Sunday, August 4, 2013

Entry # 71-B - Engaged, Enraged, Potato, Potatoe


Dear Diary,

I didn't foresee this. My life has been an exercise in juxtaposition.   

Here is an excerpt from my last blog: 

This blog was my way of expressing both acceptance and closure in regard to the men I had loved, to convey my recognition that they had found what was perfect for them (their treasure as it were), and to express hope that though I had been these two men's "trash" that I would one day find someone who considers a sassy, redheaded harpy to be "treasure". What can I say, I was feeling both generous and hopeful that day. I considered the matter of "Men I Loved" laid to rest. They were getting married and riding off into the sunset, case closed. No need to ever speak about them again.

Or at least the case was closed....


Text received:
“Hey, are you free to Skype at some point today?”


You probably just furrowed your brow…wait for it…

That text was from:
My ex boyfriend from long, long ago and a galaxy far, far, away whom I had very recently written about in my last blog entry about exes getting engaged. The blog entry in which I had very candidly written about my unrequited love for him; not imagining there was much of a chance that he would read it.

“Oh GOD. He knows! And now I have to look him in the face” I mumbled through my elbow, which was firmly planted in front of my face at this time.

Strange but true - I was willing to tell EVERYBODY else I had loved him, but the idea him knowing that I had loved him was bizarrely disconcerting.

“OH...” Even Enisa looked slightly nauseated at the prospect, or she was just nauseated because she's pregnant, hard to tell.  “Well, you don‘t have to talk to him if you don‘t want to” .

“No, no” I replied, dramatically removing my arm from my face “if he has something to say, I will hear him out…”

and so I texted back:   “I'm out right now, how about 2:30?"

And so we Skyped, and he totally sang Bruno Mars’ “When I was Your Man”. didn't happen. But it would have been awesome, right!?. 

But we did talk for a long time. We caught each other up on current events, talked about movies, and books, and TV shows we've been watching and websites we like. We laughed about old times and eventually, after about an hour (right when he lulled me into a false sense of security and I believed that this was all a crazy coincidence) he told me he saw my last blog. Evasive action was taken in terms of eye contact (on my part), because if there was pity in his face I did NOT want to see it. HARD PASS ON THE PITY. Social norms demanded that I eventually look back at the screen, and when I did he was perfectly at ease and mildly amused at my obvious awkwardness at being called out.  When I asked him if he felt mad or upset that I had written about him, he responded with his standard frankness: 

"Well it's not like you used my name"

He had a point, we only have twelve mutual friends, and of those twelve only a very select few would be able to identify him as the ex in that story. This has made for a very interesting game of "Guess Who?" As in "Guess Who texted him to tell him he was on the blog?". My instinct had been right, you see, he hadn't seen it on Facebook! HA! I KNEW IT! 

He was a real gentleman. He asked me some questions, I asked him some questions. He spoke to some of the things I had said and clarified some things from the past. We really problem solved that sh*t.We were even able to joke about the many ways in which we were totally wrong for each other (mostly my aggressive indoorsyness); and he kindly and matter-of-factly told me about the ways he and his fiancee are really great for each other. And you know what, by the time we said goodbye I was really glad that he had been man enough, and respected me enough, to speak to it in such an adult fashion.  

I never expected him to read what I had written, and I certainly never imagined getting to talk to him about it.  For me, writing about that experience had been catharsis enough, so I was surprised by how redeeming it was to talk to him about it.  There was redemption in being reminded that he was worthy of that love, even if he could not reciprocate it at the time; and there was power in knowing that I felt happy for him in the love that he had found. 

I hope he buys her flowers 
I hope he holds her hand.
Maybe Bruno Mars will marry me. 


The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference.

I apologize if the content of this blog has offended you.
politely suggest you refrain from reading it in the future. 

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