Prepositions and Propositions

Can it really be that simple? Is getting under a new man the best way to get over the old one?

W is gone - to quote the awesome Grosse Pointe Blank, "if you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it's probably broken." Oh, W is broken all right. I dug in my heels and pulled out the duct tape and Barbie band-aids, trying to fix him, trying to make him the man he can be - the man I wanted him to be for me. But as anyone who's read this blog knows, I had to let it go. I turned in my nursing cap and turned him loose.

Oh, I ached. Somehow, I thought I'd be able to make up for the last ten years of his life, and (shocker alert!) I failed at the impossible. At the same time, though, I wondered if this flawed, needy man didn't want me, what chance did I have with the rest of the world? In a move that amazed me, I signed up for an online dating service. I completed a profile, keeping it as true to me as I could, and I cringed as I uploaded my picture, ignoring the taunting voices from my past. Within minutes, I had my first online suitors. A few more minutes passed and I had blocked the first one to send shivers (and not the good kind) down my spine. I don't know what's going to come from my foray into cyber-dating. Some of the guys send nothing but poorly spelled, not very imaginative propositions, but others have been really nice. I've been able to laugh and flirt and have real conversations that have nothing to do with my bra size. I'm thinking of this as training wheel dating. It will bolster my confidence and ease me back into the world. Just keep your fingers crossed that I can avoid any future Humpty Dumpties...

Moving on

How do you move on? How do you let go of the memories? My method seems to involve replacing the old ones. Not permanently - there are many things I want to remember about W - but I don't want to know my last kiss was when he walked out my door the last time. I was so full of hope then; It hurts to recognize the awful finality without intention of that moment. I don't want to miss him. I want to know there is more out there for me. Maybe I want to prove to the world (and myself) that I am okay. And maybe I just want to prove I'm not a failure.

Land of the Lost

Damn. I did it. I feared I would, I did everything I could to keep it from happening, and I still freaking did it. I lost my self, and I wasn't even conscious of it enough to play the BlinkBlink version of "Where's Waldo." From day one, I started thinking "oh, I could move. It wouldn't be a big deal." Really? You could pack up and move to a city you know nothing about just because he is there? You could leave a great job, a job you've been waiting years for, to be with Mr. Damaged? And while all of this was going on, I was so proudly proclaiming my independence. It took ending things to see how dependent I was on him; how desperate I was to please him. Since I hit the "send" button and detonated the relationship, I've been me again. I'm disappointed in my loss of self, but I have no regrets. I learned a lot about relationships and myself, preparing me for the next great adventure. There's no sense beating myself up or wondering if I should have done things differently. After all, as Kierkegaard said "Life can only be understood backwards." Even Better? He continued, "but it must be lived forwards." Sound advice from a dead dude, don't you think?

Life is NOT a Romantic Comedy

My life has far more dimension than a "meet cute" followed by misunderstandings, a run through the rain, and a cookie-cutter ending. I'd never get to be a leading lady on film; I'm the funny, chubby best friend type. My friends don't fit into typical Hollywood fare, either. They're as varied as their locations, ranging from proper Boston to Midwest Bible-belt to groovy Berkeley, and not one fits his respective stereotype. They love me in ways I can't comprehend, and it's in the light of their love that I know I'll never settle. When I find the male lead for the movie that is my life, he will be someone who will love the things they love about me - my laugh, my outlook, my flair - and he'll become a part of this group I call my family.

Cold Cold Heart

I've probably heard the song Cold Cold Heart by Nora Jones 100 times, but it wasn't until this weekend that it meant something to me. Sample lyrics: "Another love before my time made your heart sad and blue. And so my heart is paying now for things I didn't do." I've listened to the song over and over since Sunday afternoon, staring at the lyrics, singing it in the shower. It's my anthem. My heart is paying. I was so wowed by him, I was half in love before I ever realized I had started to fall. I honestly don't think it's that he can't give me what I need from him (respect, affection, communication), but worse, much worse, that he doesn't want to. So, after one last heartbreaking example of his lack of connection, I knew I had to end it. I asked him to call me, explaining it was important. Still nothing, so like Berger's infamous post-it to Carrie Bradshaw, I sent him an email. I regret the method, but not the sentiment. I felt no remorse for hitting "send". I don't want to be with the person he has become. The man he is right now is not the man I was so rapidly falling for. I cried and will continue to mourn for man he was; the man who was sweet and attentive. The man who told me I made him happier than he thought he could be. The man who stroked my hair and kept his eyes open when he kissed me, never wanting to miss my expression, always watching for what pleased me. I won't miss the distant, petulant, so determinedly closed-off man I've been seeing. I won't miss the man who can ignore my laughter and my tears. I'll remember the good. I'll try not to check my email too frequently, looking for the reply I'm sure will never come.

My anthem ends "The more I learn to care for you, the more we drift apart. Why can't I free your doubtful mind and melt your cold, cold heart?" I can't melt his heart. I can't free his mind, but I can free myself. I can be myself. And it's time I got started.

The Movie Kiss

Why is it that you can go to a movie and watch a pair of characters for two hours, wondering all the while why they would be together, yet get to the big kiss scene and still sigh? I just cringed my way through Confessions of Shopaholic. The books weren't really my cup of tea, but I was invited to see it with potential friends and thought "Ah, socialization and distraction. Awesome." It seems the older I get, though, the harder it is for me to watch people in awkward situations. I didn't find Becky's antics cutely amusing, but rather embarrassing. And since she didn't have the sense to be embarrassed for herself, I felt it more acutely. I caught myself watching for continuity errors, something I almost always avoid the first time I see a movie. It could be a passing thing, given my current romantic situation, but I found myself rolling my eyes at filmmakers' attempts to make the audience see the connection between the leads. But I still sighed a bit over that last kiss. Why? Perhaps because even though the story was weak, I still want to believe in a love that doesn't make sense to the rest of the world.

Facebook

Ah, Facebook. I joined years ago when a college friend insisted I simply had to see a picture of one our professors shirtless. Who knew historians could be so buff? After that, I logged in only when I received an email saying I had a friend request. I didn't even have a profile picture until last summer and that was only because a friend posted pictures of the two of us at a concert and I thought "Why not?" Since the summer, I've used Facebook more and more, but today, I'm convinced it's the tool of the devil. It's not a way to find old high school friends (honestly, if I cared to keep in touch with them, I would have) or a fun place to go to kill time when you're bored at work. Nope, it's a modern road to heartbreak. Being able to see the interaction people around me are having, knowing I'm not a part of it, makes me feel like I'm a chubby, awkward, high school girl all over again.

I'm faced with status changes as he updates the world on what he is doing, though he so earnestly told me he needed time and was ignoring all of his friends. I see posts that make my chest hurt and send the blood rushing to my face, and I know I'm on the wrong side of that thin line between being understanding and being a doormat. He knows I can see these things; we've talked about Facebook before. Hell, I've commented on his page before. Is he mean? Selfish? Is he really dense enough to not think I see and process these things? He's begged me not to read in to things and over-think his actions. We haven't spoken in days (I can't get him to talk to me); what else am I supposed to do but assume?

Can you hold someone accountable for promises they never should have made?