Monday: Break up for good with the Pretty One. Consider calling him most of the day. Resist.
Tuesday: Receive in the mail the wedding bands he bought for the two of you. WTF WTF WTF. Should you pawn them? Send them back? Sell them for their weight in gold? Use them for earrings?
_______
Monday: Present Teaching Ekphrasis in the Classroom to vast and wild applause. Harvey would be so proud of you.
Tuesday: Forget the name of your collection in search of a publisher, perhaps because you changed the title to something less obvious than the title you loved, Cleave. Harvey would find this so funny. Cry a little bit.
_______
Monday: Swear that you'll never date again. Mean it.
Tuesday: Go on Chemistry.com to see if the subscription your friend bought for you is still valid. See the Pretty One has just posted a profile, stating that he has been searching for love all of his life, only to have it wrested away by fate. (If fate is a 50+ year old woman who is tired of obsessive jealousy, insistence on marriage, and misunderstanding, then it was fate).
_______
Monday: Write what you think is a killer prose poem about the reasons you dumped the pretty one. Look in your email and see that the Pretty One wants to be your Facebook friend.
Tuesday: See that you have forgotten how to write a non-prose poem. Read yesterday's prose poem and be struck all over again that you cannot write a sentence that is not S+V+O in construction. Change your Facebook password.
_______
Monday: Spend time with your friends Will and Dale Ray, missing Harvey and crying a little bit and laughing a lot more as you honor his memory.
Tuesday: Spend 30 minutes on the phone with your best girlfriend, deciding that the Pretty One was actually in the Mafia and has called a hit on you. Even though it's a joke, you start to give this theory credence.
_______
Monday: Cry. Cry some more. Crave kissing. Crave chocolate. Crave your husband's hands on the small of your back.
Tuesday: Begin the work for your dental implant of tooth #14. Cry. Cry some more. Crave taffy. Crave coffee. Deny yourself for the greater good. Delete all pictures from your phone of the Pretty One. Console yourself that there are hundreds on your computer. Remind yourself that he sent you all of them.
_______
Monday: When he calls you (and he will call you 15 times that morning and 12 times before sundown), don't pick up.
Tuesday: He doesn't call at all. This annoys you for some reason.
_______
Monday: Smell his cologne everywhere you go. Acqua di Gio. Feel both aroused and slightly embarrassed by this snake-in-the-spine reaction.
Tuesday: Look forward to a blind date arranged for you by your friend. Resolve not to be deaf or dumb yourself the next time around.
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Tuesday: Receive in the mail the wedding bands he bought for the two of you. WTF WTF WTF. Should you pawn them? Send them back? Sell them for their weight in gold? Use them for earrings?
_______
Monday: Present Teaching Ekphrasis in the Classroom to vast and wild applause. Harvey would be so proud of you.
Tuesday: Forget the name of your collection in search of a publisher, perhaps because you changed the title to something less obvious than the title you loved, Cleave. Harvey would find this so funny. Cry a little bit.
_______
Monday: Swear that you'll never date again. Mean it.
Tuesday: Go on Chemistry.com to see if the subscription your friend bought for you is still valid. See the Pretty One has just posted a profile, stating that he has been searching for love all of his life, only to have it wrested away by fate. (If fate is a 50+ year old woman who is tired of obsessive jealousy, insistence on marriage, and misunderstanding, then it was fate).
_______
Monday: Write what you think is a killer prose poem about the reasons you dumped the pretty one. Look in your email and see that the Pretty One wants to be your Facebook friend.
Tuesday: See that you have forgotten how to write a non-prose poem. Read yesterday's prose poem and be struck all over again that you cannot write a sentence that is not S+V+O in construction. Change your Facebook password.
_______
Monday: Spend time with your friends Will and Dale Ray, missing Harvey and crying a little bit and laughing a lot more as you honor his memory.
Tuesday: Spend 30 minutes on the phone with your best girlfriend, deciding that the Pretty One was actually in the Mafia and has called a hit on you. Even though it's a joke, you start to give this theory credence.
_______
Monday: Cry. Cry some more. Crave kissing. Crave chocolate. Crave your husband's hands on the small of your back.
Tuesday: Begin the work for your dental implant of tooth #14. Cry. Cry some more. Crave taffy. Crave coffee. Deny yourself for the greater good. Delete all pictures from your phone of the Pretty One. Console yourself that there are hundreds on your computer. Remind yourself that he sent you all of them.
_______
Monday: When he calls you (and he will call you 15 times that morning and 12 times before sundown), don't pick up.
Tuesday: He doesn't call at all. This annoys you for some reason.
_______
Monday: Smell his cologne everywhere you go. Acqua di Gio. Feel both aroused and slightly embarrassed by this snake-in-the-spine reaction.
Tuesday: Look forward to a blind date arranged for you by your friend. Resolve not to be deaf or dumb yourself the next time around.
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7 comments:
So sorry, darling! I hate that you're hurting. Break ups suck, even if they're the right thing to do.
Thanks, Karissa. I am equal parts hurting and laughing at myself. It's the eighth grade all over again, with better shoes.
Ooh boy. But you did right. He bought wedding bands? WTFFFFFFFFF???
That's scary.
Keep going. Keep on going. It'll all be all right. When it's right, it'll all be all right.
Ms. Moon, he did indeed, and he bought them based on a ring I wear all the time, so he was paying attention. He also told me that he would prefer that I not have so many friends. (I don't have tens of thousands but those whom I do have I cherish). All of my male friends were threats, even after I explained my paltry little love life after Harvey died had included none of them. One of my friends is photo-op handsome (and a musician, which is your type, right?); I underwent all sorts of accusations about how he couldn't be trusted. The jealousy, the inconsistency, the keeping tabs...I just cannot do it.
I never ever told him I would marry him, I never ever told him anything that would make him think that.
My friends say, "He has the crazy eyes for you," and maybe he did. I wish he'd been less serious and more laid back, but you cannot change men. They become more of themselves. Harvey was sweet, passionate, and funny--he became more and more of that. DZ would have been firmly entrenched in the "no life but mine mode," so I had to cut and run.
But o was he a good kisser, an intuitive lover, and such a handsome handsome man. I had missed that and miss it a little right now. Pretty is pretty...
1. In my vast experience, I have found that it's true. Musicians can't be trusted.
2. How old is he?
3. I suggest going back to hugging your pillow and kissing your arm to keep in practice and the purchase of a Hitachi Magic Wand™ which beats the hell out of men who want you to get rid of your friends. That's bordering on abuse. That's how it starts.
love,
Rebecca
Dear RK,
1. My friend is trustworthy as a friend.
2. Dez is 43, way too old for this teenage romance straight from the cover of True Story.
3. After I have had what my friend C. calls "the sex," my pillow and the crook of my arm have lost nearly all their charms.
And I agree with you--segregation, isolation, domination--all sound like emotional abuse. I don't want to be lulled or culled. I want to be loved and to love back. I can't love someone who doesn't want me to have a life apart from him, or who doesn't like himself apart from me.
No one over the age of 30 should have to be told this.
XOXO.
Pamela
This is going to be a great, great book someday.
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