But crying in the ladies room is so cliche
July 27th, 2010I do not want to be here, Sam-I-Am.
I had a fabulous weekend. Starting Thursday, I had a much needed bonding evening with the girls over a margarita before heading home. Friday brought a night out with more folks from work, soothing some of those rough edges that exist between us on any normal day. Saturday was my “birthday” of sorts…Mr. W took me on a dinner cruise on the Potomac, followed by a romantic evening in a fancy hotel…The Mandarin Oriental. Beautiful. It was a wonderful evening all around. Sunday, we headed home and opted for dinner out and a movie with the older kids: Inception. Really good movie. So why am I crying in the ladies room?
Well, Monday was strained. Sunday’s dinner, and probably the mass quantities of alcohol I consumed from Thursday onward, left my belly a little “unhappy.” It’s actually still a little unhappy. So I stayed home, with Mr. W (his every-other-Monday off) and the two older kids. We ran errands, went to lunch, discovered Mr. W has high cholesterol and a fatty liver, and began getting “short” around 4 or 5 pm. But we maintained. The kids went back to their mom’s, so I thought maybe this would be an opportunity (empty house) to continue the wonderfully frisky trend that the weekend prompted. No such luck…we ended up going to bed mad, although I’m not sure what about, and waking up even worse. Long story short, the car ride to work this morning had us both shouting, me in tears, and us splitting up…sorta…I think.
But it’s not that simple. Our lives are so intertwined that we can’t just “break up.” We are dependant on each other in every facet of life. We share everything, and I really do mean everything. We have kids to think about. We have a 2 year lease on a house neither of us can afford alone. We share bills, food, childcare, everything. Well, everything, it seems, except what’s important.
We fight, a lot. We don’t communicate. Most days we would probably both agree we don’t know each other at all. So why are we together? Well, there’s love. I do love my Mr. W. With all my heart and should, I love him. I wouldn’t have let myself get so tied up if I didn’t. He wouldn’t be my home if I didn’t. (For as long as I can remember, “home” was my parents’ home…until Mr. W. I would get ridiculously home sick within months of visiting, and would visit at least twice a year, every year, since I left in 1999. But now, when I think of “home,” I think of him.) But love doesn’t seem to be enough.
I asked him this morning if he wanted to be done. He said yes. I said I was going to leave. He didn’t say no. I told him I loved him. He stayed quiet. And then I got hit by a bus:
Him: You must have known this was coming.
Me: What? Why?
Him: Well, why haven’t you sent out the invitations to the wedding yet? You must have known this was coming since you haven’t sent them out.
Me: (granted, in hysterics) WHAT? I haven’t sent them because you are supposed to send them 6 weeks before the wedding. If you don’t want to marry me, why didn’t you just tell me. If you don’t love me, why don’t you just tell me. If you don’t want this anymore, WHY DIDN’T YOU JUST TELL ME?!
Him: Oh.
Somehow that said it all. He was expecting this? He was waiting for this? He had an inkling this was going to happen? Why not say something? WTF? Was he just waiting for me to? I can’t even begin to understand this. “Hey, there’s a bus coming, but she probably knows that, so I’ll just watch while it runs her down.” Fan-fucking-tastic. Obviously, if you read my blog, you know I’ve got baggage. You know I’m nuts. You know I’m a bitch and raving lunatic at times. Apparently he does not. Apparently he thought I was a Stepford. Apparently all the apologies in the world will never be enough. Apparently my insanity has driven another one away. 2 years 6 months. Yep, that’s about right. So what the hell do I do now? I can’t leave. I can’t stay. Money is lost, and will continue to be. I’m lost, and will continue to be. So what happens now? What happens when I get home? What happens when he gets home? What happens tomorrow? I can’t concentrate. I can’t think. I can’t function.
And crying alone in the ladies room is just so damned cliche!
