting to worry about socializing his cat with his mother. The woman who will be caring for his precious pet for the next year.

I know that he’s miserable right now. But to be honest, I have very little sympathy for all of that. I feel like he made his bed, he should lie in it. Or maybe he didn’t make the bed, but he sure let someone tie him to it. She’s got him. Trapped. She’s set up quite the little den of domesticity around him. And he’s just rolled over for it.

And it pisses me off to no end.

Every girl and gay man I know say I should just kick his ass to the curb. The handful of straight men in my life are all saying to give him a break for just a little while longer.

To be perfectly honest I know that I will. Continue to give him a break for a while. I feel like there’s still stuff we won’t know until he gets on the road and she’s returned to TX. But that’s a month away still. And between now and then, I won’t get to talk to him much if tradition holds.

And that’s OK. Because right now what I need is not to talk to him. What I need is to just be angry.

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frustration

I am grumpy today. Super grumpy. Not entirely sure where it’s coming from. I’ve been this way all week. Maybe it’s a residual effect from Monday’s Guinness fueled existential crisis.

In part I’m sexually frustrated. Because I’ve been teased by someone for days on end now. Not deliberate teasing, not always, but even the most innocent of conversations with him are amping up the desire. But it is not to be, not yet anyway.

Normally I’d release that sort of tension with some late night phone sex with Hollywood. But he’s on spring break. And has family in town. So he’s not exactly available. And my local fillers are elusive right now. Incompatible schedules. Illness going around. So I’m frustrated.

All of that makes sense. It would make more sense if it had been a while since I’d gotten laid. But it’s been only been a week since that happened. Yup. One week. One. Last Tuesday I was in a hotel room for an unexpected, but much welcome tryst. And yet, here I am, climbing the walls.

I think I’m also grumpy because of the impending visit with Aaron. I leave next week. I’m not quite sure what to expect out of this trip. We’re not in a rough patch (aside from the baby stuff) but we’re in a weird place. We’ve both gotten a little complacent lately. And we’re just not talking as often. There’s a bit of a disconnect at the moment. I’m excited to be going. But I know it’s going to take a day to adjust to being face to face again, one of the perils of a long distance relationship. And he’s going to be so busy while I’m there, we’ll be sleeping in the same bed, and I’ll be cooking dinners. So I’m just on edge about it.

Just tonight I was chatting with a friend. Or a person who wants to be my friend. He was apologizing for not having contacted me to make plans. Was assuring me that it wasn’t due to lack of interest. “It’s fine,” I said. He said he figured it would be OK since I’m so laid back. Yeah. So. For those who are taking notes, if the words coming out of my mouth are, “it’s fine,” you can bet your last dollar that the words inside my head are “fuck you asshole”. Fine is a four letter word in my lexicon.

I can’t focus at work. I’ve been getting stuff done. Knocking things off the to do list. Wrapping up loose ends. Putting things in place. But my heart isn’t in it. Feeling a little burnt out. At a time when I can’t really afford to be burnt out. I took half the week off last week. It was fantastic. I needed it. Because I’ve been keeping an insane schedule pretty much since October. But there’s something about stopping short. When you’ve got another mile to go. The rest is called for, but it’s that much harder to get your ass in gear for the last mile. I need to get to the end of May. Somehow.

I got drunk this week without intending to. Twice. Monday and Wednesday. It has been literally years since that happened. Not since right before the divorce. We (SB, LH, and I) were all drinking way too much in those days. It’s staggering to think about how much alcohol we would consume. I’m not that way anymore. I enjoy a drink, but I very rarely get drunk or even buzzed. I think the last time I was really drunk was on my birthday last year. And then, bam, twice in the space of three days.

And to make it all worse, on nights like this. When I’m tired and grumpy. SB’s words worm their way into my head. “You’ve fallen in love with being depressed.” Am I depressed? No, I don’t think so. I’ve got a lot going on. I need a break. I’m stressed out. I want to play in the sun. Am I sad about some things? Yes. But full on, crying in the parking lot over nothing depressed the way I used to be? No. Not at all.

But his words are deafening. And they just serve to magnify every insecurity I have. So I do all the things I do to cope. I clean and I cook and I write. All the while my brain argues with itself. Talking itself down from the ledge. Reasoning. Chiding. Assuring that I’m OK. But instead of feeling better, I’m only feeling more frustrated.

Here’s hoping this passes soon.