I-I-I Wanna Go-o-o Far Away-ay-ay
I can’t believe he’s in my head again. I need a letting go seminar. I need therapy. I don’t know why this is happening to me. To this person: “You and I will have our confrontation someday. I’m afraid of what it is going to look like.”
I am in the midst of trying to get my shit together. And when that doesn’t look like working my ass off, it generally consists of replacing the broken and useless things I own with nice, functional things, cleaning my house, purging the things I have no desire or need for, and repacking whatever leftover boxes for my future I have into newer, better organized boxes. Well, I’ve been working on my bedroom. When I officially moved in, my husband moved himself to the south end of the Island to work for the government. It was an okay situation because he stayed with friends cost-free and came home on weekends. But who am I kidding? He didn’t ‘live’ here- his stuff did. And hence, there felt like a lot more space with which to move in, and for me to live in. I wasn’t really concerned, at the time, with how he wanted things because he was not here. Well, in the year since he moved back, I have spent 6 months not living here, and the other 6 wanting to rip my hair out because suddenly now we have to find a way to consolidate our belongings and turn our home into a functional and well-oiled engine. Duplicates be gone! I know, I’m married, but on occasion I can literally feel my independence fading.
Well… I could not sleep tonight. With the purchase of a brand new set of plastic storage drawers, I began to sort the miscellany of our room, and a safety pin fell behind my dresser. So I moved my dresser to get it and found a pile of things that had slipped under the dresser over the last year and a half. One of them was an old address book that I got in a stocking stuffer when I was 14. I had it for the entire rest of high school and used it only a few times. Out of my innate curiosity, I went through it.
Have you ever felt the sensation of having all of the available oxygen in a room just get sucked right out of it, and suddenly you can’t breathe? That’s what happens when you open an old address book and find the phone numbers and addresses for everyone in your ex’s family. All the people who saw fit to just forget about you and let someone in their family commit assault, and nearly, negligent homicide. What do you do with that information, especially when so many of the addresses are in your own city? I have unknowingly lived less than ten minutes drive from at least two of them in the last three years.
It’s just fucked up. It’s just fucked up how somehow these things bleed back into my life. Somehow I know that our story is not done yet. I just don’t know how it ends.