It’s been three months and I am feeling angry. So very angry. When the realtor I’ve started working with unlocked the first house on my list, took a look around at the squalor and said, “I hope you’re not afraid of a little work,” I laughed and told her I was not.
What I did not tell her is that secretly, I’m hoping to completely demolish something. I’m picturing me in overalls, with my hair tied back and a very, very large hammer so that I can smash things: an old wall, a cement patio, an entire bathroom, or all of the above. I don’t care, just so long as I can smash and smash and smash.
First and foremost, I am mad at myself. It’s been three months at this point and I am still crying. Not all the time, and not nearly as much as I used to, but seriously, isn’t enough enough?
My mom found me crying in the kitchen the other day. I was so sad, but I was more mad at myself for being sad than anything else.
“Wasn’t this your longest relationship?” she reminded me.
“And wasn’t it your most serious?”
“And weren’t you planning to marry this man? To buy a house together? To build a life with him?”
“So cut yourself some slack! It’s okay to be upset.”
But it’s not okay. It hurts too much. Plus it ruins my mascara. And frankly, I don’t have time to be upset.
But that’s only half of it. The person I am really angry at, of course, is TWD. Looking back, it all makes sense now: the fact that he never responded to my email about going to the art museum, that he got all squeamish about our parents wanting to go to dinner together, that he didn’t want to get a drink at the ice rink down by the river, that he didn’t bother to tell me he loved me on New Year’s Eve or kiss me at midnight like a normal person.
He was already gone.
And what really pisses me off is that he knew I was having doubts about our relationship. He knew I was upset, that I was worried we’d never get past our differences. If he’d been feeling the same way, why didn’t he just say something? Why did he string me along, just going through the motions of unbuttoning my flannel pajamas and reaching for a condom? Why did he let me take him out to dinner the night before we broke up? Why did he let me kiss him there in the parking lot of that God-awful, stupid board game store if his heart wasn’t in it?
He initiated the break up conversation by telling me, “You might have noticed that I’ve been kind of distant over the past month…”
Of course I’d noticed, but I chalked it up to holiday stress and financial worries. Now though, now that I know the truth, I feel like the biggest idiot in the world. How could I not have known? How could he not have told me?
“I wanted to figure out what I was feeling,” he told me. “I needed time to sort it out.”
Well, that’s all well and good if you’re in a relationship with yourself but if you’re in a relationship with someone else? A living, breathing human being? Who is weaving you a damn scarf for your birthday? You don’t do that. Not for a whole month. You clue her the f*ck in.
Hence the reason I would like to buy a very large hammer and do a lot of smashing.