Turns out, I disappointed Moose and Illyna when the CC and I went our separate ways – I just wasn’t bitter enough for them apparently. They were laying in supplies for mammoth anti-men bitch-fests and there was I being all… philosophical about the whole thing. Sorry, I’m just not built that way. In the past, yes, I indulged the dark side a bit. This time around, the circumstances really didn’t warrant it.
Doesn’t mean I didn’t put virtual pen to metaphorical paper and try and put what I was feeling into words though. Enjoy. Don’t enjoy. I wrote it so I might as well share it 🙂
It’s really rather humbling when you realise how easily something as everyday as the ending of a relationship can knock you for six. You like to think you are special, somehow better able to cope than the hoardes, yet when it comes down to it you live out the cliche from Bridget Jones.
*Zap* One conversation, and the brain shuts down. Then revs up into hyper-speed. Then shuts down. A very monotonous cycle and highly depressing for me, my flat mate, all my friends, and you having to read about it. And I’ve had quite enough of being pedestrian, thank you very much. Really time I stopped dwelling on what has gone before, and started to focus on what is to come.
Yeah, yeah, I know. Easier said than done, but long experience has taught me that if I WRITE it, soon enough I will start to believe it. Or at least pretend to believe it, and that’s close enough for now.
I had fun. I loved him. I still do. Whether he was deserving of that love is a topic better reserved for a girly night in with a couple of bottles of wine and lashings of chocolate. Would I change it? Nah. Of course, I’d rather things had gone down differently, but I’m glad I have no real regrets, other than why did I wait so frelling long?
Have I cried? Yes. Will I cry again? Undoubtedly. (Am I crying now as I write this? Trying very hard not to. Tears and PowerBook keyboards really don’t mix, darlings). But I know soon enough I will stop crying and start laughing. He did make me laugh more often than not.
Am I angry at him? Hell yes! If he was within reach I would cheerfully deck him, but coward that he is, he lives in another country, so he’s safe. Distance sucks. Takes all the fun out breaking up. I don’t get to flaunt in front of him all that he is missing. It’s very hard to stage elaborate “take me back, please!” stunts from across 3000 miles of ocean. These are, of course, all good things. Again on the plus side for distance, at least I won’t run into him in the supermarket when wearing laundry-day clothes, or when I’m having a bad hair day.
The most mundane things remind me of him, which is very annoying. Most of the objects around the flat trigger some memory. Think I’ve still got an old football of his lurking behind the sofa somewhere. (I’m saving that for when I’m feeling really down and need to stab something with a carving knife). I’m now also out two rather pretty pieces of jewelry that I won’t be able to wear for months because they were gifts. Damn him for having taste in jewelry! Damn me for being such a sentimental bloody fool.
Would I take him back if he asked? In a heartbeat. The brain says “don’t go there!” but the heart, infuriating organ that it is, says otherwise. But as I seriously doubt he will be asking, I think I’m safe. I even think, somehow, I’m safe from writing the begging email. I have too much pride, and common sense. At least, that’s what I tell myself in the cold rational light of day. When it’s gone 2am and I’m all alone in the big double bed then other thoughts start to creep in… 😉
I blame him, I blame myself. Already I can see where it started to go wrong. At the same time, I can’t see where along the line we should have done things differently to make them not end this way. My bad. His bad. Our bad. At least I wasn’t dumped by SMS this time, and I can be pretty certain he’s not gonna end up engaged to my brother’s ex girlfriend. (Yes, both of those things have genuinely happened to me. This is the soap opera I call my life).
Ah well, we live and learn, right? Then again, I’ve been down this road a time or three before, and I never do seem to learn. Perhaps I need to tattoo on my forehead “long-distance relationships are not for Cas”. Though in my defense it wasn’t long distance when we started.
Damn his sexy collarbones. I expect there will be a good story or five in this somewhere. I always did do my best writing when feeling a little down.
In all I had twenty months of friendship then love, and that I certainly don’t regret. He stood by my side through a pretty rough patch, and for that I will always love him. He made me laugh, he held me when I cried, he shook his head in incomprehension at some of the things I did but supported me anyway. He made me think perhaps I was worthy of being loved. I think I’ll always have a soft spot for the foolish boy. He did the most amazing rendition of the “George of the Jungle” theme. He was my Cute Canadian. He’s gonna be a hard act to follow.