Here’s the thing – I have neglected you. I do this, periodically, because I am either a) having a super amazing time in my life and am too busy living said life to blog about it, or b) the more frequent reason, having a less than super amazing time and am too sad to blog about it.
This time it happens to be the latter. (Latter = b, if you’ve never read P&P and are not acquainted with phrases such as former and latter, hither and yon, etc and etc.)
And so it is time to confess: The Mister and I broke up. Ergo, I have not been writing. Because whenever anything goes awry, I get all grumpy and uppity and pushy about the Internet and Facebook and blogging and since when is it okay for everyone in the world to be up in my biz and entitled to knowing all about my life? So I walk away for awhile. No blog. No FB. No contact with the outside world as pertaining to the Internet.
And it’s probably been for the best because, quite frankly, the breakup was ugly, kids. First I cried. Then he cried. Then I stopped crying because I did not know it was possible for a 29 year old man to cry quite that hard. Then I got over my shock and awe and cried some more. Then we went to a Christmas party and were happy and pretendy for a few hours. Then some people drank too much wine and fell asleep in their party dress (ahem.)
We slept without touching, and then, the next morning, we woke up and cried some more.
You’re starting to see how this goes.
This talking/crying routine dragged on for approximately two and one half weeks. And then, on Christmas Eve Eve (aka, the day before Christmas Eve) I picked up the presents I had loving purchased and wrapped weeks before, folded up the note I had tearfully written only days before, drove it to his house, gave it to him, and left.
Ten minutes later, The Mister called. And he was crying.
The thing about break-ups is that there’s not a whole lot of up about them. It’s mostly the breaking part that gets all the attention. Because broken hearts aside, break-ups break other stuff as well: routines get broken – no more afternoon trysts to the ‘bucks to steal kisses under the pretense of having coffee, no more good morning e-mails, no more sweet notes at my desk. Friendships get broken as people take sides. And in the midst of break-ups, people are broken as well. This time, just two.
However, in the spirit of confessing, I have been looking for the up in break-up. And in the last month I am proud to say that I have indeed found some up:
- I have been loved, most ferociously. And despite the outcome, I am better for having experienced some good, big love. It built me up.
- I know more about what it is I want in a relationship, what I need in a relationship, what matters a whole bunch, and what doesn’t matter at all. This is excellent knowledge to have as I live to date another day and not become a Cat Lady.
- My faith in men has been restored. This is not a normal thing to say, post-break-up, I know. I’m supposed to hate men for all eternity and want to cash in and become a Cat Lady. But no. The Mister is still, all told, a really fabulous man. He’s just not the fabulous man for me right now. Maybe he will be in the future, or maybe never. But The Mister has proven what I long thought was a myth: fabulous men exist. And sometimes they even want to date me. He showed me that, and I am grateful.
- No more obsessive waxing. At least not until I go to Mexico in exactly one month.
- The ability to go to Mexico in mixed company without one single care in the world. All I really want to do is drink margs in my lounge chair and stare out into the sea, but I suppose it’s nice to know that I can salsa with whomever…?
- Being able to type this list at all. This is a big up, there right here.
So there you have it: we are broken up. I am broken. That’s all there is to it.
Now you know. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Facebook.
HOWEVER. I’d also like you to know that every day I get a little less broken and a little more whole.
And things are looking good for today. After all, it’s almost midnight, and I can’t speak for The Mister, but I haven’t even cried.
Big ups to me.