Just Tug At My Shirt And Lay Down Next To Me

A great email from a friend today with this line: “There is a lot of work to do” and I’m a junkie in rehab, so those words stuck out. a lot of work to do. For me, it’s realizing that the reason I like being alone is because I’m selfish and it’s easier. It comes from the same place as never wanting but really wanting children. And that I’m not strong enough to walk away from THAT FUCK without letting him mess me up. That he’s the reason all of a sudden I’m scared everything I do might be a mistake. That I’ve never had trouble trusting people but now I think it’s okay to count on my family and my friends but it’s probably not a good idea to count on counting on a boyfriend.

I saw a couple ordering scones at starbucks this morning, and she took off her gloves and handed them to him and then she put her hands in his pockets. She was wearing a ring and the way she twisted it and looked at it said new engagement ring. He kissed the top of her head and they looked really happy. I stood there thinking ‘she’s in trouble’ but there was a time when I wouldn’t have thought that.

I spent a Saturday with myself and liked it because of small satisfactions. Baby steps on this hellish nightmare report. A really good book and nothing to stop me from reading one more chapter and then just one more. A new, quieter hairdryer at the gym. A really good Christmas token for my mom. A nap while my clothes were in the dryer. But it isn’t new or novel anymore and I’m a little scared. What happens if it stops feeling like this? I don’t like cats and I don’t like ice cream and I don’t want to turn into one of those people who sits on her couch with both because she’s run out of everything else.

I’d like this balance: more time alone than not, but someone to call to the scene sometimes, even just to be there, close by. He could be quiet. He could read or write or pay bills or talk on his phone. He could nap on the couch or be getting ready to run to the store. He could just let me read or watch tv or clean but he’d be there in case I wanted to say something without picking up the phone. In case something funny happened on TV, in case my feet got cold and I wanted to put them under his legs instead of going to find a pair of socks.

Wanna Be Bigger, Stronger

Last night, I continued the slow dance with my bartender. After Thanksgiving and extended travel, it felt like a long time since I’d seen him. Fast flurries of conversation, catching up; him leaving the bar for long stretches, perching on the edge of my seat, leaning close to not yell, staying until someone came to fetch him:

I need two martinis.
There are no clean dishes behind the bar.
Uh, sorry to interrupt you but I thought you were working.
There is a line of empty drinks at the bar.
Leave her alone. Maybe she doesn’t come here just to talk to you.

And with that one, he winked. The next trip over, he had a glass of wine.

One of my friends wants to buy you a drink. That one, looking over here. I told him I already bought it for you. Try this. You’ll like it. wink

And back to the bar, the couple who just moved here from Minneapolis standing in the doorway, waiting for him to come and escort them to the bar.

Between bursts of quick talking and leaning I counted simple things he doesn’t know. I’m married.

Before I left, we talked about hair. The woman who kept flipping hers, who was wearing too much makeup, dark lipstick. He said he likes it that I don’t wear lipstick. It’s really hard to clean off the bar glasses. Woah. I almost just kissed you. Shit.

And then I left. I dreamt about Shasta, my college roommate. How I always thought she had enough confidence, bravado for both of us. How I’d harbor a crush on the same guy for a year and he’d never know. How in that same year, she’d sleep with all of his friends. How I’d change clothes three times before we went out and sometimes she'd forget to even look in the mirror.

How she wasn’t especially pretty—pale, washed out, a little faded—but she thought she was. I thought she was. How she wasn’t especially smart—she graduated near the top of her high school class of 22—but she thought she was. How she woke up every morning, pretty and smart. Things she didn’t have to think about.

And how I didn’t feel an ounce of that when I woke up yesterday. Not until someone I hardly know almost kissed me.

Some Have Called The Ritual A Religion

When I was nine, I bit down on something hard in a McDonald’s hamburger and convinced myself it was a piece of bone (more likely a piece of fat, but that’s gross, too). That day, I decided never to eat a hamburger again. And I haven’t.

Throughout middle and high school, I’d walk to the library and then home with as many books as I could carry. Then spend hours “putting them in order” – a careful practice based on the summary written on the back and an evaluation of the book’s first page. That decided the sequence I’d read them in, and I’d stack them in order, next to my bed. (Okay, I still do that)

When I got to college, I stopped eating. I adjusted to a brand new schedule, set of rules, and social circle by regimenting each day around laffy taffy, a half-bowl of cereal and a pack of cigarettes. I weighed 87 pounds and didn’t understand why my parents wanted me to go talk to some therapist named Misty, who said I was having trouble with the transition.

When I left for study abroad, I had to eat. There was no cereal, no sugar candy. The family I lived with got mad if I didn't eat their cheese, quiche, fat sandwiches. For awhile, I fought that change by throwing up in the bathroom after dinner. Around the same time, I broke up with Shasta, my roommate and scarily intimate best friend. She met a guy in Spain. I replaced her with Kate, a sassier and lower maintenance version of best friend. I marked the change by dying my hair black and piercing my nose.

When I decided to move to Chicago, my boyfriend Craig wanted to come along. I let him, knowing we wouldn’t end up together but not wanting to go alone. When I met L, I dropped Craig and moved out. A few weeks later, I lost my job. I marked those changes by developing a sunshine attitude. L said I was so happy all the time. I didn’t mind that there were rats in my laundry room and that I spent entire days alone in my apartment, waiting for L to get home from work.

I loved him right away, just because. Actually, I can’t remember why. I pardoned stupid things he said. I made excuses for his first marriage, which ended when he cheated with a colleague. I let it go when he cheated on me just after we got engaged. I overlooked mistakes, laziness, ignorance I wouldn’t tolerate in other people. We were in love. I was loyal.

A few years later, I stopped smiling all the time. He started telling me not to think so much about everything. I started worrying about how to keep things the same between us. How to keep him from straying. How to keep everything the same.

I’m only just now getting used to days that aren’t structured around making sure everything is going okay.

You Keep Losin' When You Oughta Not Bet

One of my favorite photos of us was taken at my parents house. It's in the dining room, snapped just after we finished setting the Thanksgiving table. Our first thanksgiving together. His first time home with me, first time meeting my dad, first time touring the town I grew up in. We are wearing shirts in the exact same shade of blue and he's looking at me and not the camera. His arms are around me and we're dancing to 'These Boots Are Made For Walkin." We're laughing hard and a few minutes after that photo was taken he said he understood why I loved Thanksgiving so much. Being at my house was so much fun.

That weekend he learned about our family ritual of going to the movies on Thanksgiving, how everyone gets to vote for which new release to see and if there's a tie, someone always just changes their vote. He hung Christmas lights with my dad and then said he'd never felt so connected to a family. Before we left, we told my parents we were moving in together.

This year, he wasn't at the table, I didn't have a partner. But he still managed to insert himself each day.

On Wednesday: I'm going to miss u tomorrow.

On Thursday: I'd vote for whatever movie you want to see.

That one really pissed off the whole family. He still thinks he gets to vote.

On Friday: Almost 30! How does it feel??

On Saturday: Hope ur having a nice bday with lots of presents! thinking of you

Saturday night i went out with friends from high school. They know me without him more than with him so his absence wasn't shocking. I didn't have to talk about it. They got me to drink shots until the bars closed and we talked about music and TV and downtown detroit. I let high school boyfriend show me a better way to shoot pool and leaned against him in a way that said this is fun and nice and good for me but i don't need or want anything more. You are another version of my husband, unfaithful. We worked that out without words. He got it and it made me enjoy him all the more.

Today, he surfaced again. I know it's late but how about a birthday dinner next week? Name a night.

It IS too late. Coming off a weekend of fruitful shopping sprees, a pile of new clothes that fit just right, and beautiful strength from my family. Birthday wishes more personal than abbreviated text messages. He doesn't realize his place at the table's been cleared for good