Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Baby Steps

I'm currently sitting in my bed looking at a short to-do list.

-Open curtains.

-Make Coffee.


Check. Check. Check. I've even moved beyond the list, having reviewed documents for a contract dispute at around 6 this morning and am now listening to a rate case workshop on the cell speakerphone.

But I haven't really quit crying and I'm hunkered down again in my bedroom with the cats. This morning I got as far as packing my bag and getting dressed to ride into the office. But as soon as I touched the Kona, I started bawling. I'm dangerously close to being sick and tired of my own ridiculous sorry ass company. And its only been two days.

What else is on my to-do list?

-Ride. I've got to go get on my bike. Even if it means I have to pull over every three blocks to wipe my eyes with a nasty snotty bandanna.


-Write. I suppose there's always the risk that putting all of this private stuff out in the public domain will someday seem silly or ill-advised or immature. But I have to get all of this out of my system before it poisons me.

And I don't know how else to work this through in my head when I can't have a dialogue with him. No response to any of my e-mails, not even one acknowledging my request to deal with the things that I left at his house. The silence speaks volumes about what I meant to him.

I want all traces of me away from him. My good glasses, my favorite hat, a book that he used to read out loud from before we went to sleep. I want my stuff back. Now.

I've been on the other side of this before. Been the one that wanted out and then consciously avoided the raw and horrible pain that I had caused. I took my time answering emails, wouldn't return phone calls and there is still an unopened letter stashed away in my bureau. I still don't feel very good about myself for any of that.

Finally, on my list:

-No more e-mails to him. No desperate crazy stalker chick bullshit. I have more pride than that. If he wants his daily dose of "LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME" he'll have to come looking for it here. Or not.

So I'm stuck with one sided theorizing.

This morning's topic: commitment. I think was was dating a closeted commitment-phobe. Too bad for me that I didn't notice the signs until I was the latest victim.

I knew virtually nothing about his prior relationships. Just that he had been engaged once, was dating someone when he moved out here and that he dodged most of my questions about those relationships and why those didn't work out. It was odd, as he was so forthcoming with everything else. But I trusted him with my heart and let him have his privacy.

A few weeks ago he began to dodge questions about future plans. I have tickets to Arizona that I need to use. A while back we had talked about going to Tucson or Sedona in February. When I e-mailed a few weeks later to ask him to think of a date, there was silence. When I mentioned reserving a good room for Interbike next year, he squirmed and said nothing. Same thing when I rambled on in the car on Sunday about hoping that I was still a Cat 4 when we went to St. Louis for the Gateway cup (his idea).

About the time he was having a moment of clarity on Monday, I was drafting an e-mail about my work Christmas party and other Christmas plans. His response was odd: something like "lindsay-let me bring dinner over tonight. how about 7?" It was odd because he used my full name (instead of baby or linds) and we usually didn't make plans for the evening until late in the day. And there was just something off about the tone and timing.

Ironically, I had a fleeting thought, wow, maybe he's going to break up with me. I have no idea where that thought came from. I remember letting out a loud uncomfortable chuckle and going back to work. After all, we had just spent (what I had thought) a great long weekend together. We had gone to a movie the night before and he held my hand in both of his the entire time. Went home, made love and he kissed me on the forehead goodnight while I snuggled into the same place on his shoulder where I had fallen asleep every night for weeks.

Twenty four hours later I was alone, curled up on the floor of my bedroom wishing that the roof would fall in and end my misery.


Because this was the same man who told me, after being away for two weeks, that he didn't ever want to be away from me that long ever again. And I trusted and believed him.

I think he knew all along that things would end this way and didn't do or say anything when the relationship ebbed because he eventually wanted things to end. If this relationship had meant anything to him, if I had meant anything to him, he would have talked to me when he began to feel things were "ebbing" and we could have figured things out. We could have talked, changed, adapted. We could have tried.

Instead, I'm left feeling like an object that has been thrown aside because it no longer useful or convenient. Like a stem that was the wrong size. Passive, acted upon and impotent. Damn, and it fucking sucks.

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