My Darling, Who Knew?

So who just curled up in a ball in the corner of their kitchen and had one last good cry to end 2023? Just me? I figured.

I didn't intend for it to go out this way, 2023. When I decided I just wanted to stay home, sure, I knew I'd be sad, but did I think I'd be sobbing uncontrollably on my black and white tile floor? Certainly not. What I thought was, after having run ten miles earlier in the day, I'd eat some really fattening and yummy things I don't usually let myself eat, feel sad and lonely - which is obviously nothing new - sage my house, eat some grapes, toss a bucket of water out my front door, and call it night, and honestly, it might have happened like that if it hadn't been for stupid Publix and its DJ of Despair. 

There I was on my second stop of the night, Total Wine being my first since, yes, I'm not just sad and lonely, I'm a sad and lonely drunk, walking from the tortilla chip and salsa aisle to the produce section for my grapes when I heard lyrics I hadn't heard in a long, long time: "If someone said three years from now, you'd be long gone, I'd stand up and punch them out 'cause they're all wrong. I know better 'cause you said forever," and much like right this second as I type, I started getting tears in my eyes. I continued down the main aisle, taking a detour past the vegan ice cream, and as I got closer to the grapes, a new verse began: "When someone said count your blessings now, 'fore they're long gone, I guess I just didn't know how," and that time I had to force myself to not break down right there as I hobbled past the cookies and cakes. 

After stopping at Whole Foods for the ice cream I didn't buy at Publix (plus some vegan flatbread and olive tapenade (ten miles, people who read my blog! I think that warranted a feast!)), I came home, heated my flatbread, sat in uncharacteristic silence, and ate. When I finished eating, although I knew I shouldn't do it, I did it anyway. I picked up my phone, connected to Third Place on my Bluetooth, typed "Who Knew?" into the search bar, and listened as Pink sang the most painful, apropos lyrics I can't believe weren't clairvoyantly written about Jonathan and me - 

You took my hand, you showed me how / You promised me you'd be around / Uh-huh, that's right / I took your words, and I believed / in everything you said to me/ uh-huh, that's right

If someone said three years from now / you'd be long gone / I'd stand up and punch them out / 'cause they're all wrong / I know better 'cause you said forever / and ever, who knew?

Remember when we were such fools / and so convinced and just too cool? / Oh, no, no, no / I wish I could touch you again / I wish I could still call you, friend / I'd give anything

When someone said count your blessings now / 'fore they're long gone / I guess I just didn't know how / I was all wrong / They knew better, still, you said forever / and ever, who knew?

I'll keep you locked in my head / until we meet again / and I won't forget you, my friend / What happened?

If someone said three years from now / you'd be long gone / I'd stand up and punch them out / 'cause they're all wrong and / that last kiss I'll cherish until we meet again / and time makes it harder / I wish I could remember / but I keep your memory / You visit me in my sleep

My darling, who knew? -

and then there I was sitting at my table crying lightly and then standing in my kitchen crying harder and then sobbing as I sat crisscross applesauce on my kitchen floor and then lying down and sobbing in the fetal heap I mentioned before wondering if my dad was watching me as I cried and either feeling sorry for me or thinking that Jesus Christ his daughter is on a downward spiral and needs to get her life together stat and then after a few minutes of silence once the song stopped, making my way to my hands and knees and finally getting up, going into the bathroom, blowing my nose, looking in the mirror, and thinking, Jesus fuck, I look horrific.

It's been a couple hours since then. I've since finished my french toast beer, mopped my floor and saged my house all the while chanting, "Cleanse, cleanse, cleanse this place, cleanse, cleanse, cleanse this space," in an effort to cleanse I'm not quite sure what since the memory of Jonathan is the last thing I want scrubbed from my black and pink walls, but in the same vein, I plan to continue the tradition he shared with me of throwing a bucket of water outside to rid myself and my house of negative energy even though again in another same vein, the only negative energy here seems to be me, so I'm not entirely sure how that will work. 

Anyway. 

I remember as 2020 came to a close, people couldn't wait. The pandemic had fucked with so many lives, ruining mental health, draining finances, isolating people, forcing them to miss entire periods of life. I, on the other hand, loved 2020 for reasons I've discussed and won't reiterate now. Now, 2023 - that's 2020 for me. But, still, unlike those who clamored for the end of the worst year of their lives, I don't want mine to end. Like I told Jonathan when he was here the other night, I spent the majority of 2023 without him, and 2024 coming means a new year is starting out without us being together which just further solidifies what already was solid. 

The Body

Yes, yes, it's been a long time since I've written, long enough that I had to check to see what I wrote about last (surprise, surprise, it was Jonathan. Man oh Manischewitz, am I shocked). What's kept me? Why the lull in verbally transcribing my long face? 

My father died on December 3. 

My father died on December 3, and after schlepping my dogs to Orlando so my son's girlfriend could watch them, flying to Charlotte with Griffin, organizing and emptying my parents' mom's house because she and my dad were in the middle of a move down to South Florida when my father died, tying up the loose ends I could manage to tie while I was there, renting a car and driving to Orlando where I picked up my dogs and schlepped them back home and then having my mom come stay at my house while awaiting the closing on her new place, I just haven't had it in me to write. 

I wish I knew what to say. I wish I knew how to feel. But I don't. I have a very, very good friend - my oldest friend, actually, who I've known since I was four - whose wife is a self-confessed sociopath, and one of the things my friend relayed to me is that her wife said she's always acted the way she feels like she should. She would observe other people's behavior and act like that in similar situations. Now, I'm not copying anyone's behavior, and I'm pretty sure I'm not sociopathic, but I'll tell you, I'm at a loss right now. 

By the time my father died at roughly 2:15 in the morning late Saturday night/early Sunday morning, he'd been living several states away from me for over sixteen years, so saying I miss him isn't right. Other than talking to him when I would call my mom and he would answer the phone, something that had become semi-frequent in the last year or so, we didn't interact much. That's not to say we weren't close although I don't think we were although who's really to say what defines closeness? He did send me a shopping bag with Hudson's and Jazzy's faces imposed onto each side after they died and a recycling-bin mug to thank me for making him see the importance of recycling and little magnet hooks for my fridge after I admired his and a pretty little bag that looks Mexican since that's what I think I was in a past life, and he did ask me gently if he could ask me what happened between me and Jonathan when the two of us broke up and send me a vegan recipe for cacio e pepe afterwards telling me he hoped I felt better plus other little emails he thought would interest me here and there, so going back to being close, were we close? Maybe not particularly, but writing this now, it occurs to me that he did always try to show me he loved me in the ways that he knew how. 

And yet here I am, two weeks and two days after my father died, two weeks to the day after I walked into a funeral home and saw his unprepared body lying under a sheet, not knowing how to feel. I know that I loved my father, and I know that I'm sad, but I also know that if I compare the way I feel now to the depths of sadness I felt when Hudson and Jazzy died and the torrents of tears I cried for them to the tears I've cried for him, I'm ashamed. The sadness - if sadness is the word because more than sadness, what I feel is disbelief; I just can't believe that my father is no longer here - isn't omnipresent but rather it accompanies certain thoughts. I don't have a father anymore, I'll think to myself, and then I'll picture him lying under that sheet. I'll look at the yahrzeit candle glowing in my kitchen, and although I hadn't forgotten my father was dead, seeing it will make me realize it again. I love you, Dad, I'll whisper, but once away from the candle, it's like I once again forgot-but-not-forgot. 

Having a dead parent is a weird thing, or at least it is for me. I'm forty-eight, yes, a good age to have a parent until, far older than many, and while it makes no sense, the thought that I'm an orphan drifts through my mind (yes, I know I have a mom; I'm telling you, my thoughts make no sense). Still, it's not a feeling of sadness that I feel with that thought, but emptiness, I think? That's it. When I think about my dad having died, when I think about his no longer being here, when I think about his no longer being with me, I feel empty more than I feel sad. Fatherless. 

Like -

like something is gone. 

Like something is gone. 

No. Not like something is gone; 

because something is gone. 

Something is gone. 

Something is gone. 

My father. 

My father is gone. 

And now I know. 

What I feel is empty and fatherless.

I am empty and fatherless.

My father has gone. 

 

(Un)Happy Holiday, You Bastard! 2023

This is a hard post to write, my until-2020-annual-what-I'm-thankful-for post that the last time I wrote talked about Jonathan and how grateful I was to have him; in fact, I wasn't going to write it because what the fuck do I have to be thankful for this year? At least that's what I've been thinking. A lot. But here I am, and here it is albeit slightly different from the norm because this year I've decided to write both what I'm thankful for and also what I'm not. Petulant and sullen of me? Sure, but also pretty on brand, not just in the petulant and sullen part but also in my refusal to pretend to be anything I'm not. In the spirit then of being somewhat thankful, mostly not thankful, and being myself, it's time for my list(s). Let's switch things up from gloom and doom for a few minutes and start with

Things I'm Thankful For, 2023

1. What I look like. Right this second, it's the only thing coming to my mind. So many horrible things have come out of my breakup with Jonathan, but the way I look isn't one of them and honestly, thank the fucking lord, because if I didn't at least have my looks, I'd probably have killed myself by now. I know this doesn't matter since Jonathan is with Carla and not with me, but it does make me happy that she looks the way that she looks and I look the way that I look, and while we're on the subject, it also makes me happy (which I guess means makes me thankful, so it should be number

2.) to know that the only reason Carla is Jonathan's girlfriend instead of me is because I threw him out and caught him in lies. He wasn't going anywhere, feelings for Carla or not, so at least I have that: the knowledge that, whatever happens in their relationship, she started out as a consolation prize. 

3. My determination to be healthy. I won't say this will last forever because with me, nothing ever does, but I've been consistently strength training since July and training for a half-marathon for the past month, and I have to say, it's really paid off, not just in the way that I look, but in the way that I feel about myself when I follow through and meet my goals. Right now, I really need a win, and being disciplined in my workouts is giving me one. 

4. R - so I met this guy on Bumble, but before you go thinking anything, it's not like that. I told him from the get go that I just wanted to be friends, and we're nothing more, but we've gone out, and we text a lot, and it feels good having that which reminds me of 

5. My group chat with Curt and Geoff. It's an inactive group chat a lot of the time because Geoff keeps very strange hours (I won't take the time to explain who Geoff is to you, but if you know the show My So Called Life, you'll understand who he is to me when I tell you his name is Jordan Catalano in my phone), but it always makes me feel good to be a part of it. Curt and Geoff are two of the wittiest people I know (far wittier than I am if you can believe it), and our interactions make me happy. Plus, no matter how far removed from elementary school, middle school, high school, and undergrad and, therefore, my obsession with Geoff I am, I'll always be just a little bit in love.

6. My run club or better yet, the fact that I got up the nerve to go to a run club at all. When Jonathan and I were together, he used to go to his cunt of a mother's house every Wednesday night for dinner, so I joined a run club to go to while he was gone. I didn't go all summer since I had no desire to leave the house, but I went back in September and have been there almost every Wednesday night since. I've never been good at meeting people because I come across as standoffish since I'm so shy, and while when I first showed up, I could barely talk, I'm now friends or at least friendish with everyone. It feels nice. 

7. The newfound judgment I, at least for now, have. I think it's no secret that I don't do things that are good for me especially when it comes to boys. Recently, though, I've made three good decisions that in the past I never would have. As we all know, I've been feeling pretty bad, and when I feel bad, I start to think of the past which leads to me wanting to talk to people -- you know what, forget the involved explanation. Clinton. I wanted to text Clinton. His birthday just passed, and I was like, what harm can it do to just send a happy birthday text? I even messaged a friend and asked what she thought, and although she stupidly said she supposed it could cause no harm at all, I realized it could do nothing but. Whether he ignored me or whether he responded, it would only lead to my getting hurt, and so for the first time in my life, I exercised self-control regarding a boy. You know what? I'm lying. That wasn't the first time in my life because exercising self-control was involved in another one of the three good decisions I made, and this other time came first. I recently was in the position to have sex with someone who you all know from past posts as the best sex I've ever had but who you also know from this post as someone who broke my heart. Even though I'm totally enmeshed in my breakup trauma and depression and feel like I'll never care about any boy other than Jonathan again, I know if I were to have had sex, emotions would resurface whether genuine or not, so like with not texting Clinton, I made a healthy choice. Same goes for my decision to only be friends with Bumble guy R who I could have dated if I'd wanted but who I know isn't right for me and doing so would only be an attempt to feel a little bit better right now but end up hurting in the long run. I think it's possible I'm learning how to protect my heart.  

8. Keifer moving next week. Keifer came to stay with me in July, and while I love him very, very much and am happy I had this time with him, I'm ready to have my house to myself. I also can't stand how much he loathes being here, and if moving will make him happy, I'm thankful for that. 

9. My relationship takeaways. Jonathan and I were talking a few days ago, and the subject of how we've influenced each other's lives came up. Both of us agreed that we've adopted lots of things because of one another. Not limited to but including the things that I cook and I eat; Mary, Gustavo, and Diana, my three Roombas; my well-rounded education in video games; and my love of The Vampire Diaries and Castlevania, there are so many things in my life now that weren't here three years ago, and since I mentioned 

10. TheVampire Diaries and Castlevania, I'd me remiss if I didn't talk about being thankful for them. I'm not saying they're Buffys, but they're pretty close. I suppose it's possible they came around at just the right time in my life and that's why I love them as vehemently as I do, but whatever the reason, I'm thankful they both exist.

11. The relationship with Jonathan that I still have. Through this post and some recent ones, you may have surmised that Jonathan and I still talk. It's not super often (although lately it's been much more often than it was), but when we do talk, we talk a lot, and like he said today, it's without devolving into fights. I know. I know! Zero contact and all that stuff. Except not for me. It doesn't matter what Jonathan did to me or how awful I've felt as a result, I still love him just as much right this second as I did our whole entire relationship, and I'm thankful I have him in my life.

And you know what? Let's stop this right now. It's not like you're unaware of the things I'm not thankful for; let's for once end a post on a good (although sad) note. Happy Thanksgiving, people who read my blog. It may not be in my immediate cards, but I wish every one of you lots of love and peace -- unless, of course, Carla happens to be reading this post in which case I'd like to minus one from that wish. 

Goddammit, did that just fuck up my good note? Let's try this again.

Ending on a good note, take two:

Love and peace, people. Love and peace. 

Here's to Living in the Moment 'Cause It Passed

You know how when you go to text a photo and click the little arrow, a choice of contacts comes up for where you want to send the photo based on the people you text the most (at least on iPhone)? For the first time a couple days ago, I went to text a photo, and Jonathan wasn't there (although for some reason he was later that day despite my not having text him (update for transparency: in the time since I started writing this post two days ago, I have, in fact, text Jonathan although also for transparency, it was only to remind him about an upcoming deadline for the accelerated nursing program at NSU)).

It shouldn't have surprised me -- his contact not showing up -- five months and seventeen days after we broke up, and it shouldn't have affected me, but let me tell you -- it did both.

I know. I know! It's time for me to move on. When I was in the car with my sister last weekend and said something about Carla taking my place and going to Friendsgiving with him this year instead of me, she said she still couldn't believe it, couldn't believe the two of them were together, and I agreed. I told her that even now, five months later, it's so hard for me to believe he's not my boyfriend anymore, that he's with someone else. I did acknowledge, though, which is something I wasn't able to acknowledge, or even understand, before, that this isn't anything unusual; my plight is not unique. Relationships end all the time. People leave each other, people who have been in relationships far longer than the three years I spent in mine. The incredulity I feel, while it may be warranted, should have run its course. 

That word, though -- should. I keep saying it. But should I?

We hear it and think it all time. He should, she should, you should, I should. There are lots of things people should, so many things, but, really, who's to say they should them? (Yes, I meant to write it that way; in this case, should is a verb and not the helping kind.)

When I recently told one of the guys I've been talking to on Tinder that I'm still recovering from my last relationship and have always been pretty emotional and sentimental and maybe -- maybe; uh-huh -- a little hypersensitive, he replied that there's absolutely nothing wrong with that, a sentiment echoed by a healer whom I watch on Instagram who asserts that all feelings are valid, and the way people feel is always correct.

But this isn't why I came here, to talk about feelings and whether we should feel them or not because should or shouldn't, mine aren't going away. I might not cry at the drop of a hat anymore, but like I told Jonathan last night when he told me he misses me very much, it's all Jonathan in my mind all the time. It doesn't matter where I am, where I'm going, what I'm doing, everything is somehow Jonathan adjacent. I guess that's what happens when you spend almost every minute with someone for three years of your life. 

But, again, this isn't why I'm here. I've kvetched about Jonathan enough, and unless they're mentally challenged, everyone who's read this blog (as well as anyone who's had even a two-minute conversation with me in the last five months) knows how I feel. So then why am I here?

Let me tell you, people who read my blog, I wish I knew. 

I'm here, I guess, to try to make sense, not to you, but to myself. About a week ago, I was grading some papers for my ENC1101 kids and came across a passage by Steven Alvarez. In it, Alvarez says that writing is "the process of discovery through language. It is the process of exploration of what we know and what we feel about what we know through language. It is the process of using language to learn about our world, to evaluate what we learn about our world," and while reading it, I kind of had a moment of vindication even if only to myself because that's why I'm here. 

That's why I'm always here. 

What reason, other than trying to figure things out, do I have to tell a bunch of strangers and a bunch of people who know me -- which is way worse than telling strangers -- the minutiae of my life? Why else relay the humiliation, the desperation, the loneliness, the denial, the sadness, the ugliness, the defeat, the truths that I imagine everyone carries inside them but is discerning enough not to share? I know I've said this to you before, but that's how I process things, how I come to understand, and no, writing in a journal for myself isn't the same. Journaling or diarying, if you will, is akin to fleeting thoughts while blogging and essaying and poeming engender rumination. I mean, how many times have you seen me have an epiphany mid-blog? How often does my blog start out about one thing and then it turns out I was really writing about something else? 

So (sort of) going back to Jonathan and my shoulds, I've been told, in addition to that I should feel better by now and that I should move on, that I shouldn't write about him anymore which really goes back to the former -- I should feel better, I should move on. I shouldn't spend (read: waste) any more time writing about him. But for me, writing about him isn't a choice because I write about my life, my world, and as pathetic as it sounds (here comes the humiliation from one paragraph up), Jonathan pretty much is my life and my world (all Jonathan in my mind all the time, remember?). And to make sense of my life and my world, or at least some semblance of sense, I have to write my life and my world, and so (!), here I am writing about how jarring it was that Jonathan's contact didn't come up when I went to send a photo via text. 

Also jarring? Getting an Olukai catalog in the mail a couple days ago since the only reason I get it is from ordering Jonathan shoes; sleeping without him in the bed where he and I slept when we'd visit my parents' house; booking a room for two nights in Orlando at the hotel where he and I always stayed; kissing another man; seeing a penis -- like an actual one, not a penis on my phone -- that's attached to someone else, an experience I'd love to write about, and about which I know you nosy pervs would love to read, but which won't occur since the person attached to the penis will most likely be reading this.  

Actually, you know what? Forget the catalog, the bed, the hotel, the kiss, and the penis. It all jars me. Every single thing. Every time I do something Jonathan and I used to do together sans Jonathan for the first time (and sometimes the second and the third), every time I think of Carla being the one to do something I'd normally do with Jonathan in my place, every time I do something I thought I'd never do again because I thought I was entrenched in forever, I'm jarred. 

I know. I know! You'd think I'd be used to these things by now. I'd think I'd be used to these things. 

But I refuse to subscribe to the idea that I should. 

A New Address on the Same Old Loneliness

I'm sitting here right now, an itty bitty bit drunk, thinking about how it's so much easier to make decisions when I'm like this. While, yes, I know it's not practical or the healthiest way to be, if I could just be an itty bitty bit drunk all the time, I think life would be way easier for me (although I'm also thinking, as I sniff it on my wrist, that maybe I don't like the palo santo and patchouli oil I bought about forty-five minutes ago at Yellow Green Farmer's Market on my sort-of date quite as much as I thought I did, so maybe the drunk decisions I make aren't the best, but to counter that, if I'm drunk all the time, do I really care?).

Case in point: When I'm not an itty bitty bit drunk, I'm wishy washy, and I vacillate about, well, everything, but since we all know this post isn't about everything, I might as well say what I really mean, or okay, maybe "really" isn't the right word anymore, so let's go with a better one - primarily - in conjunction with my not-an-itty-bitty-bit-drunk-Jonathan-related dealings. When I'm not an itty bitty bit drunk, he and I talk and we don't talk, and I think to myself that I should block him so that he doesn't do to me what he did Monday night, which is text me after us having had almost two weeks of no communication, setting my everything back, but I don't have the nerve. The way I feel right now, though, I could block him, and that would be the end of that. Once I'm not an itty bitty bit drunk, though, I know I'd unblock him right away; therefore, if I were to stay an itty bitty bit drunk around the clock, Jonathan would be entirely out of my life. 

***

Okay, so it's now tomorrow, and I'm no longer drunk, and all I have to say about what I wrote yesterday is forget not liking the oil I bought as much as I thought I did, I out and out loathe it. I got so excited when I first saw it since it's two of my favorite scents, and it smelled really, really good when I first put it on, but there's this overly alcoholish undertone that I smell on people often and can't stand, and as time went by, that same stench started to emanate from my skin. I thought maybe it was my imagination and put a little on after my shower today to test it only to scrub myself silly about two minutes after putting it on. Oh, well. At least it only cost twenty-something dollars which maybe is sort of worth it for the lesson I got. 

Not clear about the lesson I got? Yeah, neither am I. I say we talk it out.

I can't make decisions. Ever. And I'm not just talking about big stuff. I'm talking every decision that has to be made in my life like, say, 

things to buy. Let's start with that. Before I buy almost anything that goes in or on my body, I do more research than my students seem to do when assigned a research project. From product websites to reviews to ingredients, I spend, and I'm not exaggerating, probably twenty-to-thirty hours minimum doing research, and then a lot of the time, I still can't go through with trying a new product. 

A table doesn't go on my body (I'd love to make a joke here, but I'm coming up blank) which might make you think buying one of those would take less time. Silly people who read my blog! If you had any idea how long I've been looking for a new table, how many websites I've been to, how many lists of tables I have saved, surely you'd think me mad(der than you do now). Same with comforters. And drapes. I've wanted to replace both my comforter and the drapes in my room for months now and have looked at countless comforters and sets of curtains online, but I just can't commit. Jesus, are you reading that? Because I am. For months, I've wanted a pink comforter and pink blackout curtains--pink! Just pink! I'm not looking for anything fancy at all. No patterns, no designs, just pink!--and I can't commit. To Amazon. Where everything can be sent back. Like, what in the motherfucking fuck?

That oil I bought yesterday? I never--never--would have bought it if I hadn't uncharacteristically had a daytime beer. What I would have done, and I know this because I've been in this situation sober many times, is smell the oil and want it but not be sure about making the purchase. I'd have put a little on and told the woman I was going to think about buying it, left and walked around and smelled my wrist every few minutes for the next however long, something that if I'd done, I'd have known I couldn't actually stand the oil's smell, but because I was an itty bitty bit drunk, I bypassed that part. So what did I end up with? Basura. Twenty-something dollar's worth of basura sitting on my shelf.

So here I was yesterday, all proud of myself for actually making a decision and buying something, and oh my God, right this second as I type this I think - wait a minute, let me check - okay, checked, and yes! That oil wasn't all I bought. I just checked my email and saw that at 4:14 I got a confirmation email from Amazon for having bought running shoes, doggie bags, and a shower liner I haven't been able to decide on whether or not to buy for a couple weeks, and all I have to say about that is, this post just became a little bit more layered than I thought. 

I made a bad decision when I bought the oil, and I was ready to talk about how, despite my declaration yesterday about staying drunk so I could buckle down and decide on things I otherwise couldn't, the decisions I make when I'm drunk are obviously bad and that it's better to not do anything at all than it is to choose wrong, but the things I bought at 4:14? That decision was good. I know I need doggie bags; it's not like my dogs aren't going to poop, and yet, those bags have been in my cart for days. I also know I need a shower liner; I've needed that for over a month but haven't been able to decide on one. Never mind the fact that a shower liner does nothing but hide behind a shower curtain and keep the shower curtain from getting covered in mold, I literally couldn't pick (do you have any idea how many colors there are?). And the running shoes? I have these super unwieldy toes that curl up so much when I run, my shoes have holes in the upper mesh. Clearly I needed shoes, but if not for the fact that I was an itty bitty bit drunk when I looked on Amazon yesterday and saw that they carried the same model of Asics that I wear, I never would have clicked the button to buy; instead, I would have just kept saying I need to go to Running Wild but not actually go.

So I guess what I need to think about isn't whether or not the decisions I make when I'm an itty bitty bit drunk are good or bad since clearly they can be both, it's why I need to be an itty bitty bit drunk in order to make them at all. Like, what am I so afraid of? Making a mistake, sure, but like we saw when discussing Amazon, it's not like a lot of those decisions can't be reversed. So what's actually up? And, yes, I know everybody does things they normally wouldn't do when they're an itty bitty bit drunk (liquid courage, right?), but I'm willing to bet a lot of those people if not most are also capable of buying a shower liner when they're sober and now that I typed that I'm coming to a 

Realization

and that's that anger is my non-drinking, itty-bitty-bit drunk. Before I threw Jonathan out of the house, I was miserable about Carla for a long time but it was the blinding anger that made me take the action that I took. I told you before that when I lamented having acted out in anger, my therapist said she didn't think that I did, that this was something going on for a long time and that I knew I had to take action or it would never stop. I suppose she knew what she was talking about. The thing with Carla bothered me so much for so long just like the way he pussyfooted around his cunt of a mother, and I knew what I had to do, or better yet, what I should do, but I couldn't. I'd decided long before I ended things that if things continued the way they'd been going, I'd have to end it, but my decision to end things with Jonathan was my shower liner in my Amazon cart. It just sat there in my insides until something made me click the "Place Your Order" button. 

I'm realizing now, like right this second as I type, that somewhere, somehow, I lost all my nerve which now, having walked the dogs between the word "nerve" and "which" and thinking about this the whole time, I think translates to trust. I don't trust myself. At all.

I think I've made so many bad decisions in my life, decisions that I regret, that I just don't feel like I'm capable of deciding anything at all. Take the tables in my wish lists. About a month or so ago, I sent those tables to Jonathan, my sister, and my older son, three people who have absolutely nothing to do with my house, and when any of the three of them didn't like my top choices, I took them off the list. Like, why? What reason do I have to think that the tables Jonathan, my sister, or my older son likes are any better than the ones I do? First of all, in this situation, what does better even mean? And what if they are better somehow? What's going to happen? It's not like I'm going to put all the fine china I don't own on whatever table I get and it's going to collapse. So what do I even need for them to decide? I'm the one who has to live with the table and look at it every day. Shouldn't it be my choice, and wow, now I'm realizing 

something else, and let me tell you, it isn't pretty. If somebody else were to tell me what table to get and I ended up not liking the table in the end, it wouldn't be my fault. I would have sacrificed the table I wanted because somebody told me there was a better one out there, and when I looked at it every day and regretted getting that table instead of the one I wanted, there'd be someone else to blame, and holy shit, what I'm realizing now in front of everybody who reads this is that I'm a coward who doesn't want to take responsibility for the things that I do so instead, I leave what I do up to somebody else. 

Wow. 

But let me digress because I've already written almost a chapter in a novel, and this is going in a direction I couldn't have foreseen. Going back just a few steps, to the place we were before I discovered my proclivity for placing blame, I also discovered that I hold things inside of me that I know have to be acted upon, and it's not until I get angry enough that I follow through only to later regret it just like I do buying yesterday's oil. When I'm sober which for me seems to mean not angry, but sad, I care about the consequence; when I'm furious, I don't. What I didn't think about before this post is that unlike people who have anger issues and make decisions without thinking about the consequences, I have thought about them. A lot. But because I know how painful those consequences will be coupled with the distrust I have in myself, I avoid doing what has to be done

and let's face it. I have good reason. I've been miserable - miserable, miserable - for the past five months. But what's the alternative? Always being just a little bit sad? Having a boyfriend who doesn't care about how I feel and lies all the time, whose behavior I've always justified by telling myself that when people are in a relationship they decide what annoying behavior they can tolerate and what they can't? 

I have two things I want to say. I'm not sure how to tie them together, so I won't even try. The first is that when talking to my former therapist about how irritated I get, she told me to practice not getting angry with little things and that eventually it will extend to bigger things. I've been trying that recently. Cocoa, one of my dogs, has been peeing in the house at night. About a week ago, I was so mad, I think I traumatized her for what's left of her old-lady life. Yesterday morning and this morning, though, I didn't even raise my voice. I simply didn't let myself get mad. Something else happened, something I can't remember now, and instead of getting angry, I just told myself it wasn't a big deal and didn't get upset. I'm thinking if I can do this with little things that would normally make me angry and get so used to it that I'll no longer have to, I can do this with decisions, too: push "Place Your Order" when something is in my cart; choose a table on my own; buy shampoo and conditioner or sunscreen or for the love of God, even a pack of Expo markers (yes, I've recently been unable to even follow through with purchasing that). If I can practice making decisions and accepting the outcome, like with my not-getting-angry muscle, maybe I can also strengthen that which brings me to

the second thing I wanted to talk about, and I guess maybe they do kinda sorta connect. I have, I don't know, a friend? A somewhat friendly former lover? A guy who I talk to and sometimes see (but not in the talking to and seeing way you may be thinking)? who told me recently that discipline is the highest form of self-love. Since he said that, I've thought about that statement a lot. This whole thing with Jonathan - the knowing I needed to end things but not being able to until I was incensed and the fervent need I feel to have him back in my life the way he used to be despite knowing, during moments of lucidity, that what he did was horribly wrong and not in the realm of when-you're-in-a-relationship-you-have-to-decide-what-annoying-behavior-you-want-to-tolerate behavior - these are a lack of self-discipline because along with lacking trust in myself, I've also lacked self-love. I've lacked that for a long time, long enough that it's responsible for a whole lot of those bad decisions I've made, and that's not me placing unwarranted blame. 

It's merely the truth. 

Let's Talk about Your Hair

Call me retrospective, but-- you know what, let's just stop right there before whatever ridiculous but statement I was about to type. Call me retrospective. Full stop. I'm done.

Lately I've been having these thoughts. Visions. Nothing new, really, except the cliché thought that comes immediately post. Take yesterday, for example. I woke up in the morning, super tired and not wanting to move because I had a friend at my house the night before until almost four but having to move because I had a birthday party I couldn't not go to, and for about a minute but no more, I lay there thinking about what my Sunday mornings used to be like. I thought about how I used to get up and go downstairs and do whatever on my computer while I drank coffee and listened to music, usually Peripheral Vision by Turnover once all the way through before either moving on to their next album, Good Nature, or something else, and then after a few hours, I'd go and get into bed with Jonathan (who from here on out will be known as Jonathan - not my Virgo, not my ex-Virgo, not the ex-Virgo, not the liar, and not the come pinga as I often think of him in my head because Jonathan is what he is to me now. Nothing more, nothing less), and we'd start our day. I stretched out in my bed, all alone as I've been every morning when I've woken up since the last time he slept over some time in late June, my mind started to wander into the land of retrospect, and I stopped myself before I let myself get lost. 

That was another life, I told myself, and I made myself get up.

It also happened more than once Saturday, the day before, first when I was at the eye doctor and needed help picking out glasses. Jonathan helped me with this the last few years, I thought, and then immediately the subsequent thought came: But that was another life. It also came when I was at Sip Java a couple hours later. The weather was gorgeous, the kind of weather that used to prompt Jonathan and me to go get something to eat either from Parlour or Happy Vegan Baker, go eat at a park, and then walk around. I was sitting there thinking about the times we sat at some Fort Lauderdale coffeehouse and how we'd be sitting there together, me grading papers, him playing Dokkan, and I know you think that thought popped into my head, and it did, but not at that point. What was in my head at that point would be impossible to describe, but maybe - maybe - you can imagine what was in my head if I tell you it was based on just having seen this

Talk about instant sickness. Last year Jonathan was sitting with me on gorgeous weather days as was the plan for every day for the rest of our lives, and that day, in real time, I was watching his new life unfold in a land of pumpkins and ice cream (that clearly neither of them needs) in a ridiculous-looking wife beater of all things with the girl he assured me he didn't have feelings for and who didn't have feelings for him (What a scummy scumbag, a friend of mine wrote after saying, Please tell me that's not the coworker, and finding out that it was; I regretfully have to agree). 

After texting everybody I've ever met and being told how truly masochistic I am and that I can't keep doing this to myself; after talking to my best friend who called to see if I was all right; after sitting there at an outside table at Sip Java where I alternated between crying and looking at dining room tables at Wayfair for two hours (and surely making the man directly on the opposite side of the window from me horribly uncomfortable (albeit clearly not concerned)), the whole time thinking about how Jonathan had been my boyfriend and he was supposed to be doing those things with me (except not in a wife beater because gross), the thought flit across my mind: That was another life. 

I'm at the acceptance stage, I guess. I mean, I'm still sad - not constantly, but if you were to put me on a sad-o-meter right this very second, I'd break the sadness scale - and I'm still angry - angry enough to have posted this

- but the more frequently That was another life pops into my head, the more it seems, at least to me, that I'm starting to understand that as truth, and while I know that's supposed to be a good thing, the fact that I'm accepting this, the fact that I'm realizing that my life before June truly was another life, the more heartbroken I am, but not for the reason you think. 

Along with my That was another life, I don't know, thought process? Realization? Idea?, I've been thinking something else, and that's, How many lives have I had? And, How many lives do I have to have? Like, seriously? How many? I'm forty-eight years old, and I've lived so, so many lives, but I'm not a fucking cat, and I only ever wanted one. 

Daughter of Liberty

"The sun is rising, devouring the darkness. It always does; this is the natural order."

                                                          -Annette, Castlevania: Nocturne 

Not that I ever gave it much thought, but if I'd had to, in the past when hearing the cliche the truth will set you free, I would have said it applied to the person not telling the truth. Lies are so cumbersome, after all; to hold onto them and carry their weight is such a heavy, crippling thing. Over the past nine days, though - ten days; can you believe it's only been ten days? - I've realized the expression isn't about the person holding the untruth. It's about the person who's been untruthed to. 

Those of you who have been reading my posts since the beginning of the summer know I've been in bad shape. Awful. Honestly, the worst shape of my life (and I was in a mental hospital. Twice). From June 3 to September 25, I was functioning at probably fifty-one percent. Maybe fifty-five. I got up, I cried. I lay in my bed, I cried. I sat at my table, I cried. I got in the shower, I cried. I walked around my neighborhood at night, I cried. I sat in parking lots, I cried. I sat in breweries, I cried. I went to parties, I cried. I started going to work, I cried. I drove home from work, I cried. I went to Orlando to visit my older son, I cried (at his house, at Leu Gardens, at Winter Park Biscuit Company, at a Total Wine). For 114 days, the only time I felt remotely okay was when the ex-Virgo and I were communicating in some form. 

And then day number 115 came along.

But wait. Since I'm not one for untruths, I have to tell you that day number 115 started out exactly the same as the 114 that came before it, possibly even worse. The ex-Virgo and I were on the phone from 10:47 until 2:00 a.m. the night before (leave me alone, I keep good records) when he called me after I messaged him asking if he was Carla's boyfriend and told him he'd better tell me the truth because somehow I'd find out. Not only were we on the phone and FaceTiming until all hours of the night, but we were both emotional wrecks, and when finally I told him we had to hang up because I had to be up at 5:30 and needed to sleep, that was impossible, of course. So starting out day 115 on two hours of sleep, a loss of hope, and a dearth of faith? Maybe one of the worst days I'd had. 

As the day went on, though, things started to change. I told some people what had transpired, and between their reactions and the thoughts that had been percolating in my brain, I got angrier and angrier and less and less sad (and, yes, I know all about anger being a secondary emotion, but believe me, people who read my blog. On top of the hurt and rejection I felt, I was just plain pissed). Within a few days, the sadness and anger started giving way to a different feeling. It certainly wasn't constant, but dare I say it? I was feeling happy again. 

Fifty-one-to-fifty-percent-maximum functioning Kelly, she of the summer and September blogs? She of the listless crying who thought about buying stock in Kleenex and salt? 

Let's take a little look

                    I swear I didn't purposely set this up to stop on a still of my butt (as evidenced by the fact that I can't even properly align this text)

     

Seriously, the change boggles my mind.

In addition to dancing around my house, I've moved the ex-Virgo out of favorites on my phone, where I also gave him a new name, and from which I also deleted almost seventy photos, thrown away a bottle of the ex-Virgo's nasal spray that I'd been holding onto because I'm a nut, and have watched none of his videos even once. I've cried exactly three times in the last nine days, the time when writing my last blog post, when watching a scene from That Thing You Do, and yesterday when filling in my gynecologist, who hadn't seen me since the beginning of April and only knew the ex-Virgo and I were having problems, on the rest of my tale. I've also been socializing, I've been singing and dancing on my butt in the car, I've been telling jokes. For fuck's sake, I'm (gulp) going on a date. A date, people who read my blog. A date! (Full disclosure: I have a date; that doesn't mean I'll actually go.)

The point is talk about liberty - although surely not justice - for all. The truth gave me the liberty to be me again, the liberty to begin to move on. Along with writing my Final Fantasy posts, which helped me tremendously, too, the truth gave me the liberty to look at the last three years in a less myopic way, to see so many things clearly that up until so, so recently, I couldn't manage to do. 

*** 

The Scene from That Thing You Do

Right after I found out about the ex-Virgo and Carla and realized all his lies, I couldn't stop thinking about this scene. If you haven't seen That Thing You Do, what's happening in this scene is Faye, who throughout the movie, has been utterly in love with her boyfriend Jimmy to the point of blind worship,  has finally seen him for what he really is. I only remembered the sentiment, not exactly what was said, but I knew it was something that resounded with me, and I wanted to watch it since I was wallowing at first. 

As you already know, it made me cry. When Faye told Jimmy she wasted thousands and thousands of kisses, kisses that she thought were special because of his lips and his smile, I could do nothing but think that I had done the same, that I had wasted not only thousands and thousands of kisses, but countless I love yous, I love you muchos, and I love you demasiados (boy isn't that the truth?), countless cuddles and snuggles, countless conversations, countless minutes of talk of future plans. 

But when I was talking to Maria Claudia (my gynecologist), she made a good point. She made a lot of good points, actually, but I won't go into them all here, just the currently-relevant one which is about all the good times we shared, the ex-Virgo's immaturity, and the appeal of this la-la-la-24-year-old girl, who, sure, will come chock full o' problems of her own, but those problems are a much different kind of problems from the ones accrued throughout my ex-Virgo's and my time (look at that, I guess I did go into most of her points. Throw in the one about how when I mentioned I hadn't met his mother once in three year, she put her hand up to shut me up right then and there and told me I don't need that, I have way too much to give to be in a relationship like that, and I've shared them all). 

But I digress. We shared good times. That's it. That's the point. We shared great times. No amount of lies and betrayal can change that, or fine, I supposed they could, but I won't let them. I don't want to regret my kisses like Faye. I don't want to regret that time. Despite what I said about the come pinga robbing me, I don't want to regret how hard and how much I loved him. I don't want to hate anyone, least of all the man I've loved most in my life. 

It won't be easy to not give into my dark side. Even as I type this, I think about the things he did to me and that I'd probably be better off. And maybe I will; gods know my feelings are all over the place. But I think about something Giles says to Buffy in "I Only Have Eyes for You," one of my favorite BtVS episodes (and one that's strangely apropos to the whole Jonathan-Kelly situation, at least in my eyes). 

He says, To forgive is an act of compassion, Buffy. It's not done because people deserve it. It's done because they need it, and the "they" in my situation? It's not the other party involved. It's me. I need to forgive the ex-Virgo not for his sake, but for myself. Will I be able to? I'm not really sure, but at least now that I have all the facts, now that I'm no longer encumbered by his lies, I have the liberty to decide. 

Final Fantasy VII

Anytime the ex-Virgo got sick, he would invariably say he had Sephiroth in his blood cells, so he'd be fine. For those of you not in the know because either you're not a gamer or you didn't spend three years of your life committed to somebody who claims to have been raised by video games, Sephiroth is the main antagonist of Final Fantasy VII. He's a soldier of unparalleled strength who isn't just strong but sadistic - like, the sadistickest - and evil - like, the evilest. And as much as I hate to say it, as much as I hate to think it about somebody who has been so monumental in my life, somebody I loved love so much, the notion that he resides in, or somehow controls, the ex-Virgo's blood cells doesn't sound wrong. 

Or maybe not. Maybe the ex-Virgo's not, as a good friend of mine put it after reading these recent blogs, "pretty devious," taking the fact that he'd never had a serious girlfriend before and using it as an excuse for not respecting boundaries and "playing it up as a form of manipulation." 

Maybe, despite the fact that my son, who through this entire ordeal has always insisted that he doesn't dislike the ex-Virgo but just thinks he's done some bad things to me, messaged me on Tuesday afternoon saying, "Jonathan has proven to be nothing more than a piece of shit, honestly," and then later when we talked said he thinks of him as a scumbag now, he isn't.

Maybe, even though my best friend, who this entire time has listened to me go on and on about the ex-Virgo and never had one bad thing to say, responded, "What a little weasel," when I sent him the screenshot of me asking the ex-Virgo if he was Carla's boyfriend, he's not that.

Maybe he's just, as he - the -ex-Virgo, himself - has said to me, scared. Surely, he's scared of conflict, having been raised by a lunatic mom who it was just easier to agree with or lie to than to be up front with. It's become very clear to me as I've written these recent blogs, looked over our old texts, and thought about our past, that his lies come from his being scared, a scared, puerile little boy too immature to face the consequences of his actions, to take ownership of the things that he did. Like, dude forgot to look for milk at Walgreens? Just fucking say that. Booked a reservation for a hotel on the wrong day? Bruv, put on your big boy pants and own your mistakes. 

Or maybe right this second, I'm just feeling particularly sad thinking about so strongly, so fervently disliking someone I loved love so much, that I'm making the same excuses I've made for him and his behavior for the last three years starting even before we were an official couple and he was still updating his Bumble profile and logging on despite the fact that we'd been seeing each other for almost two months, having sex, and he'd left a toothbrush at my house. 

But there's no maybe in this case: Although he was helping me with things I really needed help with for the first few weeks of summer after we broke up, the fact that he was coming over and not just helping me but also sleeping with me in bed, snuggling up to my naked body, running errands with me while holding my hand, having sex with me as late as the second week of July when he either was already with Carla or was clearly thinking about being with her - but let's be real; whether he was with her or not, he was thinking about being with her even way before we broke up - isn't in any way all right. 

There's also no maybe here: His having lied to me for the past however many months about having a girlfriend, and I say "however many months" because while he said he and Carla started talking again in mid-July, and she became his girlfriend in early August, it's obvious I can't believe a word that comes out of his mouth, first through omission and then blatantly because, according to him, he was afraid I'd stop talking to him was inarguably selfish and cruel. 

Even if everything the ex-Virgo told me was true, even if he did love me, even if he did miss me, even if there had been a chance of us getting back together one day in the future after we both worked on ourselves and lived our lives, and I'd like to be clear that I think that it was (but, again, after poring over the past, I'm so overwhelmed by the things I didn't see - like, for instance, how it seems that anytime he Okay Kellyed me, he for sure had lied - that despite thinking I knew him, I don't know what to think), for him to lock me in the land of limbo in which I languished because he didn't want me to stop talking to him was so horrible, so unfair, so just downright mean. 

And that, more than any of this, more than the lies, more than not wanting to work on a relationship he'd committed to thus rejecting me and making me question my worth, more than dating Carla so quickly after we broke up and very clearly cheating with her before (although not worse by much more), is the worst part of all this.

My ex-Virgo robbed me. 

He robbed me of two months when I could have begun to heal, when I could have begun moving on (because I'll tell you, I went from crying every single day since the beginning of June to not having cried once since the morning after I found out), but by far, worst of all, he robbed me of the memory I'd had of us and of him (and now I'm back to crying). 

He robbed me of the memory of the beginning when I felt like this:

So I'll say it again. No more. I try to be blasé, but I can't. I'm just not a blasé human being. I'm excitable. I'm excitable by nature, and from here on out, that's what I'll allow myself to be: the excitable person the universe made me. I'll be excited about things even when there's no evidence that these things should excite me. If something makes me happy, the way something just happens to be making me happy right now, a feeling I've been trying so hard to fight in an effort to be realistic and responsible, I'm going to let it.

I'm going to let myself smile my stupid smile and get that happy excited feeling I get in the pit of my stomach, that visceral feeling that has nothing to do with logic and everything to do with my perception of the way things are. 

He robbed me of the memory of realizing this:

I'm home. That may not make sense to you, but that's what my Virgo is. 

He's home. 

He robbed me of the memory of being thankful for him:

2. My Virgo. I know what you're thinking. I swear, I know. Of course Kismet's going to talk about a boy, and yes, of course I am, but I'm not talking about a boy because it's my MO, I'm talking about a boy because I couldn't possibly make a list of the things I'm thankful for this year without mentioning him. He is by far what I'm most thankful for, today on Thanksgiving, yes, but also every single day that's not. 

He took the last three years, three years that even after we ended, I still looked back at with love and appreciation, and he made me question everything about that time. 

He also robbed me of even having him as a friend, creating a world where we can no longer coexist; a world where we went from hand-holding otters on our bed in the sea of our room, to what? Enemies? People who think of each other with contempt (because I can't imagine after seeing these blogs, he sees me with anything else)? 

He turned me into someone sitting here blogging unforgivable things, someone who's not going to pretend to be the bigger person, someone who hopes he breaks Carla's fat, virgin heart.

And even worse than the worst of all, he turned me into someone who, despite all the gaslighting, despite all the manipulation, despite all the lies, thinks about this text her ex-Virgo sent her after she kicked him out in March

and that despite everything, it's still him. 

(But she's working on it.)

Final Fantasy XIV

When I went on the ex-Virgo's laptop on the night of March 24/morning of March 25, I went right to his Twitter DMs, and you know that feeling? That awful, sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, that feeling when your heart drops after you've seen something truly wretched, something unimaginably horrifying? Imagine that. If anything excruciatingly painful has ever happened to you, like in an emotional way, if you've ever been traumatized, I want you to recall that now. That's how I felt when the first thing I saw in the ex-Virgo's Twitter DMs was a message to Carla saying his friend gave him an edible and he wanted to know if he should take it the next day at work. 

His friend gave him an edible. 

His friend. 

Not his partner. Not his significant other. Not the person I've been lying to as I've lain next to her for the last almost three years. 

His friend. 

When I saw that message, I was transfixed. I could do nothing but scroll up, scroll up and see what seemed to be hundreds of messages between the liar (huh. Look at that. I guess I was wrong when I said my ex-Virgo would always be my Virgo to me) and her. Now, to be fair, other than the my-friend message and one message he'd sent her in January (on the 19th?) seemingly the second he woke up before he even text me (because you know I immediately checked my texts) telling her how important she was to him and that he hopes he didn't sound stupid but he valued their friendship so much, nothing was "inappropriate," but I think it's safe to say just the existence of the DMs was inappropriate. 

Before I go any further, I will say that I never told the liar he couldn't talk to Carla. I was fully aware that up until the previous week, they sat together at work and often shared lunch; according to him, they were work best friends. They even text each other (although when I asked the liar who he was texting at about two in the morning while he and I were in bed one night and the answer was Carla, I told him middle-of-the-night texts had to stop. No desire to not be that girl would make me begin to be okay with that). I am not a crazy person who gives a flying fuck about opposite-sex friends. What I did care about is the way that they were friends and, if it makes sense, the way that the liar didn't care about my caring about the way that they were friends. 

My issue with the Twitter relationship between the liar and Carla wasn't that they had one, it was how they had one; it was his interacting ad nauseam with her but not at all with me while the world and I bore witness, so having DMs wasn't the problem (if anything, it was considerate! At least that's what I eventually managed to convince myself); it was the extent of the DMS: The liar - who, by this point, didn't interact with me on Twitter at all, be it on my timeline or in my DMs -  and Carla sent each other messages and tweets pretty much around the clock (which, of course, includes the middle of the night despite the liar's insistence in the past that as soon as I asked him to not text Carla in the middle of the night, he stopped).

I think I went back to about December before I went upstairs and woke the liar up. A three-hour argument, which moved from the extra bedroom to our bedroom, ensued during which he told me he wouldn't stop talking to Carla because he just couldn't do that to a friend but assured me he would stop talking to her in a natural way now that they no longer worked together; in fact, he had even told his therapist that and that he was going to be relieved when they stopped. I then told him we were done, but in an attempt not to be rash, I wasn't kicking him out; instead, I'd let him stay and figure out where he was going to live. The two of us dozed a bit, and then at about 7:30, I took my dogs out. When I got back, the liar was gone, and so was his phone. What's a girl like me to do in a situation like that? Go back downstairs and look on his laptop again, of course!

I went downstairs and opened up his laptop. 

I clicked on Twitter. 

I was locked out.

The liar -

-the liar who had nothing to hide, the liar who at first said he had no idea why he had called me his friend, he didn't mean anything by it, and then said that he had done it because I had such a problem with Carla, he never brought me up to her despite the fact that she had no idea that I had a problem with her, and no you didn't read that wrong, but go ahead, read the sentence (a little bit reformatted I guess for clarity although if you're looking for something that makes sense here, you're shit out of luck) again: 

The liar told me that even though Carla had no idea I had a problem with her, he never brought me up to her because I had such a problem with her -

- had changed his password.  

Okay, I thought. No Twitter password? Fine. I'll look somewhere else. 

So I did. I looked and I looked because I knew - I knew - I'd find something, and after however long, there it was: a folder in his Google Mail labeled "Scribe Docs" even though he hadn't been a scribe in almost three years. In that folder, the one that should have been labeled "Carla Docs" or better yet, "I'm a Lying Come Pinga Docs" were some e-mails between the two of them, some photos of her from, I think, times his whole office went out after work but who honestly knows? (surely not I), and these

I'm not sure if you could see it anywhere in the photo, but the one with Patrick? That was sent on Valentine's Day. The photo on the bottom? That's something she drew of the two of them so the liar wouldn't miss her after she left the doctor's office where they both worked. It's them surrounded by all their favorite things (can we just take a moment to acknowledge how absolutely cringe and perverse this is, these drawings being produced by a (then) 23-year-old girl and embraced by a (then) 33-year-old man? He made that weirdo drawing of the two of them his desktop background at work for fuck's sake (although in three years I was never once a lockscreen or background picture on his phone). Can we please collectively gag?).

It was at this point that I went upstairs and threw the liar out . . . and regretted it as the words were coming out of my mouth. Still, regret or no, I let him call his friends, I let them come in three cars, I let them load up their three cars plus his, and I watched him leave my house.

And then I panicked. 

What had I done? I loved my love so much but I lost him. I made my love go, leaving me all alone.

The Aftermath

The ex-Virgo (huh. I put this blog on hold while I went out to dinner with some friends to a place the ex-Virgo and I went a few times which made me a little bit (or, okay, maybe a lot of bits) sad, and out came the ex-Virgo instead of the liar just now. I guess it's easy to infer my minute-to-minute feelings about him depending on what moniker I unthinkingly type out) and we talked sparingly throughout the week and then saw each other the next Friday when he came with me to take the dogs - the new dogs he convinced me to adopt and I was left to care for all by myself - to get groomed. While we sat in the car waiting for them to be done, we talked about a lot of things, but the one I remember most is how I should know him better than to think he'd be having any sort of relationship with Carla because, as I was aware, she was a virgin who had never had a boyfriend, and he wouldn't want her first experience with a man to be like this. I should know him better than to think he would do that. 

We went back to my house, had sex, he went home, and soon after, we decided we'd give couple's counseling a try. Over the next six or seven weeks, I did everything I could to try to compromise, including telling the ex-Virgo that fine, if he really wanted Carla in his life that badly, if it was that important to him, they could stay friends, but I had to be her friend, too. Not like her best friend but meet her at least. We could all go out.

This should have been an easy choice, right? The ex-Virgo gets to keep the girl and the friend. Spoiler alert: that wasn't what he chose. What he chose instead was to not choose for weeks and then announce in counseling we couldn't do that because things would be too weird (despite his previous and then-still-current insistence Carla had no idea of anything that was going on, that had ever gone on), so he was going to stop talking to her. He just needed time to figure out how. 

I wish I could tell you what his plan was, what he finally decided, but I can't. We didn't make it that far.

The night of Friday, June 2, the ex-Virgo's last day at his job of two-and-a-half years (a job I noticed he always said he couldn't stand but didn't leave until Carla did), we had plans to go see a double-feature of Kill Bill. Whenever someone had a last day at his job, everyone went out afterward - he'd been to plenty of last-day affairs without me, in fact - so I thought it was funny they weren't having one for him and asked him about it when he got to my house. He told me almost no one was left, and Robert, the only person who was really his friend, had other plans. I can't say I believed him, but I left it at that. 

Not too long into the second Kill Bill, the ex-Virgo's phone started going off. He told me it was his frenemy Juanky from work. He was with Sophie, he told me, and then he turned his phone off. 

On the way to the car, I asked about the call again. What exactly did Juanky want? The ex-Virgo reiterated. And he was just with Sophie? I asked. He was just with Sophie, the ex-Virgo said. Does Carla know today was your last day of work? He told me that she did. He talked to her about it earlier that day while he was driving home.

The ex-Virgo went to the bathroom as soon as we got back to my house, and I went upstairs. I wanted to believe him. I really did. God, did I want to believe he was telling the truth. In counseling earlier that week, I told our couple's therapist I was to the point where if he got me a coffee and accidentally called it the wrong thing, I'd be done, and because I unwaveringly did not want to be done, I did not want him to be lying. I tried to let it go. I loved my love so much and I didn't want to lose him, I didn't want my love to go, leaving me all alone, so I tried to ignore it. But I couldn't. I went on Carla's Instagram, and this is what I found.

The guy in the middle? That's Juanky. The guy on the right? Robert. The one who couldn't go out with the ex-Virgo because he had plans. The girl on the left? Not Sophie (is it just me, or does Carla have a wonky eye?). 

Calmly, I walked downstairs to the bathroom where the ex-Virgo was still on the toilet. Juanky was just with Sophie tonight? I asked. He said yes again. Are you sure? I asked. Emphatically, he said he was. He wasn't with Carla? I asked. He wasn't with Carla! the ex-Virgo said. Standing at the bathroom door, I raised my voice. He wasn't? Are you sure? The ex-Virgo looked defeated. Fine, he was with Carla.

Calmly, oh so calmly, anyone who knows me and my temper would have been so proud, I told the ex-Virgo to go home. To call me when he was finally done talking to Carla. 

Are you serious? he asked. 

If I don't listen to my own boundaries, how can I expect anyone else to? I asked in answer. 

Well, he didn't go home. He refused to leave. He stayed in my bed, and we argued all night while he begged and he pleaded and he begged some more, and by the time the morning rolled around, he was sick and nauseous and wanted to go home to sleep and think, and because I've written about this before, this part you know: Two nights later, he text me (nearly incoherent, drugged up on Benadryl) and broke up with me through our cell phones. In print, not even with his vocal cords. He also told me that he'd called Carla and told her everything because he "didn't deserve a friend," yet somehow, as I found out this past Monday night, she's now his girlfriend. 

Well, I say somehow, but if I'm to believe the liar - and we all know I can't - I know how because right after I asked him about it, he called me and we talked for nearly three hours until almost 2 a.m. when we got off of FaceTime, both of us sobbing, saying our final goodbyes. 

It's getting late now, though, and I've got a bed to get ready for, so that story, people who read my blog, is not a story for now. 

Final Fantasy VIII

Here's the thing. You're with someone for a long time, and you love them more than you've ever loved anyone, so you overlook things logic tells you you shouldn't overlook. And you get used to things. You get used to things, and you rationalize them, and you tell yourself that maybe you're crazy, maybe you're irrational, maybe you're overreacting, maybe you're imagining, and you don't want to be rash. You tell yourself these things because you're so in love, and the alternative to all of the above is that the love - your love - leaves. Your love takes the deep, dark, slightly downturned eyes that you can't break contact with while he's beneath you and the familiar fingers your fingers intertwine with while you're holding him down and the cafe-con-leche-colored shoulders that you're wont to grasp when he's above you and the itty bitty butt that's so itty bitty it fits perfectly in your hands and the part you love of his most - your favoritest part of all, the part he's always said he thinks you'd be having a very happy relationship with if it just weren't for him - and he goes, leaving you all alone. 

And you don't want that. You don't want that because your love came into your life at a time you needed him horribly, and he paid attention to you in a way that nobody else had, and he spent time with you in a way that made you feel special, and he loved you in a way you had desperately been wanting, and he gave you these butterflies - oh my God, the butterflies you felt - even years into your relationship, you loved your love so much, you got so excited about your love coming home, that your stomach was aflutter when you knew he was on his way. He gave you these butterflies, and he sat on the loveseat with you and held your feet, and he slept next to you in bed while holding your hand, and he took turns being the little spoon, and he washed your back when you took a shower together, and he said he'd be with you for the rest of your life.  

And so, because of all these things, you ignore or maybe if you don't exactly ignore, you try to live with, try to move past. When your love who's been your love for almost two years starts liking almost every single thing on Twitter that the girl who he works with tweets, the one who on the day she got hired he told you was pretty but a little fat and then a year later told you he'd make an exception to his fat rule for, you try to ignore it at first. You try to ignore it even though you've already had problems because of Twitter and even though while he interacts with this girl on Twitter, the one who on the day she got hired he told you was pretty but a little fat and then a year later told you he'd make an exception to his fat rule for, he almost never interacts with you. You ignore it because you don't want to be one of those girls, jealous and insecure, but one day you just can't ignore it anymore.

So you start saying things. You say something and you say something and you say something more. You say it passive aggressively and you say it earnestly and you say it angrily and you say it pleadingly. And you cry. You cry to him while you're going to sleep at night, the two of you side-by-side but not holding hands, and you tell him how worthless it makes you feel, how left out. How embarrassed. And when one day you wake up in the morning and go to work and way past the time that your love normally texts you, he hasn't text you yet, you decide to check his Twitter, and you see that despite not having sent his routine Morning baby I love you text, he's liked a tweet of this girl's, the one who on the day she got hired he told you was pretty but a little fat and then a year later told you he'd make an exception to his fat rule for. And you text him about it, and he texts you back, and on September 2, 2022, at 11:01 a.m, he texts, And so you have an issue with my likes for Carla then I'll stop that too. I'm sorry. But this isn't like the crap with twitter in the past. This isn't like any of that. Carla and I are platonic.

But he doesn't stop. He says he will, and it seems like he did, but he doesn't. You're even driving in the car a few weeks later, and he mentions that he stopped, and you say, Yeah, kicking and screaming. Look at what it took, and he says but yes, he did it, and then a few days later, you're looking on Twitter, and you see after all the fights, all the tears, all the discussion, all the times you told him how bad this made you feel, he liked one of her tweets. And you try to stay rational, you try not to lose your mind, you try not to be rash. You try for all these things because you love your love so much and you don't want to lose him, you don't want your love to go, leaving you all alone, so when he comes home, at first you don't say anything but then he asks you what's wrong, and of course it doesn't take long for him to guess. But you try to stay rational still. You try not to be rash. 

And then he tells you he did it for your relationship. 

He tells you he did it for your relationship, and when you ask him to clarify, he says that his therapist said there was nothing wrong with his liking this girl's tweets, the one who on the day she got hired he told you was pretty but a little fat and then a year later told you he'd make an exception to his fat rule for. He tells you that he had to be a better person for both of you and not liking her tweet because of your relationship, because you didn't want him to wouldn't make him a better person, and that's why he did it. 

And then you are rash. 

You break up with him. You tell him he needs to move out of your house. You tell him the two of you are done. But he breaks down and he cries and he even stays home from work the next day because your breaking up with him made him so miserable, he was sick, and you love your love so much, and you don't want to lose him, you don't want your love to go, leaving you all alone, so you tell him you two can try to work things out. And you do. 

You work things out, and he never likes that girl's tweets again, the one who on the day she got hired he told you was pretty but a little fat and then a year later told you he'd make an exception to his fat rule for, but then you notice while you're driving in the car one day that he's listening to the band Citizen, and you ask him about it because this is your kind of music, the music he can't stand, and he tells you the girl from his work recommended them, the girl who on the day she got hired he told you was pretty but a little fat and then a year later told you he'd make an exception to his fat rule for, the one who he couldn't stop interacting with on Twitter despite the boundary you'd drawn, and you feel sick. You feel sick but you don't want to push, and not only do you not want to push, you want to show you're not one of those girls, jealous and insecure, so when you two go out of town for Christmas, you help him find a Christmas present for her, for this girl who on the day she got hired he told you was pretty but a little fat and then a year later told you he'd make an exception to his fat rule for, the one he couldn't stop interacting with on Twitter despite the boundary you'd drawn, the one who he started listening to Citizen for. You also let him put the whale shark she gave him for Christmas on the nightstand next to your bed just to make sure he understands how not that girl you are. You let him put it right underneath the embroidered Goku hanging on your bedroom wall, the one that she embroidered for him for Christmas the year before. After all, they're only friends; he's assured you. They're platonic. Nothing more.

Even though in two years' time you've never met her, even though your love never once invited you to go out with the people from work when he went out, you know nothing is going on. Your love wouldn't do that. He's assured you. They're platonic. Nothing more. 

And you love your love so much, and you don't want to lose him, you don't want him to leave, so when he tells you he's going to her going-away party because she's leaving their mutual job, even though it's St. Patrick's Day and you wanted to go out, you say it's fine. Not only do you say it's fine, but you actually understand - after all, you're not one of those girls, jealous and insecure - and you tell everyone who will listen that yes, this girl has been a source of problems for a long time, this girl who on the day she got hired he told you was pretty but a little fat and then a year later told you he'd make an exception to his fat rule for, the one he couldn't stop interacting with on Twitter despite the boundary you'd drawn, the one who he started listening to Citizen for, and how could you not let him go to her going away thing? Plus, he told you that once she stopped working with him, he'd stop talking to her, that he'd let their friendship peter out.  

So your love goes to the going-away thing and then when he comes home after uncharacteristically not having text you all night, he mentions he's disheveled from playing at the park where the going-away party was, and he tells you he's taking a shower, and you know. You know and you say something, and he gets angry, and he reminds you that this girl, this girl who on the day she got hired he told you was pretty but a little fat and then a year later told you he'd make an exception to his fat rule for, the one he couldn't stop interacting with on Twitter despite the boundary you'd drawn, the one who he started listening to Citizen for, is a virgin who's never even had a boyfriend, and was he really going to have sex with her in a car or at the park? And as he goes up to take a shower, you're thinking you never said sex, you just thought kiss, and then you realize you were being dumb, you were being one of those girls, jealous and insecure. 

But that whole week, things just don't feel right. You feel a disconnect between you and your love, you know something is wrong, and you tell yourself so many times that you're being stupid, that you shouldn't be angry, that you shouldn't start a fight because you love your love so much, and you don't want to lose him, you don't want him to go, leaving you all alone, but finally you can't take it anymore because you're irrational, because you overreact, because you're rash. You start a fight with your love, and while he's sleeping that night, you look through his computer because you know. 

And that night you find out. 

You find out, and all those thoughts you've had in the past about not being irrational, about not overreacting, about not being rash have fled. You march right up to the extra bedroom where your love is asleep, you wake him, and you start a fight.

But alas, it's 9:41, and I have to get ready for work tomorrow, so that, people who read my blog, is a story for another night. 

Final Fantasy X

One day I guess about a year ago, the ex-Virgo was supposed to bring home milk. Now, this happened a long time ago, so I don't remember the details perfectly (like where he was coming from on a weekend morning, not that that's relevant to the story, although now that I think about it, it was probably the dentist), but I'll tell you what I do remember. I remember that the ex-Virgo was supposed to bring home milk. When he came home, he had no milk. I asked the ex-Virgo where the milk was. The ex-Virgo told me Walgreens didn't have non-dairy milk. I told the ex-Virgo he must not have looked in the right place because I couldn't believe Walgreens didn't carry non-dairy milk. The ex-Virgo told me they definitely didn't. He even asked somebody when he couldn't find it - and this is the part I don't remember perfectly - and either was told they don't carry it, or the employee went to look with him, and there was no non-dairy milk to be found. I, knowing the ex-Virgo as well as I do and being the me that I am, told the ex-Virgo to get in the car. We we were going to Walgreens. The ex-Virgo complied. The ex-Virgo and I drove the .74 miles to Walgreens, where I got out of the car, walked directly to the refrigerator section, spotted the milk area, opened the door, and lo and behold: non-dairy milk. Lots of it. Not, like, one carton of non-dairy milk hidden in the back that may have been overlooked. 

The ex-Virgo? He's a liar. 

Remember what I said about being rash? When the Milk Incident of '22 occurred, I broke up with the ex-Virgo on the spot. Before we even got to the car, I told him I was done, that I couldn't do this anymore, "this" being our relationship, "this" being subjected to pointless lies. It may not seem like a big deal to you, a lie about something as insignificant as a store having milk, but it's precisely because it was so insignificant that it was such a big deal to me. Honesty is so important to me - I don't lie to anybody, to my own detriment at times - and if he could lie to me about something as dumb as a store having milk, what else could he lie to me about? And forget the hypothetical because if that had been the first time a lie had come out of the ex-Virgo's mouth, well, to be honest, I wouldn't have known because I would have believed him when he'd said the store didn't carry non-dairy milk and wouldn't have gotten into the car, driven there, and checked because who the fuck lies about a store not carrying milk? By the time the Milk Incident of '22 went down, the ex-Virgo had told me enough lies that I did get in the car, drive to Walgreens, and check, and that says a lot. 

Also what says a lot to me now that I'm relaying this story and, thus, thinking about events - oh so many events - that unfolded and things - oh so many things - the ex-Virgo has said over the last three years? The fact that he knew - he knew! - that he was going to get caught. He knew he was going to get caught, but he carried out his charade regardless. Rather than admit that he lied, he got in the car with me and drove to Walgreens, all the time knowing what I was going to find (or, thinking about it now, maybe he didn't. Maybe he was hoping, as he was undoubtedly shitting his pants along the way, that Walgreens actually didn't carry non-dairy milk). When I came here to write today, it wasn't my intention to share what's about to come next, but relaying this incident reminded me of two other specific times the ex-Virgo lied and doubled down, one that I was a part of and one that I wasn't. 

I'll start with the one I wasn't a part of since the one that I was a part of is so, so long, and I'd hate for you to be so burned out on reading that by the time you get to it, I'll have lost your attention.

Not too long before we broke up when we were looking for a hotel on a trip over Christmas break, the ex-Virgo told me about a specific way he fucked up once, a mistake he made. It happened in front of all his friends and I'm pretty sure his mom. Even though he knew that he'd fucked up, that he realized he made a mistake, he carried on with his lie (at another person's expense) because he didn't want to get caught.

Like the milk.

And like this:

"Jonathan and Kelly: The Earlyish Days"

-A transcription (that seems much longer than it needs to be but in regards to the overarching story, I promise it's not)

INT. KELLY'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Kelly is sitting on her bed in April of 2021, ten months after she and Jonathan started dating. The two of them are texting after having had an argument earlier that day over Jonathan recently following and regularly interacting with a questionable girl (read: a girl who posted nudes and provocative tweets) on Twitter on not one, but two accounts. She has just opened Twitter and found that after unfollowing her, he was following her once again. 

KELLY: Listen, I don't want to talk about this right now, but I don't think I want you to come over tomorrow. I'll just see you Friday

THE EX-VIRGO: Are you serious?!

KELLY: Extremely

THE EX-VIRGO: what did I do now?!

KELLY: Nothing, Jonathan

KELLY: You did nothing

THE EX-VIRGO: I deserve to know at least that much?

KELLY: You know what? I never say stuff like this to you, ever, but you know how you said earlier that you're fucking stupid?

KELLY: I can't not agree

THE EX-VIRGO: Was it something I said about my Sister??

KELLY: No, Jonathan

THE EX-VIRGO: Then, WHAT?!

KELLY: I guess you'll just have to think really hard

THE EX-VIRGO: NO!

THE EX-VIRGO: I haven't done anything since I've apologized to you!

THE EX-VIRGO: WHAT DID I DO?!

THE EX-VIRGO: Something on Twitter again? Cause I haven't done anything on it!

KELLY: Okay

THE EX-VIRGO: Kelly...

KELLY: And you know what? Since I'm so mad, I'd like to point out that you said earlier that it's not like you flirt openly with people on Twitter when you clearly did for months

KELLY: But that's not why I'm mad

KELLY: But what a fucking statement to make

THE EX-VIRGO: And that's why you're mad?

KELLY: I just said no

KELLY: that's not why I'm mad

THE EX-VIRGO: Then what?!

THE EX-VIRGO: And I only flirted with this other girl, but we had gone over that. And again it was just...I DON'T EVEN KNOW THESE PEOPLE!

KELLY: And yet they're important enough for this

THE EX-VIRGO: JESUS FUCKING CHRIST I'M JUST UNFOLLOWING THEM ALL.

KELLY: Really?

THE EX-VIRGO: I CAN'T TAKE THIS FUCKING PARANOIA ANYMORE!

KELLY: Are you fucking kidding? 

KELLY: Are you kidding? 

KELLY: I'm not paranoid about anything

THE EX-VIRGO: THEN WHAT?!

KELLY: Like, fucking what?

THE EX-VIRGO: WHAT IS IT?!

KELLY: Wtf would I be paranoid about?

THE EX-VIRGO: That I didn't unfollow her?!

KELLY: First of all, I can't believe you'd be stupid enough to even ask what I wanted you to do

KELLY: Like what? 

KELLY: Like fucking what? 

KELLY: But no

THE EX-VIRGO: NOTHING there isn't anything to be! But you're jealous of 2 chicks I never EVEN MET.

KELLY: BECAUSE YOU DID UNFOLLOW HER AND THEN YOU FUCKING FOLLOWED HER AGAIN

KELLY: I can't stand you right now

KELLY: At all

THE EX-VIRGO: I DID NOT UNFOLLOW HER!

KELLY: Huh. That's funny

KELLY: Because while we were talking, I looked and you did

THE EX-VIRGO: Okay Kelly

KELLY: She had 11 followers and you weren't one of them

KELLY: you're lying to me

THE EX-VIRGO: Jesus fucking Christ

KELLY: I can't believe you're lying to me over this fucking girl on twitter who you follow on two accounts

KELLY: Don't fucking talk to me

KELLY: Right now, I regret that we're going out of town together

KELLY: I'm livid

KELLY: I feel like

THE EX-VIRGO: There! Unfollowed!

 KELLY: Idk even know what I feel like

 KELLY: Do you have any idea how much damage you have done? 

KELLY: I'm never going to believe you again now

THE EX-VIRGO: Enough that you fucking hate me now. 

THE EX-VIRGO: I don't understand why.

KELLY: Because you lied? 

KELLY: Are you serious?

TTHE EX-VIRGO: I didn't lie!

KELLY: Yes, Jonathan, you did

KELLY: You're lying rn

KELLY: Just stop

KELLY: Just fucking stop

KELLY: You unfollowed her when we were fighting and then after you unfollowed her, you asked me if you should

KELLY: And then I said you should do what you thought you should do based on our conversation

THE EX-VIRGO: I asked if I should. I never unfollowed.

KELLY: Yes

KELLY: You

KELLY: Did

KELLY: Stop

KELLY: Fukcin [sic]

KELLY: Lying

KELLY: To me

KELLY: You're caught

KELLY: I was on her timeline

THE EX-VIRGO: Okay Kelly.

KELLY: Just stop

THE EX-VIRGO: Whatever.

THE EX-VIRGO: Nothing I say will matter.

THE EX-VIRGO: I unfollowed now.

THE EX-VIRGO: Both accounts.

THE EX-VIRGO: It's all I can do.

KELLY: You unfollowed before

KELLY: God, I can't believe you're lying to me like this

THE EX-VIRGO: You want me to unfollow Jupiter too?

KELLY: Like, I can't

KELLY: I don't even know what to think about us anymore

KELLY: I truly don't

THE EX-VIRGO: Are you seriously...

KELLY: And the fact that you keep lying, like you think I'm going to believe you when I saw

KELLY: I saw

THE EX-VIRGO: Please pick up.

KELLY: Every time you lie again, it makes me sick

KELLY: Like, how are you blatantly lying to me?

KELLY: I am so in shock right now

THE EX-VIRGO: Baby...

THE EX-VIRGO: Please

KELLY: No

KELLY: I'm not your fucking baby

THE EX-VIRGO: I do not want to fight about this.

KELLY: This isn't a fight

THE EX-VIRGO: I will delete all of Twitter

KELLY: This is much worse than a fight

KELLY: Will you delete your lies?

THE EX-VIRGO: So that's it?

THE EX-VIRGO: You'll break up with me over this?

KELLY: I caught you in a lie and you just kept lying to me

KELLY: How?

KELLY: How could you do that?

KELLY: How fucking stupid and weak minded do you really think I am?

THE EX-VIRGO: I know you aren't.

KELLY: I may play submissive, but let me fucking tell you something

KELLY: I am not

THE EX-VIRGO: Kelly... I know you aren't.

KELLY: I'm so

KELLY: I just, I can't believe you would do this

KELLY: Forget being dumb enough, or pretending to be dumb enough, to ask if you should unfollow the girl

KELLY: Or unfollowing her and even after seeing how upset I was, following her again

KELLY: But lying about it?

KELLY: And lying repeatedly?

KELLY:: When you were caught?

KELLY:: What the fuck, Jonathan

THE EX-VIRGO: Look how this is going?

KELLY: Idk even know what that means

THE EX-VIRGO: Kelly...I love you

THE EX-VIRGO: I'm not perfect

KELLY: Yes, you certainly act like you love me

THE EX-VIRGO: I know you aren't stupid.

KELLY: What with all the lying

KELLY: It's a girl's dream

KELLY: Thank you!

THE EX-VIRGO: Yes okay I lied. Because I unfollowed her for a bit. And when we talked I figured it was pointless I did it

KELLY: Like this fucking girl, this girl who you don't even know, is important enough for you to do that

KELLY: To do this

THE EX-VIRGO: She isn't.

KELLY: That's too bad

THE EX-VIRGO: Not at all

THE EX-VIRGO: I just...

KELLY: I hope you know I don't trust you at all anymore

KELLY: Not one bit

KELLY: I don't believe you don't DM people

THE EX-VIRGO: Kelly...

KELLY: I don't believe you don't talk to people inappropriately

THE EX-VIRGO: Please

KELLY: I don't believe any of it

KELLY: I believe you're a fucking guy like every other guy

THE EX-VIRGO: I promise you. I swear I don't fucking lie to you.

KELLY: Yes, only this once when I caught you

KELLY: Plus the ones that kept coming after I caught you

KELLY: Nothing else

KELLY: Mmhmm

THE EX-VIRGO: Yes I did right now. Because I panicked. And I thought you were going to hate me.

KELLY: Well, your plan was executed very well

THE EX-VIRGO: I...

THE EX-VIRGO: Between my sister...and...I know it's not an excuse.

THE EX-VIRGO: I don't lie to you.

KELLY: Just stfu up about your sister

KELLY: Your sister is irrelevant

THE EX-VIRGO: And I know there is no way to prove it.

KELLY:: Anything else is irrelevant

THE EX-VIRGO: Kelly...

THE EX-VIRGO: Please...

THE EX-VIRGO: These 2 things with these 2 girls,

THE EX-VIRGO: I never fucking thought this would spiral like this.

THE EX-VIRGO: Over girls on the internet

KELLY: Maybe you should've stopped when you knew how much it bothered me and THEN NOT BEEN A FUCKING LIAR

KELLY: This isn't about girls on the internet

KELLY: It's about you

THE EX-VIRGO: I'm not a liar.

THE EX-VIRGO: I try my best to be a good boyfriend.

THE EX-VIRGO: I'm not perfect

KELLY: It's about the fact that you have a girlfriend and for months were tweeting the things you were to that jupiter girl and you knew how much it bothered me and then you followed this other girl, and you knew how much that bothered me, and you not only didn't unfollow her, you followed a second account and then when you knew how much that bothered me, you pulled what you pulled tonight

THE EX-VIRGO: But please don't turn this into me being like everyone else.

KELLY: For trying to be a good boyfriend, you're doing a really shitty job

THE EX-VIRGO: Because of this?

KELLY: What was that you said earlier? When you apologized?

KELLY: Something about thinking about things like this and taking my feelings into consideration

KELLY: And then you fucking followed her back

KELLY: And lied about it

THE EX-VIRGO: I followed her back because I honestly thought it was dumb I did it out of desperation earlier.

THE EX-VIRGO: I lied because I knew you were already angry.

KELLY: So you thought about it, and you thought, Kelly was furious--furious--about me following this girl, but I think she would really not care if I followed her back

THE EX-VIRGO: And I fucking panicked.

KELLY: You honestly thought I was that dumb?

THE EX-VIRGO:I didn't want us to fight anymore.

THE EX-VIRGO: No I didn't.

THE EX-VIRGO: But I thought you'd just let it go. Because I didn't want to get into it about this again.

THE EX-VIRGO: And I was wrong.

THE EX-VIRGO: And it was stupid.

KELLY: "I followed her back because I honestly thought it was dumb I did it out of desperation earlier."

KELLY: What?

THE EX-VIRGO: I thought it was dumb if I unfollowed her out of desperation. Like I thought you'd think I was only doing it for you.

KELLY: That was the point. Doing it for me

KELLY: Are you fucking kidding

KELLY: Just go away

KELLY: I can't listen to you anymore

THE EX-VIRGO: No the point is to do it for both of us.

KELLY: Goodnight, Jonathan

KELLY: I can't deal with this

THE EX-VIRGO: I ca't prove I love you by just doing things when you tell me

KELLY: And I don't want to do anything rash

KELLY: Yes, it makes much more sense to keep doing things you know hurt me

KELLY: I hate you

THE EX-VIRGO: Please don't say that

KELLY: You should just stop talking

KELLY: Really

THE EX-VIRGO: I love you...no matter what. I'm sorry I lied. I'm sorry for today.

KELLY: Yeah. So am I

THE EX-VIRGO: You are everything to me...

KELLY: Apparently not

THE EX-VIRGO: You are

KELLY: And nothing you say will change that

***

I interrupt this chismo to say, what a difference a day makes, huh? Well, a day to me; since I haven't posted since the debacle of a post I wrote in Spanish that night when I was drunk, a few weeks to you. Be assured, though, that until this morning, I was still in the same place I have been for the last almost four months since the ex-Virgo and I broke up: devastated and weepy, crying in the bathroom between classes and with my back turned to my students while they were working, sitting at my table because I couldn't bring myself to leave the house, and worst of all, although I didn't realize it was worst of all until yesterday night, talking to the ex-Virgo pretty regularly, both of us telling each other how much we love and miss each other, both of us crying either on the phone, on FaceTime, or via text, me saying that I wouldn't give up on us, and him saying that maybe if we both work on ourselves, in the future things will work out. 

Funny behavior from a guy who has a girlfriend. 

Or maybe not that funny if you take into consideration that on September 5, when I directly asked the ex-Virgo if he was seeing anyone, he told me no despite having had that girlfriend since the beginning of August. 

Also maybe not that funny if you take into consideration that the lie I mentioned a few blogs back, the one that ended our relationship? It was about this girl, this girl who he used to work with, who on the day she got hired a couple years ago, the ex-Virgo told me was pretty but a little fat and then a year later told me he'd make an exception to his fat rule for. 

But, alas it's 8:18, and I have a work out to do (because while some people may be okay with being fat, I in no way am), so that's a story for another night.