About a week ago at work, I was listening in on a coworkers conversation. I know no one there yet, and have no life of my own to speak of, so I sickly live vicariously through those around me that don't know I am doing it. It's my own twisted version of Sex in the City suburban style.
She was talking about the evening before. I was shocked to find out, she was talking about a first date with a gentleman. They had met at a coffee shop and then went to a movie. She got there first, bought a coffee than sat down to wait. About ten minutes past when the gentlemen was supposed to arrive, a text went off in her hand telling her he was running late, and could she buy him a latte for when he got there. So she did, telling her friend with a smile of contentment as if instead of buying him a coffee since he was late, he had told her he was late because he had just saved a group of kittens being thrown into a trash compactor by his neighbors evil son.
So after their coffee, the gentleman, instead of taking her to the afore mentioned movie, asks if she would like to go back to his place. Once again she says this with a look of sick adoration that can only be described as hopeful oblivion. More to my own shock, she went. Huh? Okay well anyways, they go back to his place, apparently they fool around some, and she goes home.
Wait...did I miss something. Where is the date in this date? Best part of all, they met through a mutual friend and when he asked her out...it was over text messaging. Does anyone besides me see the wrongness of this picture? Is this really how dating goes now a days? This can't be it. Did I really leave a very bad marriage for very bad dating?
Okay, so the other night, as an experiment, I went on my first date after the divorce. Don't get me wrong, I have no intention of dragging some pour sap into the conundrum of my own melodramatic divorce saga, but I really had an itch and I had to scratch it. Fortunately I scratched it with someone I was only mildly attracted to and had no actually interest in knowing past a few unsatisfying hours of bad flirting and cheap wine.
See I had to know what it was like to go out on a date after 4 some plus years of not being on the market. I had to know if things had changed, if it was done differently. Oh Nelly, was I in for a big surprise.
Okay so this one didn't start out as bad. He did ask me out over the phone. But here's a question for you...does "Hey my roommate is going to be out of town for the weekend, want to come over?" actually qualify as a date? Ugh! I have been out of the game too long! Okay so I give him the benefit of the doubt. He offers to buy dinner and rent the movie himself, so hey, at least he has buying a meal on the schmuck who took my coworker out, granted it was Pizza Hut. So I show up, fashionable late of course. He takes my coat, asks if I would like a glass of wine. Wow, not bad, this might not turn out so bad, I think to myself. Really though, the first sign should have been, when he took my coat, he felt the need unbutton it himself.
So I take the wine, and sit down on the couch. We're talking as he pours some for himself, about the weather, what movie we want to watch and when to order the pizza. Things seem to be fine. Finally we pick a movie, and he sits down next to me. The movie starts and everything is going okay...wait, did I just feel something on my ass? No, couldn't have been. Brush it off. Movies funny, and the wine is going to down smooth, so he asks if I would like another glass. Sure, not much though, have to drive you know (and also do not have any desire to be even slightly intoxicated with you since I am pretty sure you grabbed my ass but I can't prove it). Comes sits back down, wait again...you weren't sitting this close before, and by this close now I mean, I didn't know that drinking wine with you meant we had to share a liver. Ever heard of the personal bubble buddy? "Um, I have to use the bathroom..." Otherwise know as "I need to get away from you since you seem to be breathing down my neck right now and maybe you will get the hint to move away you big moron." Come back, sit back down FARTHER AWAY. Start watching the movie, and damn that Chris Rock, I was too distracted to see 'my date' sneak up on my again! Good heavens, do I have a sign on me that says "Please I want to sit on your lap?" Then in a surprising move of gall and agility, his arm finds it way round me and the next thing I know I am tucked so close into his body I need the jaws of life and a tub of butter to get me out. His arm firmly clamped around my waist, the seconds tick off as I try to figure out how to get out of this one since I left the mace in my purse across the room. Note to self: keep small pocket size mace can available on first dates.
The doorbell!!!! Pizza! Thank God! I have never been so happy to see a pizza boy in my life. We start to eat, and thankfully there is some space between us. Then in the greatest feat of human ballsiness I have ever seen, when the man takes my plate into the kitchen he literally traps me with his arms and plants his lips on mine (I hesitate to call it a kiss since the term usually includes the mutual agreement of said act). Arms on both sides of me, as he stands and I am sitting trapped between him, a large red wall and a couch that would have made Al Bundy proud I can think of nothing besides the sheer shock factor. And I am not just talking a peck on the mouth, I am talking I didn't have time to close my mouth and he definitely used that to his advantage. No joke, I was mouth raped. About twenty-two seconds later (since that is how long it took me to get my coat and purse), I was out the door.
All I have to say is, things have definitely changed. Since when did the purchase of a cheap bottle of wine, even cheaper pizza and the acceptance of these items all of the sudden equal the invitation of bodily contact that would have made a porn star blush and an assault on the mouth that I think bruised my gums? Wow, I feel old.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Autumn
I love autumn. Maybe it's the changing colors, maybe it's the cooler temperatures, or maybe it's just that most of the world's little rug rats are finally back in school. No, I'm teasing, it's not just one of those things, it's all of them.
But seriously, there is something about fall. Some of my most vivid memories are of late September, early October night soccer practice. Fresh cut grass, the sun slanting at just the right angle to catch every little evening bug in the last rays. Life was so peaceful then.
It seems as though autumn lulls the world into a state of preparation. Anticipation of Thanksgiving, and Monday night football, this is the season of tradition. The season of celebration. The months of fall and winter have those few holidays where the whole world stops everything they are doing for just a few minutes, and observes some of the oldest traditions in our history. There is familiarity and family in the air. The death of the old comes as a promise of the chance at a rebirth with the spring.
The changing colors settle in like stain glass windows of nature telling a story of more to come. For most spring brings promise, for me, fall holds the key to my soul. Death holds the key to life. I think I have always known that. When Christ died, it was to break free the victory. When I die to the past, to the pain, to the unbearable heat of a summer, hope breaks free.
The heat of the summer has done it's work to shed unneeded extras, now the fall comes with the promise of beauty and rest, with winter around the corner and it's water to cleanse through.
Maybe I have been waiting for my whole life for fall. The beauty in the death of the old. The promise and anticipation for the cleansing winter. It has been a long and hot summer, and I am ready for autumn.
But seriously, there is something about fall. Some of my most vivid memories are of late September, early October night soccer practice. Fresh cut grass, the sun slanting at just the right angle to catch every little evening bug in the last rays. Life was so peaceful then.
It seems as though autumn lulls the world into a state of preparation. Anticipation of Thanksgiving, and Monday night football, this is the season of tradition. The season of celebration. The months of fall and winter have those few holidays where the whole world stops everything they are doing for just a few minutes, and observes some of the oldest traditions in our history. There is familiarity and family in the air. The death of the old comes as a promise of the chance at a rebirth with the spring.
The changing colors settle in like stain glass windows of nature telling a story of more to come. For most spring brings promise, for me, fall holds the key to my soul. Death holds the key to life. I think I have always known that. When Christ died, it was to break free the victory. When I die to the past, to the pain, to the unbearable heat of a summer, hope breaks free.
The heat of the summer has done it's work to shed unneeded extras, now the fall comes with the promise of beauty and rest, with winter around the corner and it's water to cleanse through.
Maybe I have been waiting for my whole life for fall. The beauty in the death of the old. The promise and anticipation for the cleansing winter. It has been a long and hot summer, and I am ready for autumn.
Dry Bones
Something unexpected, that hasn't happened in years, occured this morning. It was so strange, I didn't even recognize it at first.
I woke up joyful. I don't even know what to make of it. I am not sure why, and I am not sure I want to question it. I am afraid the feeling is so fragile, so skittish, that if I move too quickly, or think too hard, it will vanish like a vapor. It has sprung up small and tentative, like the first sprouts of green after a long winter, but it is there none the less.
It is amazing the way one emotion can lead to so many others. Just the touch of joy, and the deepest longings for more are awakened. The part of myself that had died off in mourning and fear is kindled back to life. Even as I write, I am afraid I may be squelching it. With the joy comes the slightest bit of hope, and that really frightens me. I remember in Shawshank Redemption, Red looks at Andy and says "Hope is a dangerous thing, it will drive you mad." I know that feeling all too well.
Last night was journaling and praying, and I started reading one of my favorite passages, Ezekiel 37:4-14. It is the passage of the Valley of Dry Bones. I had read it before, and always loved it, but this time, I read beyond just where Ezekiel prophesies, onto the interpretation of the prophecy. The Lord Himself interprets. He says that the valley of people are the House of Isreal, and that their 'hope has perished.' How perfect. That is the only way I could ever describe how I have been feeling lately. My hope has perished. He goes on to say that He will basically redeem them, and bring them out of that valley, and they will know that it was Him that did it. He has allowed my hope to perish. I am okay with that. The knowledge doesn't bring it back to life, but it does bring a sense of relief. If I am dry bones, if I am waiting for His breath of life to fill me and bring me up, then my waiting, my just sitting where I am at, it is okay. He knows. That is relief. I can't do it myself. He has brought me to this place, so that I know He is the only thing that can bring me out.
I may not be where I want to be, I may not be 'okay,' but I am getting there. I have to wait to be filled. That filling will be so sweet. I hate to say it, but my mind still goes to the 'if' it ever happens, but maybe that is where it is supposed to be right now. Maybe we all need to die a little to be resurrected. And not just to self, but to hope and joy also. The knowledge that only He is the true giver of both deepens it. Takes away the sense of fragility, and falsehood. What a prayer to pray, but I do pray that the people I love die and are resurrected to full knowledge of Him. I still pray I am also.
I woke up joyful. I don't even know what to make of it. I am not sure why, and I am not sure I want to question it. I am afraid the feeling is so fragile, so skittish, that if I move too quickly, or think too hard, it will vanish like a vapor. It has sprung up small and tentative, like the first sprouts of green after a long winter, but it is there none the less.
It is amazing the way one emotion can lead to so many others. Just the touch of joy, and the deepest longings for more are awakened. The part of myself that had died off in mourning and fear is kindled back to life. Even as I write, I am afraid I may be squelching it. With the joy comes the slightest bit of hope, and that really frightens me. I remember in Shawshank Redemption, Red looks at Andy and says "Hope is a dangerous thing, it will drive you mad." I know that feeling all too well.
Last night was journaling and praying, and I started reading one of my favorite passages, Ezekiel 37:4-14. It is the passage of the Valley of Dry Bones. I had read it before, and always loved it, but this time, I read beyond just where Ezekiel prophesies, onto the interpretation of the prophecy. The Lord Himself interprets. He says that the valley of people are the House of Isreal, and that their 'hope has perished.' How perfect. That is the only way I could ever describe how I have been feeling lately. My hope has perished. He goes on to say that He will basically redeem them, and bring them out of that valley, and they will know that it was Him that did it. He has allowed my hope to perish. I am okay with that. The knowledge doesn't bring it back to life, but it does bring a sense of relief. If I am dry bones, if I am waiting for His breath of life to fill me and bring me up, then my waiting, my just sitting where I am at, it is okay. He knows. That is relief. I can't do it myself. He has brought me to this place, so that I know He is the only thing that can bring me out.
I may not be where I want to be, I may not be 'okay,' but I am getting there. I have to wait to be filled. That filling will be so sweet. I hate to say it, but my mind still goes to the 'if' it ever happens, but maybe that is where it is supposed to be right now. Maybe we all need to die a little to be resurrected. And not just to self, but to hope and joy also. The knowledge that only He is the true giver of both deepens it. Takes away the sense of fragility, and falsehood. What a prayer to pray, but I do pray that the people I love die and are resurrected to full knowledge of Him. I still pray I am also.
Memories
As I sit down at the computer, an old familiar song comes on the stereo. Bittersweet, so bittersweet. A flood of memories come back. This particular artist, this particular song, they are a different time a place. Fall in Napa on my birthday, sipping wine outside watching the vineyards in different colors. Happy couples laughing as they enjoy each others company. Setting sun streaming through the trees turning the air into soft colors of gold and yellow. Feeling happy and content, in a pretend world. It is Capitola and a proposal, it is cigars and friends sitting around for hours. A dart board and dinner on a Wednesday night. Leaning over the car armrest for a kiss. It is our last happy memory.
As I think back, I remember how enraptured I was in those moments. I remember thinking I hoped the moment would never end. Pretending, for just a second, it could always be like this. Not wanting to get up from that spot, knowing that if I turned away for just an instant, the moment would pass like a burst bubble.
I wonder, did I always know? Was that sinking in the pit of my stomach not fear, but a touch of clairvoyance? This knot in my throat tells me, maybe, just maybe I always knew. The fairytale I had created, and molded from dry clay was just that, a fairytale.
I sit here, at 2am, letting the music wash over me. I let it take me back to those times, those dreams, those intimate moments, however false they were. You see, the thing is, they weren't false at the time. They were true, and beautiful, and for tonight, for this 4 minute song, I grieve. I grieve like it happened yesterday, like a death has occurred.
I have spent so much time defending my choice, it seems there hasn't been much room for grief. It would seem the question would be, if I left, why would I grieve? It hurts so much to remember what someones actions stole from me. Like the bubble that burst, the dreams it was holding fell to the floor and crashed like the wine glasses we bought in Napa. The warmth of the person you loved sleeping next to you stolen. The quiet nights of comfort and peace knowing you were with someone that cared, stolen. Safety, security, peace... stolen. Coming in out of the rain to a fire and a soft love to fall into, stolen. The fairytale...stolen.
However ill-gotten, however empty, the love I thought I had, pulled out from under me like a cheap rug in a bad magic show. All the love I gave, the hope I poured in, the energy, the belief, the encouragement, the times I fought tooth and nail against everyone that disapproved, gone. Vanished like it never mattered. Yes I grieve, I miss my husband. As much as I don't ever want to be his wife again for all the pain he caused, I miss being his wife, I miss loving him. I miss even the minuscule amount of love he gave me.
It hurts that an overplayed song can do this, but sometimes, in the late moments, I break. When no one is around to censor and ask why, I break. I am caught off guard, and in the moment, all I can do is let the grief consume.
As I think back, I remember how enraptured I was in those moments. I remember thinking I hoped the moment would never end. Pretending, for just a second, it could always be like this. Not wanting to get up from that spot, knowing that if I turned away for just an instant, the moment would pass like a burst bubble.
I wonder, did I always know? Was that sinking in the pit of my stomach not fear, but a touch of clairvoyance? This knot in my throat tells me, maybe, just maybe I always knew. The fairytale I had created, and molded from dry clay was just that, a fairytale.
I sit here, at 2am, letting the music wash over me. I let it take me back to those times, those dreams, those intimate moments, however false they were. You see, the thing is, they weren't false at the time. They were true, and beautiful, and for tonight, for this 4 minute song, I grieve. I grieve like it happened yesterday, like a death has occurred.
I have spent so much time defending my choice, it seems there hasn't been much room for grief. It would seem the question would be, if I left, why would I grieve? It hurts so much to remember what someones actions stole from me. Like the bubble that burst, the dreams it was holding fell to the floor and crashed like the wine glasses we bought in Napa. The warmth of the person you loved sleeping next to you stolen. The quiet nights of comfort and peace knowing you were with someone that cared, stolen. Safety, security, peace... stolen. Coming in out of the rain to a fire and a soft love to fall into, stolen. The fairytale...stolen.
However ill-gotten, however empty, the love I thought I had, pulled out from under me like a cheap rug in a bad magic show. All the love I gave, the hope I poured in, the energy, the belief, the encouragement, the times I fought tooth and nail against everyone that disapproved, gone. Vanished like it never mattered. Yes I grieve, I miss my husband. As much as I don't ever want to be his wife again for all the pain he caused, I miss being his wife, I miss loving him. I miss even the minuscule amount of love he gave me.
It hurts that an overplayed song can do this, but sometimes, in the late moments, I break. When no one is around to censor and ask why, I break. I am caught off guard, and in the moment, all I can do is let the grief consume.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
How to handle news about your ex
Okay so, after a few months of doing the whole "I am going to pretend that instead of divorced, my ex is dead," game, I finally came to the realization that I during the next year while I am waiting in the terminal of life (AKA my parents house), I will end up seeing him again. I am already playing the "Is that his car? Okay slowly take your foot of the accelerator and do not ram it from behind," game, so I might as well get used to the notion.
I will admit, I have had some fun dabbling in the "If I saw him in a dark alley what would I do...." game. And as tempting as it has been after a long night of Two Buck Chuck/Sex in the City therapy sessions to hack into his myspace, email, and or even just poke the eyes out of all our old wedding pictures, I have not. I have known (in the last standing sane part of my brain) that it might not be in my best interest to do so. It is better to pretend that he no longer exists.
But alas, as things would happen, I knew that there was a certain event that I was certain he would be at. I prepared mentally, rehearsing the I am cool, clever, and highly out of your league now gloat, along with the, we know I was better looking anyways tilt of the head. I walked into the room I thought he would be in, and thought happy thoughts such as, "He is more unhappy than you," and the ever popular "At least I still have my age," to perk myself up and remind myself that though he may never have really loved me, I still have better hair.
Wonder of all wonders though, he wasn't there. Good Lord, thank you, thank you, thank you. I still have those damn ten pounds I want to shed before I see him again. He might get all of our friends, but be damned he won't get those ten pounds!
So hanging out with a mutual friend of ours that can still be a mutual friend...mostly because he knows the whole story and of course agrees with me...I find myself circling back around to thoughts of the dreaded ex and why he didn't show up to a very important event that mostly everybody he knew was at. Don't ask I tell myself You will so regret it! But really I have to know. No, no I don't. Yes, um yes I do. Was it because of me? Was it because of my friends that he wasn't there? Or was it because a hideous boil had broken out on his face and he knew if he went he would scare little children...? Ha! I laugh in my head at the image that creates. I don't think God really answers those prayers, but still, I pray.
"So why didn't he come?" DAMN!!!! It just slipped out! Even as I am kicking myself thinking I should not be listening to the answer... wait, what is this, he didn't come because he went where? That doesn't make sense, that was our spot and our weekend to go to that spot, he wouldn't go there alone, and all of his friends are up here for the event, and I don't think he would skip this event to go with his mother, wait....holy crap....it couldn't be....he wouldn't be....DON'T ASK!! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON'T ASK!!! At this point I think I audibly heard a siren going off in my head along with ared flag waving in my face not to ask the next questions on the tip of my tounge. No, I won't ask, I won't give him the satisfaction. "Was he with another woman?" DAMN, DAMN, DAMN! That's it, it's true, I have verbal terezt!
The sledgehammer fell somewhere between my stomach and heart. Did I really pick yesterday to quit smoking? Wow. Here I have been, trying to think and process through, pray and really (if not bitterly) feel through all of this, and my thirty-three year old construction-working-I-live-with-my-mother-and-drive-a-car-my-daddy-paid-for ex is already dating another woman? Oh Lord, end times, I am ready for the rapture. Well, at least he didn't see her, or else I would have asked and found out what she really looks like. I like the image of a forty year old fat woman who uses Rogain better.
Okay new plan:1. Lose twenty pounds instead of ten
2. Find cute, single, doctor and flirt with him outrageously
3. Find inner peace that takes the form of perfect skin and ass you could bounce a quater off of
4. Find way to get close enough to show all of these things to ex without ever having to talk to him (the verbal terezt might sieze again and blow cover)
As I sat and pondered my new list of things to do, a peace suddenly comes over me. I may be alone now, struggling to figure out what it means to be single in a big bad world, and it might seem very unjust that it is the way it is right now, and he may have already forgotten me, and that is okay. It won't be that way forever. Someday I will find someone better that will help me forget about the pain he caused, and someday I will be with someone that knows my value, and we will be happy. But alas, as for my ex, he may have a new girlfriend after only four months of divorce, but let's be honest, I always have, and always will, dance better than he does.
I will admit, I have had some fun dabbling in the "If I saw him in a dark alley what would I do...." game. And as tempting as it has been after a long night of Two Buck Chuck/Sex in the City therapy sessions to hack into his myspace, email, and or even just poke the eyes out of all our old wedding pictures, I have not. I have known (in the last standing sane part of my brain) that it might not be in my best interest to do so. It is better to pretend that he no longer exists.
But alas, as things would happen, I knew that there was a certain event that I was certain he would be at. I prepared mentally, rehearsing the I am cool, clever, and highly out of your league now gloat, along with the, we know I was better looking anyways tilt of the head. I walked into the room I thought he would be in, and thought happy thoughts such as, "He is more unhappy than you," and the ever popular "At least I still have my age," to perk myself up and remind myself that though he may never have really loved me, I still have better hair.
Wonder of all wonders though, he wasn't there. Good Lord, thank you, thank you, thank you. I still have those damn ten pounds I want to shed before I see him again. He might get all of our friends, but be damned he won't get those ten pounds!
So hanging out with a mutual friend of ours that can still be a mutual friend...mostly because he knows the whole story and of course agrees with me...I find myself circling back around to thoughts of the dreaded ex and why he didn't show up to a very important event that mostly everybody he knew was at. Don't ask I tell myself You will so regret it! But really I have to know. No, no I don't. Yes, um yes I do. Was it because of me? Was it because of my friends that he wasn't there? Or was it because a hideous boil had broken out on his face and he knew if he went he would scare little children...? Ha! I laugh in my head at the image that creates. I don't think God really answers those prayers, but still, I pray.
"So why didn't he come?" DAMN!!!! It just slipped out! Even as I am kicking myself thinking I should not be listening to the answer... wait, what is this, he didn't come because he went where? That doesn't make sense, that was our spot and our weekend to go to that spot, he wouldn't go there alone, and all of his friends are up here for the event, and I don't think he would skip this event to go with his mother, wait....holy crap....it couldn't be....he wouldn't be....DON'T ASK!! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON'T ASK!!! At this point I think I audibly heard a siren going off in my head along with ared flag waving in my face not to ask the next questions on the tip of my tounge. No, I won't ask, I won't give him the satisfaction. "Was he with another woman?" DAMN, DAMN, DAMN! That's it, it's true, I have verbal terezt!
The sledgehammer fell somewhere between my stomach and heart. Did I really pick yesterday to quit smoking? Wow. Here I have been, trying to think and process through, pray and really (if not bitterly) feel through all of this, and my thirty-three year old construction-working-I-live-with-my-mother-and-drive-a-car-my-daddy-paid-for ex is already dating another woman? Oh Lord, end times, I am ready for the rapture. Well, at least he didn't see her, or else I would have asked and found out what she really looks like. I like the image of a forty year old fat woman who uses Rogain better.
Okay new plan:1. Lose twenty pounds instead of ten
2. Find cute, single, doctor and flirt with him outrageously
3. Find inner peace that takes the form of perfect skin and ass you could bounce a quater off of
4. Find way to get close enough to show all of these things to ex without ever having to talk to him (the verbal terezt might sieze again and blow cover)
As I sat and pondered my new list of things to do, a peace suddenly comes over me. I may be alone now, struggling to figure out what it means to be single in a big bad world, and it might seem very unjust that it is the way it is right now, and he may have already forgotten me, and that is okay. It won't be that way forever. Someday I will find someone better that will help me forget about the pain he caused, and someday I will be with someone that knows my value, and we will be happy. But alas, as for my ex, he may have a new girlfriend after only four months of divorce, but let's be honest, I always have, and always will, dance better than he does.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)