Day 13/14: Oh fuck me

I can’t sleep because I can’t stop crying.

Remember how I was wondering in the last post whether the fact that he’s suffering makes it better or worse for me? The answer is worse. Much, much worse.

If he had washed his hands of me, didn’t love me anymore, the narrative would be easy for me to get my head around. I could push the “why aren’t we together?” questions aside.

Right from the beginning — our first date, in fact — he said I represented a “laundry list” of everything he was looking for in a girlfriend. He said during our conversation earlier that’s still the case — and he was broken up that it failed anyway.

I asked him what he’s looking for and he said he just doesn’t know. His demeanor was just so fatalistic, defeatist.  

If we both still love each other, I really, really don’t get why we can’t make it work. Why, if he cares about me so much, was he so willing to throw it away?

Before today I thought the fact that I needed him so much may be what pushed him away. But it was apparent from our conversation that he misses being needed, that he still wants to be there for me no matter what.

The fact that his mom is upset upsets me, too. I felt I really meshed with his family. It’s heartbreaking I won’t see them again.

Do I make a plea for one more chance, because how often do you find someone who meets your “laundry list?”  Am I just desperate not to be alone again, willing to settle for less than I deserve?

Day 13: The stuff exchange *dun dun dun*

He showed up, with my pajamas, toiletries, copy of In Cold Blood (which he never read) and DVD of Season 3 of the Wire, neatly packed in a fuchsia Holt Renfrew bag. The stuff I gave to him took up two bags. He stayed here more often than I stayed there. My bed is more comfortable and I never liked his shower.

At first it didn’t seem like he was going to come in…that it would be quick like a kidnapper accepting ransom and letting his captive free. But I felt like we needed to sort things out, so I told him he should come in. He very gingerly stepped inside and sat beside me on the sofa. He would tell me later he was scared to come in. Can you blame him after last time?

We had a tearful conversation for about half an hour. I’m still crying. So is he, probably. But it was a good thing in the end.

He says he’s been suffering.  He says he wants to move because he hates walking by all the restaurants we used to eat in that remind him of me. He says he’s wanted to pick up the phone and call numerous times to see if I was ok. He says he wanted to call my friends to make sure they’re looking in on me (he was happy to hear that they are). He says if I ever need any help — a ride, money, anything — he’s still there for me.  He says he had high hopes for us, too. And he says if it didn’t work out between us — so perfect for each other on the surface — he doesn’t know who it could work with. He says he’s never met anybody like me and he’s not sure he will ever again. He says he has no regrets about having been with me, and he’s better for it.

He says he only told his parents about it two days ago and they’re gutted.

We hugged and it felt good, like it always did.

So I’m sad. Just very, very sad. I don’t know if it’s for the better or worse that he wasn’t a total asshole just now, that he was the kind, thoughtful person I fell in love with. In some ways it would be easier if I could demonize him. But no… we’re just two good people who couldn’t make it work.

Day 12: Satisfactory

I just had a dream that I walked in on him having sex with some other woman, in a position I couldn’t quite figure out. I launched into a rage. I asked, “Why? Aren’t I beautiful?” And he shrugged and said “You’re satisfactory.” And then I slapped him. Hard.

Day 11: Little Miss Sunshine

I’ve been pretty detailed so far on what made the relationship fail on  his end of the equation. He isn’t overly adventurous. He isn’t overly ambitious. He’s overly fond of  Apple products.

But I realize it takes two to (poorly) tango, so I’ve been obsessing thinking about what’s wrong with me.

 You’re already well aware that I have a wee bit of a temper (iced tea, anyone?) but I don’t want to stop being feisty. It’s kind of part of the package. Yesterday, a friend said I was her hero for throwing a glass across the room and that she’d always wanted to do something like that. 

Back in April, he decided we needed to have a “talk.” He assured me it wasn’t a breakup talk. He just wanted to take stock of our relationship, nip any issues in the bud etc. I thought it was a brave thing to do on his part and commended him for it.

One of the things that he brought up was that he thinks I’m too negative. Yes, I’m a cynical person (I work in the media, after all). It wasn’t uncommon for me to launch into a rant whenever he asked me how my day was. Since then, I’ve made an effort to perk up my attitude.

As such, when I noticed he was more quiet than normal, wasn’t saying “I love you” back on the phone and was being non-committal about future plans, I tried to suppress the paranoia. “No,” I thought to myself. “He loves you and this is just the kind of train of thought that could sabotage this relationship. You need to trust this guy.” So I put on a smile, and endeavored to enjoy myself in his presence even as he quietly sulked.

Before the breakup, I had also been thinking a lot about what constitutes a “deal breaker.” Do you dump someone ’cause he won’t go hiking in the mountains with you, travel with you, see live music with you? Do you dump someone because you’re less-than-satisfied in the bedroom department? (I won’t elaborate on that part, other than to say if we were ice-cream he’d be vanilla, and I’d be heavenly hash or Neapolitan or some other, more exciting, flavour) 

“No,” I thought to myself. “These alone are not reasons to end a relationship. These are things you can work on to improve. These problems are solvable if both parties care enough about each other to work on them.”

A lot of good that optimistic spin did  me. Had I just been my natural, pessimistic self, I would not have been so blindsided by the epic dumping. In fact, I may have ended it a lot sooner myself.

So the moral of the story is my character is inherently flawed and there’s not much I can, or should, do to change it. Someone out there just needs to accept it and love me anyway. Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

In other news, he cancelled on me again last night. So instead I went with two friends to see Shakespeare in the Park. There was something oddly satisfying about watching Othello murder Desdemona in a jealous rage. (Nope! no anger management issues here!)

Tonight two other friends are helping with the garden. He said he’d weed tomorrow. He says he wants to keep some of the leeks, but that I’m free to do what I wish with the rest of the produce. It’ll be interesting to see how this garden custody arrangement pans out.

Day 9: Produce Custody Arrangement

He cancelled on our “give one another our stuff back and talk like adults” meeting tonight. He says he had to work even though he’s ostensibly still on vacation.

Whatever. I had to work late, too. I interviewed a rather charming fighter pilot about his harrowing escape from a crashing jet and wrote a story about it. I can think of worse things to do.

One major thing I wanted to discuss with him (HIM, not the fighter pilot) was how to deal with our community garden plot, now lovingly known as the Garden of Despair. So I sent him the following email:

Don’t worry. This email isn’t going to be psycho.  Hope you’ve been holding up ok this past week. I’m not sure if you’re still on your no Internet kick (he was banning himself from the Internet for the month he had off work to prove something to himself…or something), but I’m emailing you because this is a little too lengthy to go into in a text message.
 
What do you want to do with the garden? Have you been back to it in the past week?
 
Contrary to what I said during my tirade last week, I do not want to dig it up and burn it 🙂
 
It’s terrible to waste food and I want to try to make the best of a sad situation.
 
My proposal is to give you the $35 or whatever it was and just buy the plot off of you. It seemed I was much more into it than you were, anyway.
 
It’s totally ok if you still want a role in it, though. We can divide up the work and go halvsies on the produce if you want. 
 
The last time I saw it (a week ago Sunday – i.e. the day before he dumped me), the weeds were pretty out of control and a lot of the stuff needed picking. The tomatoes were taking over that whole side of the plot. The peas were looking pretty sickly and yellow. It needs to be dealt with ASAP.
 
So I’ve asked some of the gang to help me out with it after work this week or over the weekend in exchange for some of the veggies. I hope that’s alright.
 
I was thinking of giving the extra produce to a homeless shelter or food bank. Would you be ok with that? 
 
Let me know when you’re available to talk and exchange stuff. I was obviously extremely upset last week and didn’t really give you a chance to say all that you wanted to say. You deserve that opportunity.
 
I’m obviously still going through a rough patch, but I’m holding it together ok all things considered.

He replied — by text message, of course, because that somehow doesn’t break his Internet fast ?– that he wants to keep some of the leeks and to still get something out of the garden and that I should keep my money. He proposed we take turns weeding (yeah…like he’s actually going to hold up his end of the deal).

It’s like we’re divorced parents and the poor, faultless vegetables are the children. He gets the leeks for thanksgiving and I get the tomatoes for Christmas. Could you imagine if we had a puppy?

Two of my wonderful friends have agreed to help in exchange for beer and a cut of the veggie action (you guys are awesome). He said he was ok with that. It’s hard to tell if he actually means that in a text message.

So tomorrow we’re supposed to do that fucking exchangestuffandtalk crap. I’ll need a stiff drink after.

Day 8: Powerballads are also good for the soul

I took a page out of Starlee Kine’s playbook last night and put together the most awesome heartbreak playlist of all time.  

If ever there was a time for 80s powerballads, this is it.

So without further adieu:

Every Rose Has its Thorn – Poison

Crazy – Aerosmith

Bed of Roses – Bon Jovi

Livin’ on a Prayer – Bon Jovi

Total Eclipse of the Heart – Bonnie Tyler

Alone – Heart

I Would do Anything for Love (but I won’t do that) – Meatloaf

November Rain – Guns ‘n’ Roses

Don’t Stop Believing – Journey

I Want to Know What Love Is – Foreigner

It Must Have Been Love (but it’s over now) – Roxette

and… (Starlee would be proud)

Against all Odds – Phil Collins

Today an invitation for my friend’s wedding came in the mail. I can’t stand to open it at the moment. I’m in a very “everybody gets to fall in love and live happily ever after except me and I’m mad about that” mental place right now. I don’t know if I’ll even be able to get time off work to go anyway… It’s in October, so maybe I’ll be able to stand Other People’s Happiness by then.

I exchanged a few terse texts with him today. Told him I could meet today or tomorrow after work. He said tomorrow works better. Then I said  to come by at 7. And then he said sure that sounds good.

This discourse is what is left of the sharp, sparkling repartee we  used to share not so long ago. Seriously. To see us a few weeks ago, you wouldn’t know one of us would soon shove the other into an oncoming bus.

Right now I mostly just miss him. You know…those day-to-day things you don’t know you’ll miss until you don’t have them anymore.  

I miss how he’d email me ridiculous links throughout the day, like one of a little wiener dog scuba diving. I miss him randomly asking questions I couldn’t possibly know the answer to, like “what do aardvarks eat?” I miss him coming to pick me up and then exclaiming “Hi honey!” and telling me I look pretty today. I miss how he smells. I miss him laying his head on my lap while we watch TV demanding I stroke his (thinning) hair. I’d shape it into some sort of a faux-hawk he’d notice in the bathroom mirror an hour or two later. I miss him squeezing me and saying “I love you, my darling.” I miss him kissing the top of my head because he’s so much taller than I am.   I miss him even though I know he would have never made me happy.

Day 7: Yoho is good for the soul

Sherbrooke Lake as the sun goes down

I’m proud of myself for going. Instead of sequestering myself indoors and watching My So Called Life all weekend, I camped in sub-zero temperatures and hiked more than 20 km up and down a mountain. Yoho is an insanely beautiful place. When you have  rugged mountain ranges towering over you on all sides, your soul kind of lets go of what’s been weighing it down. At least for a little while.

 

Every snow-capped peak I saw, every crystal-blue lake, I thought to myself, “this is something I never ever ever ever would have been able to share with him. He would have hated this.”

 

By last night I was too zonked to even be sad. The company helped, too. The friends I went with are not the types to talk about love or relationships or feelings. Sitting around the camp fire we mostly recounted Saved by the Bell episodes and did Ralph Wiggum impressions. It felt good to laugh.

 

Today we went to Emerald Lake to just relax. It was hot out, so we could stand to take a dip in the glacial water. It was really nice for a while, but I’m sort of realizing I have to be busy to keep the meltdowns at bay. Toward the end, the sadness hit me like a tonne of bricks… I kind of went off by myself and had a good cry. I thought I had composed myself, but then I got a second wind. The gang said they were going for ice cream, and I kind of lost it. They looked a little flummoxed. Bless their hearts, these are people who really haven’t suffered good, old-fashioned heartbreak …not as adults, anyway and definitely not as repeatedly and gut-wrenchingly as I have  (I deserve a medal). Sometimes people just don’t understand. They just don’t.

 

Anyway, they went for ice cream without me and I got the rest of the waterworks out of my system in the parking lot.

 

The good news is hiking 20 km and filling my lungs with fresh mountain air seems to have jump-started my appetite.

Day 5: How to be alone

This video has been popping up all over Facebook news feeds. A lot of people seem to really dig its empowering, yet comforting, message.  It has also been eviscerated as anti-feminist and retrograde.

I, for one, think it’s sweet and lovely (and I’m a fan of Tanya’s adorable slippers).  

When I saw it I didn’t jump to the conclusion that Tanya had just broken up with someone, or that it was meant to be some sort of feminist “you-go-girl” pep talk. I think all of us — single, dating, married, male, female — have hang ups about being alone in public.

Given that I’ll be alone in public a lot more often, though, this video definitely struck a chord.

When we were together, it was a joy to do mundane tasks together. We were pretty adorable, I have to say, when we tooled around Superstore, or Ikea or the recycling depot or the farmers’ market. Being with him made fun what would otherwise be boring.

But when it mattered, I was alone. A friend got married in Boston last weekend, and I would have really loved for him to be my date. But he decided he would spend his money on an iPad (marked up $200 because it came out in the States before it did here in Canada and he just couldn’t fucking wait) rather than spend money on the trip. I was pretty mad, but I made peace with the fact that if he didn’t want to go, he didn’t want to go.  I mean, he didn’t know my friend and yes, it was an expensive trip.

In the end I had a delightful time exploring Boston on my own. I ate a cannoli in a North End park, had a chic dinner by myself in the South End, and wandered aimlessly without anyone rushing me or slowing me down. It still would have been nice to have him there.

I got home a week ago Thursday, and was summarily dumped Monday night. So there you go.

I’m off to Yoho in a little bit. Bought a bottle of wine on the way home to bring with me. I might need it.

Day 5: Your girl is lovely, Hubbell

When I went through my last nasty break up a few years ago, I thought of  this seminal scene from Sex and the City. And then I rented The Way We Were just so I could watch this scene for myself instead of relying solely on the Miranda-Charlotte-Carrie play-by-play.

The “k-k-k-katie girl” theme seems to run through all of my recent breakups. I’m complicated. I’m ambitious. I’m head-strong.  I’m neurotic. I have high expectations and little patience. My house is really messy. I spill food on my clothes. I blurt out things I shouldn’t. I get emotional.

Unfortunately, my hair isn’t c-c-c-c-curly. It’s pretty boring and straight. But I am most definitely a K-k-k-Katie girl underneath.  

I think he found all of my quirks and idiosyncracies endearing for the first little while, but tired of them eventually. I think he felt he was walking on eggshells all the time. I wish we could have talked about it instead of having him break it off abruptly. But in the end it’s probably better we’re not together anymore.

I believe one day I’ll find someone who will embrace all of my K-k-k-katie girl-ness. He’ll be patient and kind and a little bit of a headcase himself.

But let’s face it, the odds are stacked against K-k-k-Katie girls when it comes to finding love.

I’m settling in for a good, long drought.

Day 4: Grilled Cheese Meltdown Redux

About six or seven months into our relationship I had what would be referred to as the Grilled Cheese Meltdown.

My computer was broken; he was trying to fix it (his valiant efforts failed). I decided to make us grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch while he worked. I burned them, threw the charred mess away and made a second batch. Burned those too. Let’s just say I was feeling a bit “hormonal” that day and threw kind of a tantrum. What started as burning lunch (twice) turned into a tirade about why I can’t do anything right ever and I’m a big fat failure yadda yadda yadda.

The look on his face was akin to the expression he had when I tossed the iced tea glass the other day. He didn’t know  how to handle it.

I then rode my bike to the French deli, bought us some delicious sandwiches, and everything was ok. I hope one day I can stand to eat there again. Those are really good sandwiches.

In retrospect, that incident was most definitely a big strike in the “con” column when he was mulling whether or not to try and make it work with me. Do you blame him?

Anyway, I felt hungry for once today and decided to make the ultimate comfort food: a grilled cheese sandwich. I burned it,  of course. I handled it better this time. I just made another one and watched it more carefully.

I could only eat half of it. At least that’s something.