Cruel Intentions

This just in: break-ups are cruel. It's such a swirling, mix of emotions that don't follow the time-table they're meant to. The sadness, the tears, the anger, the I'm-going-to-be-ok attitude don't always follow the scheduled order that they're supposed to. Relapses happen. At least, they happen to me.

Last week, I was hit with The Rage. It came in fast and furiously. It was the perfect emotional opportunity to rebound. As I said before, the 23-year-old baby-child downstairs moved out the day after the cute neighbor's fuckwittage became official, so he was out. Shame, too. He was cute. He was 23. He would have been perfect.

Then I totally perked up when I realized that The Dark Horse was actually back in town before I left! Yessssssss! Someone I feel comfortable with, as we've already done this song and dance before! The perfect rebound! I went ahead and emailed him, telling him I would love to see him before I leave! (I figured I could go ahead and use the ! I mean, what did I have to lose?) Only to find out that he has settled down with his One and Only, the same ex-girlfriend who had left things open-ended with him. They finally got their act together and are finally living their Happily Ever After, apparently. Fuck. I mean, I'm actually quite happy for him, and honestly, I'm glad I was dumped for someone who was his One True Love instead of a meaningless fling. But this wasn't helping anyone out.

I tried going to a party of a friend of McNerdy's with D.B., thinking a party would be a good place to mingle, as everyone was a friend-of-someone's, only the party was pretty small, and there were twice as many women there as men. The men that were there were completely undoable (i.e., McNerdy and D.B.) and people thought D.B. and I were a couple. Fail.

Is the universe conspiring against my rebound?

Then Grayer told me she might have a solution to my "booty problem." When I figured out that she was talking about my need for a rebound and not where to hide some buried treasure, I asked her what it was.

"Bernard."

"Huh?"

"My roommate."

"Yeah, what about him?"

Sigh. "I think my roommate Bernard will sleep with you."

"Oh. You sound like a pimp."

Now, I really, really appreciate you looking out for my needs, Grayer. However, the best way to handle this probably would have been NOT to tell me about this plan. Now what will happen is, I will show up at your place, and obviously see Bernard, and that's when things will get awkward. Then when nothing has happened by the time I leave, I'll feel completely rejected, even though I never made a move due to the awkwardness.

Now I'm home at my parents' house, sitting in the bedroom I spent my teenage years in (although it's been tastefully redecorated), with absolutely no chance in hell for a rebound. I've just had a relapse into the crying, sobbing, hiccuping stage, most likely due to the fact that 1.) I didn't get a chance to rebound properly and 2.) I'm at my parents' house. There's really nothing else to do but think about it.

And yes, I know I'll have so much more fun in London now that I don't have to worry about a long-distance relationship, and yes, I know I'll find my One and Only someday, but that still doesn't change the fact that this one failed, when I oh-so-wanted it to succeed, and therefore, I feel a bit like I've failed.

See, it's a cruel thing these break-ups. Just when you think you've made progress, you're right back where you started: curled up in the fetal position, willing it all to go away. Cruel indeed.

Raging Bull

Last week, I tried to be angry, only I wasn't truly angry. But now I am!

It started on Wednesday. The cute neighbor had told me he would leave it up to me if I wanted to contact him again, and we had left our last conversation a little upset and frustrated. I called him on Wednesday to tell him that yes, I knew it probably wouldn't work past his leaving date, but that I was hopeful. And also, that I wish that had been reiterated before he left, because I feel like I've now been put through this twice. He apologized and took full responsibility for how he handled it. Then we chatted casually and he ended the conversation by saying, "Ok, I'll talk to you later." An hour later, he texted me to give me an update on where he was watching the baseball game.

Really? How am I supposed to get closure with "talk to you later" and conversational texts? I was very proud of the fact that I didn't respond.

Then I made the mistake of watching The Proposal on tv. By the end of it, I was getting a little weepy. When Ryan Reynolds chased Sandra Bullock back to New York from Alaska, I practically threw the box of wheat thins I was eating (for dinner) at the tv and screamed, "THAT'S NOT THE WAY IT WORKS!" Then the weepy turned into whole body sobs with ugly tears. For about a half an hour.

On Thursday I swore off watching all romantic comedies for awhile and called McNerdy to come hang out with me in order not to have a repeat of the previous night. It worked.

Then on Friday, The Rage really kicked in. I have the cute neighbor to thank for kick-starting it too. On Friday afternoon, while at work with a 5 and 10-year-old, I got a text from him. Another random, conversational text. It threw me for a loop. I felt sick and distracted. I stopped paying attention to the kids, and had to shake myself out of my stupor when I realized that one of the kids was trying to beat up the other with the step stool. That's when I got angry. I couldn't get home fast enough to call him and tell him to leave me the fuck alone. Of course he didn't answer his phone, as it was in the middle of his workday (but he interrupted mine, so I figured it was worth a try), which only made me angrier. How dare he?! How dare he act as if nothing had changed? It would be so easy to fall into that trap with him, but I'm going to be very mature and grown-up here, and tell him that we can be friends someday, but we can't be friends now. And now by not answering his phone, he was depriving me of this conversation, which in some way I think would have really helped me on the whole closure process.

I got angrier and angrier. He knew exactly how he felt, and he knew how I felt, and yet he strung me along all summer, and I was left feeling like I had gone through two big break-ups in two months. Nobody deserves that! Nobody can take two break-ups in two months! Why would he do that to me? The bastard! The douche bag! He was not honest with me. I expected so much better of him.

Eventually he sent me a message telling me he had a phone meeting and couldn't call me back but that he was sorry he texted me and he shouldn't have. I got angrier. I wanted to be able to tell him that myself. He still hasn't called me back, which I guess is what I want, but I also want the pleasure of telling him these things myself. Finally yesterday I emailed him and told him no, you shouldn't have texted me. Yes, we can be friends someday but no, we can't be friends right now because 1. I need time and space, and 2. I'm very angry about the way you handled this and put me through this not once but twice, and I expected better from you.

And now I need a rebound. Badly. Unfortunately, Baby-child left town on Monday, and that was way too soon. I was hoping The Dark Horse would come through for me, but he's out of town. I feel like I'm on the clock too, since I'm going back to Pennsylvania next weekend, and heaven knows there are absolutely no chances for a rebound there. Another reason to be angry. His handling of the situation could prevent me from properly rebounding. FUCKWIT!

10 Things I Hate About You

I keep going back and forth between feeling miserable and sorry for myself to angry. It's better to be angry than sad, right?

Dear cute neighbor,

I hate the way you think you're always right. You may be smart, and have the letters after your name to prove it, but sometimes you. are. wrong. Pennsylvania is a landlocked state. Just because its eastern border is a river that eventually leads to the Bay and the ocean, does not mean it has a coastline. No matter how hard you drunkenly argue that this is the case, you are wrong, you fucking moron.

I hate the way you think not owning a television makes you somehow intellectually superior to others. It doesn't. Especially when you just come over to my house, turn on the tv immediately, and are so completely entranced by it that I cannot get your attention, no matter how many articles of clothing I remove. You're just like every other man on the planet.

I hate the way you can't use a fucking coaster. They're right there, next to the glass you just put down on the coffee table.

I hate the way you reacted when someone didn't know something you felt they should have. Not everyone listens to NPR 24 hours a day. Besides, you're the one who didn't know Punxatawney Phil lives in Pennsylvania.

I hate the way you grabbed my hand when we were about to cross the street and there was a car coming, as if that would somehow save me from a speeding SUV. Actually, I didn't hate that at all, but now I hate that it apparently meant nothing.

I hate the fact that I can't go to our favorite dive bar for a $4 pitcher of beer or watch Swamp People because both things are synonymous with "us."

I hate the way I feel like this is somehow my fault, a deficiency of mine that caused this not to work. I am not the problem here, you are. You are 35 years old, and this relationship officially became your longest ever months ago. So no, it's not me, it's you.

I hate the fact that you have the ability to make me so happy and so, so miserable.

But mostly I hate the way I'm completely torn up about this and you probably haven't given it a second thought.

May you be cursed with impotency and perpetual diarrhea.

And that my friend, is what they call...closure

There's no judging on this blog, so hear me out.

Recently I've been having the strange urge to get back in touch with Fergus. I know this makes me sounds crazy but again, hear me out.

For those of you who don't know, Fergus is my ex-boyfriend. We met when Vi and I were living in Peru. Fergus and I had a very intense relationship. 2 months after we met I went travelling around South America for 6 weeks. I then went back to Peru, moved in with Fergus and stayed there for 5 more months. On our return to the UK he lived with his parents in Scotland and I was home in England. During this time I began to feel very differently about him and then we had a very awkward 6 weeks in India and Nepal. We broke up as soon as we got back.

After the break-up I began to feel the RAGE. I haven't seen him since. Through Facebook I found out that he is also now living in London. I had to delete him off Facebook. The rage has now dissipated, which is good. I'm now with the White Horse, which is really good so I shouldn't be giving Fergus a second thought right?

Here's the thing. I've been thinking that I should see him again. Obviously not see him in that was, but meet up to chat about things. It's not like I want to dissect our relationship or what went wrong but I feel like I'm missing a little closure. (Friends reference!)

What I find difficult to come to terms with is the fact that I went from being really in love with this guy, honestly thinking I would spend the rest of my life, to not wanting to be with him, to not want him to touch me, in a remarkably short period of time. And I still don't get this. Which irritates me. We shared a lot together and he was the first guy that I lived with and now we don't talk. The problem is that I'm one of these people that finds it difficult to let the past go, and I don't think I've completely let this go. Please understand, I have zero feelings for this guy. Zero.

Never mind. Judge away. I'm crazy.

Rage? What rage?

Happy 2010!!

I am pleased to start this new decade off to a positive start.

THE RAGE is no more....

A few days before Christmas I checked my old email account to delete all the spam: suggestions that I buy copious amounts of prescription drugs and help out the president of Nigeria if I emailed my bank details, etc. However, there was a name that jumped out at me...

Fergus.

Back in the summer I wrote my second blog entry, entitled THE RAGE. (I can't work out how to post the link to the article, even though Vi told me how...) I explained how debilitating THE RAGE can be and how in order for me to maintain my sanity I had asked Fergus not to contact me. And he hasn't.

But THE RAGE continued so I had to delete him off Facebook...but THE RAGE continued.

So you would think that seeing his name in my inbox wouldn't be a pretty site...but THE RAGE is gone! The only emotion was surprise. Even reading the email was a relatively serene experience. NB: the email wasn't terribly exciting. He just said he hoped I had a nice Christmas, how is my job going, etc. I haven't replied yet but I'll get round to it.

In the meantime...I'M FREE!! Let this show that THE RAGE doesn't last forever. Time heals all. Oh and if you have a messy break-up but you're still friends on Facebook- delete. Delete. Delete.

You can bring me flowers baby, when I'm dead and gone

I took my puppy for a long walk at the park over the weekend to try to clear my mind. To be more precise, we went on two walks. We didn't walk alone. Ray LaMontagne joined us. Yes, I have a new man. For some reason when I'm upset, I'm driven to listen to dark and depressing music. If you are looking for dark and depressing then Ray is your man. One of my favorites is "You can bring me flowers"...

My eyes are dry my hands are tied

There's nothing I can say

If you feel the need to go

I won't stand in your way

Sit and think drown and drink

Sing this sad sad song

You can bring me flowers baby

When I'm dead and gone

Somehow the walk made me feel better. It was nice to hear that someone was more depressed than me. It's funny how music talks to you. In "Gone Away from Me" Ray told me:

Yesterday is gone

Yesterday is dead

Get it through your head and walk away

Yesterday is gone

Ain't no use hanging on to her memory

It only causes you pain

Yes Ray, we will call this a "Lesson Learned." The walk was cleansing and healing but somehow I can't be that at peace with things in everyday life. Today I entered the angry stage. No, I'm not angry at MM for breaking it off. I knew it would happen eventually. I'm angry at MM for the way he handled it. We were friends first. I thought that he would be honest and handle things like an adult rather than avoiding the situation and letting it stew. I told him when he got back that I'd rather he be honest with me than leave me in the dark. I said that leaving me wondering was the surest way to hurt me. I realized that is exactly what he had done. Upon this realization, I went from being upset to downright mad.

I started to think of all the things that MM did and all the things that he didn't do. I was even freshly angry that MM tricked me into going to a sporting event for my birthday. Yes, that's all I got for my birthday after dating MM for 3 or 4 months. And, I don't even like sports!! I told MM that this wasn't an acceptable birthday present and he said that he would get me something else but he never did. He left and I didn't even get a card. So MM...you can bring me flowers when I'm dead and gone.

London Calling

You may remember my ABBA themed post a couple of weeks ago where I described the joys of once again living at home. Well, I am pleased to report that I have finally, finally managed to get a job in London. Which means a.) no more living at home and b.) lots and lots and lots of (hopefully) single men in suits.

This joy took a bit of a tumble last night. I was Facebook stalking. (The shame of it!) When I discovered that my ex-boyfriend, the one who causes THE RAGE is also moving to London for work. After suffering the worst RAGE ever, I have calmed down, deleted him from Facebook (because if I didn't I think Violet would actually physically harm me) and have decided that I am not going to let this turn of events bother me. After all, there are 7.7 million people (approx) in London. The odds of seeing him are very, very slim. And if I do see him, so what? I have moved on, he is nothing more than a footnote in the story that is my happy, exciting, Fergus-free life!

So let's get back to the excitement! I'm moving! To London! The home of Bridget Jones! Here's to wine bars, weird men on the underground and finding my Mark Darcy...

The Rage

Another one from Fenella!


I found writing my first WWBD? blog entry quite therapeutic, so I thought that I would have another go. However, as well as the free therapy I'm also using this entry to ask for a little advice. Advice being, how long until THE RAGE dissipates?

Obviously in order to understand where THE RAGE is coming from, you need some background information. (Many apologies have to go to Violet who has heard this story many, many times!)

Last year, whilst living in Peru I met a guy from Scotland, we shall call him Fergus (‘The Highlander’ would've been a better option, but that name is already taken). Now on paper Fergus pretty much checked all the right boxes:
* He was older than me
* He was interested in world events / current affairs
* He seemed to have a good sense of humor
* He seemed like a non-psycho
He was slightly shorter than I would've liked, but he was a teensy bit taller than me, so I decided to let that one slide. Things started off amazingly well. In hindsight, maybe a little too well. I came back to Cusco after my traveling and moved in with him, and after four months we headed back to the UK together.

Living in Cusco, he seemed like such a confident guy with quite an important job. He spoke fluent Spanish (I didn't), he'd lived in Cusco for six years (I hadn't), so knew everything there was to know about it, and he simply seemed so much better than my ex-boyfriend who just didn't really care about my opinions or anything apart from going out with his friends and drinking. I honestly and truly and naively thought that this was the guy for me.

However, back in the UK my feeling quickly began to change. There are many, many reasons and events for this swift and dramatic change in my feelings, but rather than bore you with them, I will simply say that Fergus is an extremely arrogant person who thinks that his opinion is the only right one and that he is better than most other people. He is also very critical and once again, in hindsight, I realised that I became pretty subservient to him, something which I will never, ever again repeat.

To cut this long story short, we got back from six weeks in India (oh Violet, how I understand the awkwardness of being away with someone knowing that it’s over!) and I ended it. (Twenty minutes later we had to eat dinner with his parents, I keep telling myself that one day I’ll laugh about it…) In the immediate aftermath I was pretty upset about the whole thing, but then as the dust settled, the upset turned to a lava boiling, face reddening, steam coming out of my ears, rage.

THE RAGE can hit me at any point. I can be feeling pretty calm and serene about life and then I’ll hear on the news how the Rangers (his favorite soccer team, bar none) have won a game, and then THE RAGE takes over. In the aftermath of the break-up, I tried the whole still staying friends thing, big mistake! Every time I saw his name in my inbox THE RAGE took over. Reading his emails near resulted in me stabbing the monitor with a pair of scissors. In order to try and curb this aspect of THE RAGE I emailed him saying I needed space,(a cliché, but an oh so necessary cliché), so at least the emails have stopped. But sadly, THE RAGE hasn’t. And I really don’t think it’s healthy. I now detest most things Scottish; Bruce Springsteen and looking at my travel photos conjures up THE RAGE rather than happy memories. I’ve tried different tactics to lessen the power of THE RAGE. I now support Celtic, the aforementioned Rangers’ arch-rivals, so that when I hear Celtic have won a game, I am filled with a strange type of happiness. I revel in watching reality shows because he hated them, and reading chick-lit is even more enjoyable now knowing that he thinks it’s all trash.

But, unfortunately, THE RAGE is still there, bubbling away under the surface until something makes it explode again. It’s been about three months now, and I was really hoping that it would’ve gone away by now. It’s really not healthy and the bright red face I get when THE RAGE takes over really doesn’t suit me. I do think that having THE RAGE after a break-up is better than getting all teary-eyed over your ex, texting him drunkenly, and Facebook stalking him, but it’s still not pleasant.

I’m really not a crazy person. I’m just angry, mostly at myself, that I was so taken in by him when in reality, he’s got a horrible temper, he’s extremely possessive and as I have previously mentioned, he thinks he’s brilliant at everything. He’s not.

So the advice I’m asking for is this: How long until THE RAGE goes away? Does it ever go away completely or is it something I’ll always have to live with? Will I be 40 and THE RAGE takes over when I hear that Rangers have won the cup final? Or, most scarily, is THE RAGE simply not normal and I should go and register for anger management classes right now?
I await your advice, meanwhile, I’ve just seen that he’s updated his Facebook status with tales of his mountain climbing, so I’m away to hide the scissors…