You would think, after four decades on this planet, I would have mastered the art of the breakup.  I envision one where we act like adults, say what needs to be said and no one walks away hurt.  Sadly, I think this resolution is possible only in my dreams.  Instead, I took the spineless way out and ended it with a text.  I’m appalled at myself. With my 20/20 hindsight, I realize that I should have at least done it over the telephone; 2.5 months does not necessarily require a face-to-face, but it does warrant more than a 3 sentence text.

Everything I wrote to him and the feelings I have today are more than a little reminiscent of my Ex’s breakup with me.  Am I no better?  There really is no good way to accomplish the task.

This guy SHOULD have been a good catch for me.  He was attractive and fit, kind and considerate, virile and gainfully employed, but I just never fell head-long for him.  I should want to see him the last moment before I depart on a trip and the first thing when I return.  We were apart for 2.5 weeks and I almost canceled on him this Saturday (I had already cancelled twice earlier this week).  I should be begging for him to spend the night so I can wrap my body in his when, in fact, I felt relief when he said he had to go home.  I know the depth of affection I’m capable of feeling – and I just couldn’t evoke it for him.

I realized that it’s not fair to continue – not to him by faking feelings as he becomes more entangled nor to myself but cutting myself off from other possible alternatives, convincing myself that “this” is better than nothing.

Regardless of whether I think I did the right thing (which I do), I still feel awful for having to do it.

You seemed so happy!

“You seemed so happy!”

“Well, I WAS happy.”

“So why aren’t you dating him anymore?”


I’m having this conversation with my 10-year old niece.  She’s asking me about my Ex.  How do you explain to a child that just because one person is blissfully happy doesn’t mean the other is feeling the same – or even if both people are happy, it still doesn’t mean there’s a happy ending to the story?  How do you break it to them that life’s not a fairy tale?

I have a new guy in my world right now.  We’ve been dating about two months now.  I like him, but sadly, I don’t LIKE him.   Always respectful,  I would never lead him on or toy with him, but I’m also aware of this relationship’s limitations.

Casualties of War

Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up.
~ James Arthur Baldwin

I crossed enemy lines this weekend, into his city.  I camouflaged myself and my vehicle and infiltrated through a back road.  I kept low to the ground and out of sight, glancing over my shoulder, on my mission to the boutique store downtown, needing to pick up supplies.  I returned to my homeland, escaping back over the border undetected, but not nearly unscathed.  The maudlin minefields were everywhere and they blew me into pieces as I rounded every corner and stopped at every street light, the memories of our time in this city still too fresh in my mind – breakfast there (boom!), dinner here (boom!) and the bar where we first kissed across the street (boom! boom! boom!).

It has been almost six months since the cease-fire and my desire, really, is to become a veteran of this damn war.  I don’t want to lament the breakup longer than we were together.  I want to get on with my life, ending the shell-shock.   I thought I was ready, that I could walk the streets we walked along together and not feel the pain.  I was wrong, again.

The wounds may be scarring over, but I’m afraid there’s shrapnel embedded beneath my skin forever – so that, when I take a step or move just so, that little twinge of pain will eternally make me wince.  Soon, I will stop mentioning it, putting on my courageous face for friends and family, but the slight spasm of discomfort will always be there, silently reminding me of the wounds I’ve suffered – and diminishing me just a little.

Losing Faith

Today, I lost faith in Love.  It happened while driving from Starbucks to my office at 1:34 p.m. this afternoon.  I don’t believe it exists,  like the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus.

Too many times I’ve thought, “Is it?  Maybe?” only to have reality come smoosh me into the ground like an ant.

I’m tired.

I canceled plans with the online guy this weekend.  Something was up.  I didn’t hear from him for two days and I know he was online…and the way that he asked me out was odd.  I decided that two red flags do not equal a date.

I passed my 66 day milestone without contacting my ex on Saturday.  Of course, ironically, I wanted to call him and tell him the news.

Days since I’ve searched for my ex: 22 (44 to go)

What I am grateful for:  2 Benadryl +  ½ a klonopin = a good, long, much-needed sleep