I Call Bravo Sierra

Common sense isn't very common.

What’s the buzz?

Posted by Keen Observer on March 5, 2011

Wow.  August 2009 was the last post, eh?  Been some time since I’ve been here to write.  It’s not that I don’t think about it, but I’m busy (sort of), and when it comes to anything political, many other blogs do it better (and more regularly) than I do.  But I’ve gone through a crap-load of upheaval since then, and it seemed like a good time to do some writing.  I expect to put out a cluster of related posts in short order.

Let’s see.  How my life turned to dog-shit for awhile…apparently, my ex wasn’t very happy living with me, but she didn’t really bother telling me that.  Until the day she told me she was moving out of the house we had just bought and moved into barely two months prior to that announcement.  I tell you, that was such a fantastic way to start 2010.  Literally.  It was early evening of January 1 when she kicked me in the nuts like that.  Without going into the details (it’s really none of your business), matters were very Chinese-interesting after that, because it took her about eight months to find suitable lodgings elsewhere.

I didn’t take things very well, but that’s just me.  It was the worst pain ever; only the last time I got fired came close, and that was because I also felt blind-sided and betrayed.  I was convinced for awhile that, while I knew I’d recover, it would take years and years for me to feel normal–knowing as I do that I take some things very, very personally and don’t have good coping mechanisms.  She made some noise about wanting to stay friends and leave before we descended to bitterness and recriminations.  To this day I still have no idea why she thought that would happen, since I hadn’t realised we were in danger of falling that way.  I spent most of the past year hoping she’d change her mind, but once she made it up, she was committed, and the thought of trying to save our 15-ish years together seemed not to occur to her.  I wasn’t given a choice or an option, really, and I think that apparent lack of interest in rescue was what hurt me the most.

We’re still sort of friends.  She initiates texts or emails to me occasionally…usually when she wants something.  I try to keep up my end and email her regularly, and occasionally text.  Most of those seem like phone conversations in which I keep talking, while she puts down the receiver and walks away to do other stuff, and me none the wiser.  It seems intensely ironic to me, given some of the conversations we’ve had over the years about hating being the ones who have to put in all the effort to keep friendships going.  Given that it seems like most of the effort is one-sided from me, I’m starting to think it would serve her right.  I’m trying.  I don’t think I can any more, but if she was serious about wanting to stay friends, she’s gotta put in the time.  I know she’s got some shit going on right now separate from me, but seriously…isn’t that the time to have friends? And I knew that I could either work hard to endure the pain, or figure out how to cauterize the emotional wounds she was giving me…past experience has led me to believe that doing so would kill pretty much all feeling for her, and given how much of my life she’s been central to, it seemed the wrong approach.  And now I wonder if it was worth it, and if the cauterizing happened anyway.

Anyway, she was over yesterday to pick up some stuff, and I almost had no reaction to her being here, other than feeling a little bit of awkwardness.  There was a different sort if irony at play, in that when we started dating over 16 years ago, she had a lot of trouble looking me in the eye, a problem she eventually overcame.  Now, it seems like it’s my turn.  I find it difficult to look her in the face.  I don’t know why.  I am, however, taking it as an indicator that my two-year estimate for recovery is going to be a little long, even if you assume that the breakup actually happened Jan 1.  I’m completely screwed up on how that makes me feel, or how I should feel.

We did some emergency repairs on our bathroom the weekend we moved in (leaking straight into the basement when I showered), and that resulted in the need to fix the bathroom properly before we could sell the house.  It took until last month to get that properly sorted.  If we’d had the money, we’d have done the kitchen, but our reno budget went to emergency car repairs and keeping the CMHC away from our mortgage.  At any rate, we’ll be listing the house probably this month sometime; we’ll probably take a loss on it, but at least our mortgage won’t be under water.  After that, I assume we’ll largely go our separate ways.

I get the cat, but that’s a different story.

And so is how I fell into Facebook, after years and years of resisting, due to a complete lack of desire to have personal information that exposed.  (I do my best to make sure that you have a high-irony diet reading here.  All three spam-bots of you.)

At least work is going reasonably well.  I keep bashing my head against the same type of stupidity over and over again, and I’m starting to develop issues with El Jefe, but that’s how things go.  Maybe the market will pick up, and I can find something that I actually trained for, but I worry I’ve been too long out.  Which is an amazing correlation to my future dating life, if such would exist.

It’s a dull ache, now, when I stop to think about it.  Or when I let myself dwell on the empty space in my bed.  But I’ve gotten past the worst of it, and I’ve survived.  There is Life After Her.  It’s just not the one I imagined two years ago.

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