She was right. And so was she. Hello 2018.

Saying I’d get back to blogging “tomorrow” was enthusiastic, wasn’t it? Still, a few days later ain’t all that bad, especially since I’ve been harboring a crud since my last blog. Sneezy and Runny have arrived, along with Tinnitus and Aunt Flo – awesome! I called out on Saturday, was off on Sunday/Monday, as usual, and now it’s Tuesday, nearly 3pm, and yes, I’m home. I haven’t left my cute condo for 4 days but to take the dogs out in the arctic air, rushing to get back inside. I could have fought my way through work today, I just don’t have it in me. Besides, I’m spewing crud, it’s obvious. I appreciate it when people don’t come in to work when they’re sick, so should they.. I say that in large part to convince myself that I should stop feeling guilty for sleeping until 1:30 in the afternoon, sitting here blogging rather than perusing my bite spreadsheet and open cases.

I am not an algorithm, I see things. I am also quite sneaky, so there’s that. I see flowers, delivered on the regular to New Girl. Maybe I should refer to her as Replacement Girl? The jury is still out.. Can’t remember the last time anyone brought me flowers. Orrr that I gave them. It must be nice to be in that infatuating lust stage … being on the receiving end of the the Love Bomb. (Love Bomb. See previous post.)

Pervasive thought: I can’t believe it. I still can not believe that she left me; I can not believe that she did it the way that she did; I can not believe how things have changed. I’ve been watching Downton Abby (hell yeah, I figured out modern technology and got myself a Fire-stick for Christmas), a statement spoke to me: “Life’s altered you. What would be the point of living if we didn’t let life change us”? Nearly 19 years of thinking it would be one way, resigning to it really, only to get a slap in the face that, no, it’s not going that direction at all… It’s hard to swallow, like NyQuil. I resigned myself to a life I thought was utterly out of my control, and despite the fact that I didn’t like where we were heading, I had made a certain peace with it.

Love Bomb was never going to move away from NoVa. She was never going to ditch the stepfather (the Master Manipulator) who abused her for her entire childhood, and beyond. We were never going to be financially stable. We were never going to get out of that damn house (and she had the nerve to blame me for that). Even now, the only reason she’s managed to get out of the house is because she had an easy place to go to, instead. She refused to do the hard work: rather than find a roommate or sell the place like a responsible, er, respectable person, after 29 years in the same home, she just moved in to New Girl’s place and is letting our house “go to the bank”. I suppose that’s how she affords regular flower arrangements: she’s claiming another bankruptcy.

So, 2018. I’ve determined that it’s never a good idea to say, “can’t be any worse than last year”, because I know for a fact that I said that last year. I’m not up for that challenge again, thanks. So, here are a few quotes I use to try to convince myself that things will look up in 2018:

“With the new day comes new strength and new thoughts.” – E. Roosevelt

“You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.” C.S. Lewis

“The pain that you’ve been feeling can’t compare to the joy that is coming.” – Romans 8:18

“It wasn’t you that I had a hard time letting go of. It was the façade of the life I thought we had together that I couldn’t pry from my grasp.” -Kenzie D.

I’m afraid that I’ll always, for ever more, see or experience new things and think, “we would have enjoyed that together”. And I’m afraid that I don’t even occur to her. Did I occur to her as she enjoyed a midnight kiss on New Year’s Day? Because I was home, sick, on the floor, crying. Pardon me, this went beyond crying – I was downright ugly wailing, so much so I scared Millie away. Happy fucking 2018 to me.

Marriageless. Childless. Aloooone. Sometimes I wonder if it’s because I’m actually a bad person, and I deserve this. I’m pretty certain that’s what Love Bomb would point out: I am unmotivated, depressive and prone to crippling anxiety; I am no fun; I messed up the relationship to the extent that she could never forgive me; I am at fault, so it’s only fitting that I get to sit alone and stew in it.

She was right. But so was she.

Yep, I done fucked up. I am not perfect. I have made mistakes and yes, I regret them. I regret, mostly, hurting my best friend of nearly 19 years. Do my mistakes make me a bad person? Was it really a mistake, or just something I wish I had approached quite differently? For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for the hurt I’ve caused …

“I know you can’t understand it, but no matter how hard you try, you are going to hurt at least on person at some point in your life. No matter how much energy you put in trying to do it as nicely as you can, in trying to let them down with as much warmth and kindness as possible, their eyes will tell you all you need to know – that you’ve hurt their heart in a way you can never understand, and unfortunately, that is the sad truth of life. We can’t be so hard on ourselves for hurting others just because we know what it feels like to go through pain. Sometimes you just have to accept that just as people give you pain, you are bound to give them pain too, and that is okay, because at the end of the day, those who hurt you played a part in your journey, and those who got hurt by you gave you a space in theirs”.  – Ruby Dahl

She was right. But so was she.

(Photo is mine – Seattle’s winter blooms)

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