In hindsight, the steps to relationship disintegration were clear, reasons why in an abruptly seaming fashion, someone I once viewed part of me as an extra appendage would simply cease to answer my calls or why I could not bring myself to answer the phone when some ex-something or other would call trying to regurgitate the past.
In the moment, however, it just felt done, and I did not have the means, the desire, hell the physical ability to drag it on any longer.
I haven't written a word in over two months. Not a journal entry, a poem or even a drunken stream of consciousness incorporating my need to purchase cat food for my newly acquired obese kitty. The reasons why were made up of the perfect storm of completion, limbo, insecurity and the deep resounding need to get some lovin'.
I got some angry emails. "How could you abandon your blog?!" 'Cause I was tired.
Everyday I thought about writing. Everyday it got harder to explain. Did I really need to write a mea culpa to my readers? Probably. Would anyone care or be interested when I finally found the words. Probably not.
The universal truth I have discovered in walking away from more than my fair share of somethings, is that something is most often not there when you come back.
So will I realize it is probably a little late now, I have suddenly found the urge that hasn't been with me in 70 days.
And so I am gonna break it down like this:
When looking back on the insignificant nothings that combined together to make the thought of writing about my slightly pathetic yet frequently amusing love life a vomit enduing experience, a few key moments come to mind.
First, my boss insisted on calling me the Man Faster, every time he saw me. This minor annoyance was exacerbated by returning from 28 days in paradise to find that my world and more specifically, my office seemed smaller and more suffocating than it ever had before. Nothing felt right and I wasn't exactly in the happiest of spaces.
Then there was an incident in mid-March, a few days after my last post where he brought up my assault in a highly inappropriate way. I don't think he was intending to drudge up old memories but saying my life experiences were part of some greater calling just made me want to say fuck off to men, and well, the world, for a while and so I did.
We will call this the hermit phase. Lots of crying. Lots of anti-depressants. An impromptu trip to Chicago to see some of the people I love the most in the world and then all was right again…. Kind of.
See then there were the jabs. You know those sort of back-handed, well that's not fair, we'll go with sideways, yeah, sideways complements which leave you feeling like maybe your months of work had all been missing the mark? Well I kept getting lampooned with them. "Isn't your writing great! I can't wait until you write something of substance!"
If I hadn't been feeling a little weak in the gumption department, I probably would have said 'fuck it' to that too and come up with some quippy post about the guys I met at Skies with my girlfriend Marcella, who went on and on about what huge Creed and Nickleback fans they were. Seriously? Seriously? I always wondered if such a creature existed. But I didn't write quippy posts.
I sulked and drank too much and slept for 22 hours in a row and contemplated running away to Alaska. 'Cause I was feeling like shit and to top it all off, I wanted a freaking date!
After writing a whole book about how much I loved my solo life, I felt so very over the topic and was ready to meet a nice feller, as gramps would say, and settle in for some good, drama free lovin'. That felt a little hard to do when writing about the drama had become my bread and butter.
Plus, taking yourself out of the game means reentry is extra difficult and reentry was making me it's bitch all around.
I just felt crappy. So I didn't write. I felt chubby so I didn't try to date. And not doing either just seemed to make feel pathetic and i.e. unloveable.
Then I started to doubt my ability to tolerate Midwestern boys. There is a long story that accompanies this comment but let me skip to the punch-line where a douche bag (that I have to be nice to lest get a new source of income) refers to me and my friends as, "Hey, they aren't my friends. They are my entourage." Lovely.
See, paragraphs of pleasantness. Did anyone really want to hear all this? I haven't been full of much banter these days, except to say that I spent the better part of April joking that if I didn't get some lovin' soon I was going to get a cat – and I hate cats.
Guess what? I got a cat.
Bently, is a beast. I mean his freaking huge. He is rather apathetic to my existence. I am wearing him down though. He is gonna love me damn it, whether he likes it or not.
I can't believe that I have become one of those cat women – and trust me I have. I joke that I am going to get one of those baby slings and carry him around the City Market – I mean how creepy would that be! (No that is not actually me - but that is Bently's head.)
I got Bently on Saturday (at the Pet Expo of all places), signed up for online dating on Sunday and found out that I got into Grad School on Monday.
So like most things that I do, I decided to apply for graduate school on a whim. Not exactly a whim, I had been thinking about it for a while. It was just that this particular program, in this particular place wasn't something I event knew about until a few days before I decided to apply. Calling their admissions office had been a whim, their application deadline had passed by almost a month. When they said they would consider my application anyway, it just felt like the something I had to do. I didn't actually think I would get in, let alone with an opportunity for an assistantship that would pay my full ride.
So limbo. Waiting. Lots and lots of waiting. To find out if I got it. To decide if I am going to go. Debating what to do. Feeling unsure of who to tell. Knowing that deciding to go means leaving here, everything I have invested in this place and all the people I have come to care for.
So that's the deal. And all I can really say on the topic.
I didn't really feel like I could pick back up with writing until I knew where I was picking up but since it doesn't look like I am going to know anything for quite some time I just felt like I needed to write something, say something, before the urge passed and I got stuck without words for another month. Not exactly ground breaking stuff, or any real haha hilarity, just real life, and a couple months with a needed lack of extroverted introspection.
If it is any consolation, this weekend is the anniversary of the great big drama that launched the Man Fast, and in celebration, my original Not-so-gay-gay-best-friend is coming down from Chicago to spend the weekend with my family, consuming mass quantities of summer libations and most likely dancing like this: