Another Foot In Front Of The Other Foot

It’s strange to write my way through a break up with a person that doesn’t want me to write about him. Again. Part of me wonders how much of this is a punishment. A final ‘fuck you’ that I shouldn’t indulge. Part of me thinks he doesn’t want to be important enough to me to be written about. Another part of me knows that he doesn’t want me to rip him to shreds on the Internet without his consent. Fair enough.

This is why it’s a break up. Because I’m doing it alone. All by myself. Without him. All of these emotions are mine. Everything that he did, every way that he hurt me, every inch of the knife in my back that feels like betrayal – that is gone. It is over. In the past. It is done with it. It happened, and now it is done happening to me. All I have left is myself.

So now what?

Now I write about not being able to write about my break up, and somehow that is supposed to make me feel better. It’s a gift in and of itself. Don’t fixate on what happened. Don’t splice it apart and inspect it. Don’t smear it across the Internet so everyone else can ogle at my version of how everything was horrible.

Just: move on. Keep walking forward. I don’t have to forget, but I don’t have to relive it. Think of something new to talk about. Go into the world and find something interesting to experience.

This blog is about me. Not him. Not us. Just me. I am the devil that I write about.

 

Future Regrets

And then there is the lightness. Which came suddenly. Perhaps too quickly. Too quickly to be real, but I embrace it nonetheless. This sense that the future is coming, and it will be okay. Which is a new feeling. One that I haven’t felt in a long time. For the past year, or is it years?, the future has been out of grasp, beyond my touch. Harrowing and unimaginable. But today? Today I can see it. Today I can run. Instead of hobbling forward, I am ready for the challenges ahead of me. I have a plan, one that isn’t shaped around someone else’s failures or misgivings. Me. My plan.

I wonder which one is better: knowing that the future is bright but not knowing if I’ll be alone throughout all of it. Or not being alone but also being terrified of the future because together we had no future. I guess I’d rather keep my options open. Rather than commit to living in constant chaos and uncertainty. I can be alone for now and know that I can build something beautiful for myself.

I’m feeling impatient. I want my beautiful future now. Today. I want to be healthier and prettier and skinnier and richer now. I want to be better off already so I can plaster it across the backs of everyone’s minds already. I want to look down from my high castle of myself and feel like I’m floating away into heaven, with nothing to hold me down. Which also means that I want to see the people I love fail – but, no. Not that. I want all of us to float into heaven together, unfettered from the things that keep us in this hell.

Come with me. Why didn’t you want to come with me?

Break Up Blues

The loneliness is already crushing me. The terror is creeping in. What have I done? Why did I do that? Is this the biggest mistake of my life?

It’s not the biggest mistake of my life. I let go of something I never had because I would have had to let go eventually. I couldn’t keep hanging on to something that was always slipping away. Too treacherous. Too dangerous. So now. Let’s do this now.

It was time to let go of something that didn’t fulfill me but that got close enough to make me think it could. Something that showed up just often enough for me to think it was meaningful without ever committing to being meaningful. Something that felt good enough to tide me over in moments of crisis without any guarantee of lasting one moment longer than I needed it to.

Is that just love. Have I forgone the option to have something perfect. Should I have settled for something that was amazing part of the time and stultifying the rest of the time. Should I have sucked it up in the name of love. Should I have taken less than what I wanted so that I wouldn’t have to feel lonely today. What is less painful – looking for something that I don’t know is out there or dedicating myself to years of something that falls shy of what I want.

I know that this time it’s final. For now. Which is fine. I’ll get through this.

Oh to be loved, to be loved, to be loved. It’s the greatest thing I’ve ever experienced, and I can’t wait to it again. To do it better.

#1 Bae

I open up my lap top. My fingers clack across the keyboard.

Welcome Back, Baby

I smile. I feel welcomed back. As I lounge my way across the keys. The keyboard winks at me. Grins at me, too. Is my keyboard…flirting with me? If it is, then I’m definitely flirting back.

Did you miss me?

Of course I missed you, baby. You are my one true love. The one who has loved me from the beginning, no matter what, and forever. Our love is timeless. Classic. True.

Look, I’m sorry that I let someone else get between us. Get between me and my love for you. I’m sorry I only come back to you when things with him are bad. When things with him were good – well, will you forgive for what I’m about to say? I thought I didn’t need you when things with him were good. I was too busy being in love with him to come back to you and tell you all about it.

I never should have left you. You, more than anyone else, are loyal to me. You are there for me when I need you most. You are my one true love.

I love you.

I love you, too. But enough of that sentimental bullshit. Let’s conquer the world together.

2019

My Love –

Well. Here we are. After a year together, you are going back to your ex-fiancee. I’m not surprised. I’m not angry. I am very deeply hurt. But I wouldn’t take back anything in the past year.

The last year for me was wonderful. It was stressful, it was challenging, it was expensive, it was an opportunity to see myself in a different light and as a different person. When you came back to me, I was broken. My father had just died, my ex had abandoned me. I was spinning out of control, and so were you. But you made it better because at least we were spinning together. You showed me that I wasn’t a bad person, that I was capable of love. You showed me that I was wanted, even if I was broken and flawed and imperfect. You taught me how to dream again. You reminded me that I should want more than what I have and that I deserve more, too. You made loving fun. You made my life better.

Even so, things didn’t work out between us. I’m still stuck in this place in my head where I expect my partners to be perfect, and I expect myself to be perfect in my relationships, and if I’m not, I give up. It’s a hard habit to break. I get caught up in the fictions of insecurities in my mind, and I don’t know how to talk about them to the people I love the most. I can be mean. Cruel. I’m good at that. So are you.

I’m trying to grow up. I’m trying to learn that love isn’t always easy, but I still don’t know how hard it should be before I give up. Should I have given up after you ignored me on my birthday? Should I have given up after you kicked me in the face? Should I have given up when you stopped paying me back all the money you owe me? I didn’t give up, I just faltered and kept going. Perhaps the faltering was what did it. Death by a thousand cuts.

I tried to tell you what I wanted. After you taught me how to want better for myself, I started to want better for us, too. But you didn’t hear me. Maybe I didn’t say it loudly enough. I wanted to conquer the world together. I wanted to be big and beautiful together. I wanted to feast at the table of life with you, forever. I wanted us to love each other, everywhere and anywhere, for as long as we could.

But we’re not going to do that. Are we? There were too many bad days and temper tantrums. There wasn’t enough money and enough time. We didn’t talk to each other enough about things like that. Things that mattered. Every time I faltered, we grew further and further apart. So far apart that you are now back with your ex.

And now where will I go. What will I do. I’ll work out, eat healthy, lose some weight. Move to a different city. Dye my hair. Reactivate all my dating apps. Look for pieces of you in new people that I meet. Rewatch our sex videos every night until I stop crying.

I want to hold onto the little pieces of you that made me fall in love with you over and over again. Grabbing onto you in the middle of the night – you were such a good little spoon. Holding hands while we watched TV in bed and did nothing all day. Talking about music and playing new songs for each other as we drove around in my car. Meandering around Target. Talking trash about white people and Berkeley drivers. Your stupid little dances. Your grumpy face when you were waking up. My head on your chest. The way you would jump and shout at every fight scene in any movie we watched. Listening to you talk about sports even though I was never really listening. And, of course, the sex.

I gave you the best that I could give you, and it was wonderful. I will always cherish this year we spent together. You will always be beautiful to me, even if it’s just a memory. You can go be ugly with someone else now.

Revamp

He reached his hand between my legs, and as I sat there, in the dark, in his car, at 1 am, all I could think was, “Damn, nothing!?” I tried to act into it, and I kinda was, but after four drinks, all I could think was: I wanna eat some cold cuts and go to bed. It’s late. I have work in the morning.

I could hear the sigh in my head going off like a fire alarm. Ugh, is this really who I am? Wasn’t I Miss Fuck Feast? Miss fuck anywhere, fuck anyone, wild times, let’s party? And here I am, on a Wednesday night, a mere four drinks in and ready to call it a wrap. Because I want to be sharp for work tomorrow morning. So I can make money.

When did I become this person!

Recently, but also for a long time. I think I always wanted to be this person, this career driven woman, but I spent my 20s fucking around (literally), and perhaps I spent all my libido chips in the lottery of my 20s and now, in my 30s, meh. Fucking this dude seems…fine? Okay? Whatever? Do I really not care that much? Isn’t this all I used to care about five years ago? All I wanted to do was get laid. Now all I wanna do is get paid. Am I okay with this?

I’m definitely okay with telling this dude to call me so I can slink into my kitchen and eat cold cuts and then go to sleep. That sounds fucking amazing.

I mean, sure, yeah, okay, I couldn’t just keep fucking people fecklessly forever. Or, I could have, but I didn’t want to because doing the same thing forever is pretty fucking boring. I guess for you, dear reader, perhaps there’s been a blip in communication. I was Miss Fuck Feast, Miss fuck ’em all, Miss party thing, which is weird to write out in a sentence because I feel like such a fraud, sitting here, at 1:13 am, having eaten my cold cuts in favor of fucking some medium attractive man. I skipped a few steps there, namely, a couple of recent rotten relationships and also a childhood filled with mixed signals that made me pretty indifferent to the idea of marriage and motherhood.

So here I am. Still dating in my 30s. I’m not mad about it. I have disposable income and get to fritter my life away drinking. I’ve been madly in love. I’ve met the love of my life. Twice. And I’ve moved on from that. And I’m dating in my 30s. Which is supposed to be something that appalls society, but fuck it. I really don’t give a shit. I plan on doing well for myself for the rest of my life, so, in the spirit of my 20-something self, I have decided to turn this into a ‘dating in your 30’s’ blog. Wish me luck because I am so fucking sick of dating, but gotta do something while I’m trying to get my novel published, right?

Love ya bunches.