gross love stuff


Back in January, when I still remembered I had this space, I wrote about pining for someone I wanted so badly but believed I was wrong to want. (There’s that whole doubting my emotions thing.)

Here we are, 5 months later having celebrated our back to back birthdays together, pretty fucking happy and pretty fucking coupled. The sweet, nerdy guy faded away. The guy my heart has been drawn to for nearly a year loves me back.

There are no guarantees. My hyperviligence and fear and insecurity persists to some extent. Therapy – I’m into it. But fuck it because this is great. This exactly why I needed to be open and vulnerable. So I could feel this.

You never know, anyway, these two crazy kids might work out. I believe we will.


121212 – the end of special dates


It’s funny that even the New York Times is commenting on 12/12/12 and it being the last repetitive date we’ll see. It did occur to me. Like, that’s the last “special” day I’ll have. You know, except for all the days I’ll have that will be special for real reasons. Silly.

Besides, my brother pointed out that there’s still 1/3/13, which is also cool, and opens up possibilities for 1/4/14.

please buy my motherfucking wedding dress, somebody


It’s beautiful. Brand new. A steal. And it’s been sitting in my would-have-been-in-law’s basement for over a year, waiting to be sold for half of that time. It is the only material property that we have left between us and so needs to get sold. (I really wish I had my kitten with me, I should have fought that fight, but there’s nothingIcandoaboutthatnow and, otherwise, everything in that condo could burn down and I wouldn’t care.)

See, (if I believed in him) I (would) praise Jesus that I did not get married (to this particular individual). Sometime around November, I turned a corner. I settled into this new life and accepted, even appreciated, the whole break up fiasco.

No longer am I: brokenhearted, sad, wounded, or at all surprised by his insensitivity/general disregard for me.

The only feelings he inspires in me now, stated with confidence after just recently being exposed to said individual, are: blinding rage (my face actually turned a different color), annoyance, and mild to moderate insecurity (insofar as I really hate for people to exist in the world who dislike me and I am bothered by the fact that someone who knew me so well has seemingly not expressed a favorable opinion of me since 2010).

Look, I would have liked to have had a healthy break and maintained some semblance of a friendship. I thought with time that it might have been possible. Other people have managed to do that after all but OH I WAS SO NAIVE.

I don’t wish bad things for him (though I certainly spent time in the past doing that) and so I’m a tiny bit proud of myself. His life and happiness don’t make my life and happiness less (though it’s one thing to know that intellectually and another to feel it). I think the insecurity will fade through meditation and continued reassurances from my loved ones that I’m not Godzilla. I don’t get angry very much now, so the rage isn’t too inconvenient of a thing to deal with.

No worries. Just, internet, please buy a dress so that I don’t have this unfinished business out there in the world. It’s really very nice. And probably not infected with bitterness and disappointment.



“I said to my soul be still, and wait without hope; for hope would be hope for the wrong thing.” T.S. Eliot

I’m going to preface this by reiterating that I am moving on. I’m ok. I’ve been feeling ok. I’ve been living my life and it’s a fine, good life for me at this moment in time. Still.


I need November 22 to come and pass real fucking fast.



This is what I’ve been thinking while packing and getting a little excited about embarking on my new Mary Tyler Moore life.

I think he probably thinks he can do better, and that he won’t encounter any of the same problems in another relationship. At least I can say that I know who I am, what my issues are, and that I have an as-accurate-as-possible view of our relationship and what went wrong. Fuck him. I deserve better, period.

This is why he will never be the one that got away:

I deserve so much more than he was capable or willing to give me.

I deserve honesty, openness, and emotional avalability.

I am not responsible for any other person’s inability to communicate.

I am not responsible for “problems” I was not made aware of.

I believe openness is an essential component of partnership.

I deserve a partnership where my feelings are heard and validated.

I believe that it is toxic and unhealthy when someone can not deal with their own feelings, especially anger, in a responsible way.

I deserve a partner who is willing to put real work into solving problems. (Real work does not = 5 counseling sessions, and a dozen fights over a span of 3+ years, and reading 4 chapters of a relationship workbook.) (That’s not commitment.) (If one isn’t able and willing to sustain a commitment, perhaps one should not fucking propose to someone.)



So that was like a whole thing.

Rob and I were having a somewhat heated discussion about housework last Sunday and, as have most discussions we’d had in the past few months, it became a fight about who’s failing to listen to who and who’s worse at taking responsibility and like everything, and Rob said that he wanted to break up. And though it was a complete and horrific surprise to me in that moment, he was serious.

An hour or so later, I had a packed a bag. I saw my mom and my sister. I stayed with friends for two nights. I went to work. I canceled travel plans and deleted the wedding registries and calendars and tried to figure out what stuff belonged to me and how I could survive on my own and how I could start building my life all over again. When I was alone I was crying or screaming or both. I thought horrible things, I sat with my deepest fears, and I mourned and I raged and I planned and I hoped. I called him. I texted him and demanded that he tell me that he was sure, because I needed that, and he did what I asked and I still tried hard not to believe that.

I returned home during the time I had taken off for a trip to Montreal I could no longer stand to go on and I started packing up books. I immediately wanted to take everything apart, so that I would have something to channel my energy into and so that he would be left with a huge void.

We talked about practical things like how we were going to live with each other for a few months while I got my shit together. We talked about the scary health issues he was dealing with. He apologized for hurting me, he apologized for everything and I told him repeatedly that he didn’t get to be sorry while he was totally and completely giving up. He slept in the basement.

I tried to be nice. I tried not to be nice. He walked around mopey and contrite and still gave no indication that he thought he had made a mistake. After another night, we started talking. About everything. And then it was lunch time and we went to lunch. And we went shopping. And we came home and started talking some more. He continued to apologize and finally said what I wanted and needed to hear, that he had been wrong. I was so relieved. But I was angry.

I’m still angry. What I want is what we have been planning for all along. He is my family. It kills me that he could break up with me, that he could have so much doubt about problems that I know we can fix, about us period. That he made such a huge decision in a moment of frustration. It kills me to think that he could not be in this as much as me. That he really couldn’t see the progress we were making. We are both deeply insecure, actually. Now, I hope, we are both in a better position to try. I’m still scared.

The thing is, I know what I want. I believe that he wants it. I still trust that our problems are workable and I still have confidence. So here we are.

And at least now I can say I’ve had make-up sex.

wait three years and write her a letter


Well, things are not going so smoothly in the monkey-pigeon household. See, the pigeon has always had difficulty expressing emotions of any kind to the monkey and over a period of nearly three years they developed a particular way of communicating that was manageable but frustrating, at least when disagreements presented themselves. Though the pigeon is prone to introspection, she can be combative and/or defensive, and her verbosity and self-assuredness often intimidate the emotionally and/or verbally constipated monkey. The pigeon appreciates how the monkey is generally affable and easy-going but he tends to offend the pigeon with unsolicited and unnecessary attempts to placate her, when she is not at her happiest or most pleasant. And the pigeon resents that the monkey frequently decides that he is not bothered “enough” by an issue to address it with her, until that is, the issue has occurred multiple times and he realizes that it now bothers him quite a bit.


Annnnnd I’m already sick of talking that way, and talking about our (currently) unhappy home in general. This is one of those times, anyway, where I failed to post regular updates and now have to make a bunch of dry updates.


I got a job (part time) in February. I kind of like it. On a day-to-day basis, it’s perfectly pleasant and sometimes rewarding, however, not at all challenging. For now, it’s good because HELLOH it’s a job and it’s not furthering my career but it is in my field and so I intend to stick with it for awhile. I would sure love some health insurance but WHAT DO YOU THINK THIS IS, COMMUNIST CHINA?! so…yeah, oh well.


Rob and I have had teh issues lately but I do have some confidence that we will work out things out soon. We have some wedding things to wrap up but we are mostly in a planning lull that is awfully comfortable. It will be less comfortable if we have to call everybody and say, Gee, we are just never going to be able to sustain a marriage in which we are expected to talk to each other, how about getting that deposit back? of course.


I’m far more optimistic than that, truly, but I honestly feel a need to cover my bases. Then I get to Win The Break Up, in the unlikely event one occurs. It may be the last thing I want and it may completely cripple me, but goddamnit, I will pretend it’s my idea if it comes to it.