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One of my favorite movies is Shawshank Redemption. The line that sticks with me the most is, “Remember Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.”
Today this one feels more accurate, “Let me tell you something my friend. Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane.”
Last night she came downstairs and asked if I had time to talk. I’ve played this scenario in my head a few times, but I always imagined her telling me she’d made a mistake, realized she does want to be with me and beg for forgiveness.
Instead, and much the same way reality usually meets expectations, she started the conversation by telling me she signed a one-year lease and will be moving out next week — Thanksgiving weekend (I can’t help but find the irony that my ex-fiance is moving out during the holiday time when people are giving thanks for all they have).
I’ve never been shot in the balls, but I’d have to imagine that would feel better than I did last night.
She said a few things that left me confused, hurt and even slightly angry. She said that since I haven’t been talking to her she assumes I don’t want to work on things. When she started this breakup she said she needed space so I’ve been giving it to her. I sequester myself in my basement each night like a bizaro Quasimodo and leave her to do what she wants. I don’t ask when she’s going to be out of here nor do I ask if she’s started to pack. The couple times we have talked I haven’t had much to say. Talking about how your day is shitty because your fiance left you does not seem like a good way to talk to your ex-fiance. Plus, since I still can’t seem to land a job interview I don’t really have much going on. Telling her about playing Black Ops II seems like pouring water on a daisy while the rest of the field is burning.
So I usually just ask about her day and tell her my day was “fine.”
She wants to continue to talk when she moves out,...
One of my favorite movies is Shawshank Redemption. The line that sticks with me the most is, “Remember Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.”
Today this one feels more accurate, “Let me tell you something my friend. Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane.”
Last night she came downstairs and asked if I had time to talk. I’ve played this scenario in my head a few times, but I always imagined her telling me she’d made a mistake, realized she does want to be with me and beg for forgiveness.
Instead, and much the same way reality usually meets expectations, she started the conversation by telling me she signed a one-year lease and will be moving out next week — Thanksgiving weekend (I can’t help but find the irony that my ex-fiance is moving out during the holiday time when people are giving thanks for all they have).
I’ve never been shot in the balls, but I’d have to imagine that would feel better than I did last night.
She said a few things that left me confused, hurt and even slightly angry. She said that since I haven’t been talking to her she assumes I don’t want to work on things. When she started this breakup she said she needed space so I’ve been giving it to her. I sequester myself in my basement each night like a bizaro Quasimodo and leave her to do what she wants. I don’t ask when she’s going to be out of here nor do I ask if she’s started to pack. The couple times we have talked I haven’t had much to say. Talking about how your day is shitty because your fiance left you does not seem like a good way to talk to your ex-fiance. Plus, since I still can’t seem to land a job interview I don’t really have much going on. Telling her about playing Black Ops II seems like pouring water on a daisy while the rest of the field is burning.
So I usually just ask about her day and tell her my day was “fine.”
She wants to continue to talk when she moves out, “I still want to know you’re okay and how your life is going.”
I’ve told her I’m not doing the ‘let’s be friends’ thing. I’ve been down that road. It sucks and filled with land mines. I told her I’m willing to talk to her, but only on the condition that we’re working on us as a couple. I’m not going to be here to soften the blow until she finds another guy and then I get to feel this pain all over again.
The part that hurt was her telling me she felt like she couldn’t make me happy since I got laid off. She tried to be optimistic about me finding a new career, but it didn’t seem to make a difference. I quantify myself as a realistic-pessimist. Reality bites and most of the time it takes a big chunk of your ass with it. But only some of it.
So while I’ve been searching for a new job she’s tried to cheer me up, but it’s hard to cheer up someone who’s just been ousted from his dream job and told to find another place to sleep. So while outwardly I was not sunshine and roses, I loved that she was here and trying. I loved crawling into bed with her every night, wrapping my arms around her and falling asleep. Knowing she was there made losing my job bearable. I knew I had someone who was there for me. To find out that she didn’t think she was any help hurt and makes me chalk yet another thing up that I could have done differently.
The part that made me angry was her comment that, “this is a time for both of us to work on ourselves and figure out what we want.”
Fuck you. I knew what I wanted and it was you. That’s why I asked you to marry me. That’s why I wanted you to move in here and started throwing my stuff away to make room for your stuff.
I’ve done my self-discovery. I know who I am. I’ve been rock bottom and crawled out of the depths (now only to be booted back down like Ralphie’s brother down the slide in A Christmas Story).
As it appears, this time in two weeks the house will be emptier, sadder and colder (who can afford to run the heat without a job?).
I couldn’t sleep last night, eventually passing out during Inglorious Basterds around 2:30 a.m. I cried as much last night as I did that first night and I feel like my entire head hurts from everything that is rattling around in it.
Part of me knows this was eventual and it has to happen for me to move on, but that scrap of hopeful romantic that clings to the last scrap of my soul still wants to believe in happy endings and that this will all work out like a romantic-comedy.
Today this one feels more accurate, “Let me tell you something my friend. Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane.”
Last night she came downstairs and asked if I had time to talk. I’ve played this scenario in my head a few times, but I always imagined her telling me she’d made a mistake, realized she does want to be with me and beg for forgiveness.
Instead, and much the same way reality usually meets expectations, she started the conversation by telling me she signed a one-year lease and will be moving out next week — Thanksgiving weekend (I can’t help but find the irony that my ex-fiance is moving out during the holiday time when people are giving thanks for all they have).
I’ve never been shot in the balls, but I’d have to imagine that would feel better than I did last night.
She said a few things that left me confused, hurt and even slightly angry. She said that since I haven’t been talking to her she assumes I don’t want to work on things. When she started this breakup she said she needed space so I’ve been giving it to her. I sequester myself in my basement each night like a bizaro Quasimodo and leave her to do what she wants. I don’t ask when she’s going to be out of here nor do I ask if she’s started to pack. The couple times we have talked I haven’t had much to say. Talking about how your day is shitty because your fiance left you does not seem like a good way to talk to your ex-fiance. Plus, since I still can’t seem to land a job interview I don’t really have much going on. Telling her about playing Black Ops II seems like pouring water on a daisy while the rest of the field is burning.
So I usually just ask about her day and tell her my day was “fine.”
She wants to continue to talk when she moves out,...