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Relationship Allergies

8 Mar

Yesterday was Saturday, and by chance, D and I were both free in the afternoon. We’ve been seeing each other for almost 4 months and our dates have almost always been nightly encounters, in my living room after my Boy went to bed, or on my night off, out at the movies, having dinner, or under the covers, in and out of sexy outfits, or watching a movie curled up with a cup of whiskey tea.

We both have kids, we both have jobs, we both have very limited time to spend with each other. He puts in an extra shift on Saturday to make ends meet, and we have to say goodbye at 6 a.m. on the only morning that I can sleep in. That’s just the way it is for us, and it’s been fine so far.

Not to mention my new rule of no sleepovers when my Boy is home. For the last two months I’ve been pushing it, allowing myself to fall asleep in his arms and waking up at 5 a.m. to sneak him out of the house before my Boy awakens. But last week, he had bad dreams, and came into my room crying at 3 a.m. I jumped out of bed and picked him up. “It’s OK sweetie,” I soothed him and myself, as I put him back in his bed. He didn’t see D, it was dark and he was half asleep but it freaked me out enough to wake D up and send him home right then and there.

So when we found out we would have a free afternoon together, we were pretty excited. I had all kinds of ideas for plans. We could go to the beach, or to the marina to walk by the water and sip beer and look at the yachts. Or we could catch a movie, or get sushi, or try to find an art exhibition to see. “I have an idea too,” D said, and since I tend to be bossy, and I’m working on it, I went with the flow.

D wanted us to go to the park for a long walk. It was nice to walk with him, in the cool breeze by the little lake with the ducks swimming about and the toads croaking loudly and mosquitoes biting my everything. After our walk we went to the grocery store to buy vegetables, and that’s when I started feeling weird. We got lettuce, mushrooms, tomatoes, a red onion, olives and feta cheese for a spectacular salad. D picked out the beers. We left the store and at the car he handed me the keys which he’d been keeping in his pocket for me, and I handed him the groceries to hold while I opened the car door. As we entered the car I felt a familiar yet distant feeling in my gut, a certain niceness, a plainness, a just-another-Saturday-eveningness, buying groceries and making a salad. It was odd.

We got home, made dinner and sat down to eat and watch a movie. I was enjoying the quiet comfort of being together with no expectations. But I wasn’t able to completely relax. My body was reacting to something, sending warning signals up from my feet to my knees and into my gut, making me a little short of breath. This is bad. The last person I shared such intimacy with ended up destroying me. Temporarily at least. I don’t want this. I don’t need this. A walk in the park! Salad! And he sits there on the sofa, and you wouldn’t believe it, scratches his scrotum right in front of me. No. I want to go back to nightly sex sessions and dark movie theaters and drunken silliness. I was so freaked out that I didn’t take my hands off him for the rest of the night, making up for a moment of intimacy with wild sex, until he basically told me he was exhausted and needed a break.

I had relationship allergies yesterday. I had a bad reaction to a moment of closeness that I used to crave. My favorite times with BD were evenings like this one, strolling in the park and making a salad. I used to love going to the supermarket with him. Having him hold the bag as I opened up the car door. I don’t know if I can do that again though. And maybe it’s a good thing that we’re so goddamn busy. It’ll be ages before we have an afternoon like this again.

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The Cockroach that Made Me Cry

7 Sep

Oh my God, I said into the phone. Shit. Shit. Shit. I can’t deal with this right now. Fuck. I gotta go. I gotta go. I gotta go.

It was a huge, ugly thing, standing on the windowsill in my kitchen (!) looking directly at me, with its horrible antennas twitching at me, like it was trying to pick a fight. And it would win. After having spent the morning consoling a feverish baby, then marking papers for hours, finishing a work meeting at nine P.M and sitting down to check yet more papers, this was going to be my 30 minute break, where I would have dinner and stare into nothing or talk about nothing on the phone with a friend who was also in desperate need of a break.

And there he was in all his horrid disgustingness, staring me down and I would have to deal with him.

I prayed. Please. Please! Go back outside. Then I cried. Nothing ever works out the way I want it to. It’s not fair.

It had been a rough week. First week of school, and in a new place, adjusting to a new system. Loads of work. Add to that BD going abroad and less help than I’m used to with our Boy. Add to that the fact that I’d been sick for a couple of days, and caring for a baby while taking endless painkillers. Add to that my best friend at the hospital, recovering from surgery, while I’m too sick to visit, and now my son spreading his germs everywhere, making it certain that I won’t be able to visit my friend even now that I’m finally well. Add to that a 37 page paper, boring as fuck, written by an aspiring English teacher who needs to be corrected on Present Simple that took me two hours to check.

And now this.

So I cried like a little girl. I said that the universe was against me, that it wasn’t fair.

And that’s when it happened. He took a step back. Then he crept back and now he was standing there, between the shutters and the windowpane, and I knew I had to act quickly.

I walked hesitantly toward the window, mumbling every curse word I could think of. Then twice reached over to the window but backed out. On the third try I managed to quickly shut the window, and I was saved.

It’s been a difficult year. And a difficult few months. And a difficult week. And a difficult day. And it would be a difficult night too.

But at least I didn’t have a cockroach in my kitchen anymore.

OVERWHELMED

5 Mar

I know from experience to discredit any thought or emotion that comes to surface when I am sick and sleep deprived. But that’s easier said than done. To be honest, I don’t remember feeling this lost, confused or overwhelmed since highschool.

I’ll begin with the disclaimer. Baby has been feverish and pukey for the past 48 hours, refusing to eat, sleep and generally difficult to manage. His mama, has a bad cold and hasn’t been getting much sleep. The emotional messiness I am about to describe here is without a doubt linked to all of this, and yet it feels very valid nonetheless.

BD wants to get back togehter, I’ve mentioned this in one of my previous posts. I said no, but he’s been persistent. I had spent a week trying to stir up those emotions I used to feel towards him, a feeling of closeness, affection, attraction, but the harder I tried, the more I got nothing. I’d become numb to him. Even kissing him didn’t stir any emotion in me. I was trying him on like an old pair of jeans, trying to see if they still fit, and they didn’t. Although sometimes I’m not so sure if I was really trying. Maybe I was just looking at this pair of jeans and saying, naaaah, too tight.

Then, there’s SG, who’s entered my life without warning, through the back door, and without paying attention or intending to do so, I found myself in a relationship with another man, when all I wanted was a date, a light make out session, something to help me get over the breakup. I was looking for a transition guy, and I fell in, well, I don’t know. I’m definitely NOT ready for what it means to be seriously involved with someone else, especially now, that BD seems to be hanging onto me with all his might. He’s really not letting me go. But I already feel what I feel and I can’t just pretend that I don’t. What a mess.

We’ve had The Talk about five times by now, BD and I. The one where I tell him that I don’t want to get back together and he tells me I’m making a mistake and that he loves me and that we should give it a chance. The harder he pushes me, the more I want to let go of him. But it also makes me feel that what I’m doing with SG is terribly wrong. Rationally, I tell myself that he left me, no, he left us, which is so much worse, that I’m entitled to get love from someone else if he doesn’t want to give it to me. This rationalization has worked fine as long as he stayed away, but now that he wants to get back together, it doesn’t seem convincing anymore.

SG and I went to an art exhibition the other day, and it was the first time I’d ever been out with him in public in broad daylight. We didn’t hold hands or anything, we really just went to see the show, but it felt like I was doing something bad and somebody would find out, and I got comepletely panicky and freaked out.

There are other things on my mind too, that have nothing to do with this boy drama that are stressing me out, and it just felt at that moment that there was no more room in my heart for anything. There’s too much stuff in there already. All I wanted to do was empty myself from all these emotions and just stick to the basics for a minute. Baby and I. Both of us well, eating, sleeping, taking a walk.

After the freak out, we sat on my sofa and SG got me  a glass of water and put his arms around me and said it was OK and to tell him what I needed. And I wanted to tell him two things: 1. I need some space. 2. Don’t stop holding me. But they were too contradictory so
I said nothing. Then I got a call from Baby’s daycare to come pick him up because he had a fever, and I left SG abruptly and rushed to get Baby and felt guilty, as if he’d gotten sick becuase I was having an affair. Is that what this is, by the way?

BD came over that night to see Baby and I was a mess, and when I saw him with Baby I started to cry, and I let him hold me, and that’s when I felt  it, that thing I had been searching for. That emotion towards him. And when I felt it, it made me cry harder and it confused me even more than I had been. Because here he was, father of my child, the man I had loved for 13 years, the man I married, the man I knew better than anyone else. And he was tired, and sad, but he was there. He said something like: you can’t carry all the world’s sorrow on your shoulders, and even though that’s not what I was doing, it touched me, because it showed that he knew me, because that’s something that I tend to do. And I can get it back now if I choose to. I can decide to forgive his abandonment. I can decide to give him another chance. It’s up to me now, and it was somehow easier when it wasn’t.

And here I am now, a few days later and not much better. Baby’s in his baby carrier which is almost the only thing that seems to soothe him and I found the perfect spot for my laptop, on top of our mineral water dispenser, it’s high up enough that I can type while standing up with baby in his carrier, swaying from side to side to console him. And that’s where things stand.

This post is going to end with no insights, no motivational words, no conclusions. In fact, I think I’m going to try to get through the next few days without making any decisions at all. That seems like it might be a good idea. And I guess after that we’ll see.