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That which needs to be said.

Soon I will be hitting the one year anniversary of having my legs cut out from under me and having my life completely gutted.

I recently had to interact with she who gutted me to get some of my stuff, since - well, I wanted it, and I would like to get all interacions with this person over and done with as soon as is humanly poossible.

This was, of course, not convenient for the other party, so there was much trying to get me to work with her schedule. My botom line email went like this:

I'd like to get my stuff. You've known for a while I'm back living here, and I'd want my things back. You've had time to go through the stuff. It's not my fault that you haven't planned ahead in leiu of your new life.

I got my stuff, there was ignored friendliness-like-this-all-never-happened, there was discussion of me getting leftover furniture in a few weeks.

A week later, this was written. This was after agreeing long ago to never mention each other in writeups anymore. Like noone could figure out who you were talking about.


Yes, a new life. Thats what it is. Thats what it was when I uprooted myself for you so we could be together. Thats what it was when I left to set up home in this wasteland so you could have your suburban life. That's what it was supposed to be when you get married. You never did that, never put any effort into it, and thats why you don't see it.

It explains a lot, actually, a whole lot.

  • Why when I was the only one who could spend the entire week at work with the company sober, I was the one with the problem. You made me the problem, then popped a xanax.
  • Why you screamed "I want a divorce" at me when it got hard. I think the time you threw your ring was my favorite.
  • Why I never got any support from you at said company, even though I was willing to work a thousand hours in eight weeks to build the shop you cornerstoned your career on. You never respected that.
  • Why the affection went away almost immediately, unless there were people around.
  • Why you never told me why seeing certain people totally fucks your head up for weeks later.
  • Why I was basically treated like an employee in my own home for the last three years we were together.
  • Why you never had the sack to go get the divorce papers filed - maybe because we were still in split-all-your-stuff-in-half California - until you could find a way to make me the bad guy; even if they were your rules.
  • When it got difficult, you gave up on me, because it was easier to do that than be inconvenienced.
  • When I called you all freaked out about almost falling to my death at work, you wanted to get off the phone so you didn't miss any of your reality TV show. I should have filed right then and there, but I chose to make the effort - the we overrides the me.
  • Why it was more important to ruin my best friend's wedding for me instead of just letting the argument slide.
  • Why you never shared more than the surface of yourself, no mater how much I tried, or asked.
When it wasn't convenient for you anymore, when it didn't fit in with your whole "Look at my life! Isn't my life good?" plan, when I just didn't go along with your decisions, you shut down. You didn't try, you didn't care enough to put in the effort. I was just categorized away as an asshole, and that was it.

I did my damndest to take care of you, and you took advantage of that. When that was no longer a benefit, you waited for a way to get rid of me that would make you feel good about yourself.

You knew what you were doing, dropping me like that, yet you still replaced me immediately and wanted to be my friend - at your convenience - so you could feel good about the situation.

You weren't ever really married to me. I was a prop, and brought along as long as was convenient and didn't make any waves.

You have regret? You have to have a soul to have regret.

It is a new life - my second new life, thanks to you. A new one I didn't want.

I have to see you one more time to get my stuff, and then with the grace of God I'll never be part of the scenery of your life ever again.

Go to hell. It got hard, and you quit on me.

I still want my last name back.

You don't deserve it. Not one bit.

-sj

29 Sep 05

Watch your back, Ira. You'll no longer be convenient one day, too.
Probably somewhere along the time your business is no longer exciting enough.

Heres the text of that update.

So somebody said to me the other day (and not in a nice way) that they were pissed that I didn't have time to do something in lieu of my new life, which I think might be a mis-use of the word, but I didn't bother to take the time to deal with that issue.

I made a pie last Wednesday for the season premier of Lost. I made the dough (though not as good as shamus? or Halff's dough) and used three kinds of berries (black, blue and raspberries). I put just enough cornstarch in and just enough sugar on top. Pie always reminds me of my mother. We used to bake pies together. Actually, it was quite the production, always. I kid you not. We would walk down to the train tracks -- yes, seriously, the train tracks -- and pick wild blackberries off of the brambles by the train tracks. We'd fill plastic shopping bags up with those berries and hike all the way home up the steep valley hills from the riverside train tracks back to the house. We'd be sweaty and gross and completely stained from the berries. Then we'd get home and before we ever showered we'd spend an hour making and rolling pie dough and baking the pies. Finally, we'd bathe, even though the berry stains wouldn't fully come off of our hands for days. But after the shower, there would be pie. And even though my pie last week (and the one I'm making for Lost tonight) is with store-bought berries, every time I make a pie and eat a pie, I think of my mother and those humid, sweaty, berry-stained summer days. And I know that story sounds like I completely made it up, with the train tracks and the bramble bushes and the mother-daughter bonding in the kitchen, but it really is true.

What's my point here? It's not any kind of new life. It's the same old life. The same people I always cared about I still care about, even though in some cases we get to show that less often. I still regret every time I hurt somebody, but I still regret it more if I don't do it and make myself miserable instead. I still like good meals and tropical vacations and expensive shoes. I still call my cousins on football Sunday. I still send Halloween cards and housewarming gifts. I still have perpetual credit card balances. I still get obsessive over work. I still make time every day to love my cats. I still cry every time I watch a sports movie. I still need personal time balanced with heavy doses of social time. And I still think of my mother every time I make a pie.

People move through life. Life changes around them. Scenery changes but life is built on more than scenery. There are times in the past that were so perfect that I constantly long for them and times in the past that were so demoralizing I regularly forget they ever happened. Nobody gets a new life. There's really no such thing. And, just like always, I like my life. I'm not going to apologize for it. I do the best I can, and if that's not enough, then there's not more that I can do. This type of accusation tires me. But to it, I simply say that the very comment itself shows a belief in the concept of a new life, and that people who go around thinking that some kind of new life is possible or even an answer are bound to find frustration. Life is life. And I choose to preserve my happiness during mine. And even when it sucks, I choose to look to find the way to get back to happiness, rather than get stuck in focusing on the bad parts. I cannot imagine apologizing for that. So it's not a new life. But if I ever figure out how a person goes about getting a new life, I'll be sure to post a journal entry on it. I'm sure there are a lot of people who would like to know that answer.


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