Writer Guy got his call. He's planning to quit his job today. Then it's off to Illinois with him next week.
Yesterday afternoon I was in a great mood. Everything was fabulous. My little temp job has been going well; it's nice to have a schedule and a useful purpose. Spring is here with warm weather and rain storms where the sun is shining. There's nothing better, weather-wise than a bright warm rain you just have to frolic in a little. I had a nice dinner with Ellie and Kristie. I took my final exam and did really well on it. My hair was happy, this is the sort of weather it excels in. I was very proud of my outfit and thought I looked great.
I came home from my test and called Writer Guy. I was just brimming with Happy. All was right with the world. I hadn't seen him or really talked to him even since Monday and I was pretty sure he was going to be coming over and everything was going to be Happy Happy Happy with the Pretty Girl on Beautiful Spring Break and plenty of cocktails.
Echoing the conversation the night we broke up, he said "Okay, so, I'm going to tell you this, and you aren't going to freak out."... my line last time. My heart sank. I knew what he was going to say.
When? Next week. Please don't move on my birthday. Please don't. Waste did that to me last year. Please don't do that to my birthday again. No, he'll prolly be moving while I'm in Cleveland next weekend.
He was still willing to come over. Half an hour. I ran upstairs and upped my make-up. I had another drink and one more for good measure. That's three vodka and Kool-Aids.
He came over. We were awkward and weird. We sat on opposite sides of the table. He looked so uncomfortable. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to handle this so gracefully. I wanted to be classy about it. Instead I chainsmoked and passive-agressive what-not came out of my mouth. He looked so lost. I gave him a puzzle toy thing to play with. I think we both welcomed the distraction.
I didn't want to sit there and stare at him with my drunk, sad eyes. He was taciturn, and I didn't want to push him. I picked up the nearest thing. Summer Camp Staff Wills 1997. I showed him two pictures of me with my crutches. He's never seen me all Poster Child-ed out with my canes. I looked through that book and tried really hard to only talk about Happy Things. Intoxicated and sad, the wills were my prompt.
He got up. Camp stories seem to unnerve him in a way I can't put my finger on. I don't know if they bore him or what. It sems to be more than boredom. He said he was leaving. I got up. I asked him not to go like that. He said everything was going to be weird for the next week. I told him it didn't have to be.
He didn't want to sit there and be weird. I didn't either. I was trying. Couldn't he see I was trying? I was always trying? I stifled my anger. The end is here and there's no point telling him that he makes you behave like a co-dependant idiot. Grace, mary ann, we're shooting for grace here. I asked him three times to look me in the eye. I hate the way he hides from the hard stuff.
We decided to unload my car, and then deal with this odd situation. We needed a distraction. He was shutting down and it was making me a little bit crazy. I wanted to yell and scream and cry and just put this all back on him. He was shutting down, and I knew that no matter how hard I wanted to let him know how much I was hurting and show him that I needed him to not shut down just then, if I threw a screaming tantrum, things were not going to get better. He doesn't indulge my fits like that. We needed the distraction, because we were spiraling into the place where he won't deal anymore and I can't handle it.
Boxes from my mom's. Kristie and Ellie came home with more booze. I was so glad for them and that bottle. Writer Guy went out to the car to get the last box; I think we both knew I needed a second alone with my friends to tell them the news.
Eight o'clock came. We three girls had drinks. Writer Guy ran into the back room to investigate something going bump in the night. He turned the news on the television - his television. I knew the girls wanted to watch Must See TV. I suggested we watch news upstairs.
I tried to talk to him. I tried to say something useful, something reasonable. Instead I asked him why he told me on the telephone. He said it was the kind of news he couldn't wait to share. I felt like the most selfish little shit in the world with my failure to be happy for him. Continuing with my selfish theme, I asked him if he would at least acknowledge that I looked nice. I don't have the words I want for how he looked at me when he said I did. I tried some more to say something useful. Something good. Something that might fix some of this mess we've made. He told me to shut up and let him sleep. I think he might've used those words. Fine. I got up, grabbed my drink and my smokes and stormed downstairs.
Five drinks later, Ellie had done some wonderful work on me and I felt much better. I went upstairs to go to bed. Stumble, Crash, Stumble, Bed. He was awake. He claimed he was awake before I crashed onto the scene. I wanted to call him out on it... telling me he was too tired to deal with this when he was still awake hours later. I didn't want to risk another shutdown-causing-meltdown fiasco.
I turned off the television. I climbed into the bed. I wanted him to tell me that it would be hard to leave me. That he would miss me in some way. I wanted him to say something nice. I schnugged up on him and we talked a little bit. He rolled over. I made some snide comment about turning his back on me. Then he said "This isn't working."
"What isn't working"
"Me sleeping here tonight."
"I can't give you what you want. I just can't."
"What do you think I want?"
"I'm sorry, I just can't have sex with you tonight."
"I don't want you to have sex with me. I just want you to hold me." I wondered if he knew me at all. If I was just so upset about this because I blew it all up in my own head. What an asshole thing to think. What an asshole thing to say. The volume of my libido occurred to me. It wasn't a completely unreasonable thought. I bit my tongue some more. I felt so pathetic and feeble not speaking my mind, laying there afraid to be angry, hating that moment that comes in every break-up.
The moment when you realize that the worst part about this is that the person who is hurting you is the one you count on to comfort you. I lay there hating that feeling, and hating myself even more for being so weak as to bite my tongue so I could have the comfort.
He held me. And it was nice. And I felt okay for a minute and I tried to tell him that I really admire the way he managed to actually do it. To take so much action in such a short time toward accomplishing his goals. Instead of saying "thank you", instead of acknowledging that I was really, in all my drunken weepy girly-ness, trying to see more than just myself in this situation, he turned his back again, and asked me (again) to shut up so he could sleep.
I laid there next to him quietly sobbing most of the night, feeling already abandoned with him right there next to me.
This morning was better, I think. I was still drunk, and I was still kinda stumbling. He got dressed, I walked him out. He promised not to avoid me until such time as he needs to come over and get all the furniture we have here (in what I refer to as useable storage). He said he'd call me later. He said he would still come to my birthday party. Right now, I have to believe those aren't empty promises, even though it's going to hurt more if they are.