The Past, Cats, and Stones

An Irishman recently said to me, “The past has a way of throwing stones at your back.” This is very true.

This past weekend The Ex reappeared. Again. This time he sent me a text saying, “Can we please work things out, I’m not the same guy anymore, I have nothing but love and respect for you, and I know I can show you that every day. These last three months have been hell for me, but I’ve survived and I’m better.” Ugh.

I decided not to respond to that text for several reasons:

1. The first sentence drives me nuts. I mean, he starts out with a question, but decided to punctuate with a comma instead of a question mark. Ugh. Ok…maybe I’m being a little nitpicky. But he spent eight years with me! I teach language arts! He should know better.
2. Last week he sent me three text messages in a drunken rage telling me to stay away from his friends (meaning Max). He then apologized for those text messages on Mother’s Day… as soon as he sobered up…two days later.
3. Any response from me will prompt another text from him, and I do not wish to engage in any conversation about “us” with him. Not only does that sound unpleasant, but it will also give him false hope. Just because I broke up with the guy on Valentine’s Day does not mean that I am a heartless bitch.

I called him the next day…but I really, really, really wished I didn’t have to call him the next day. In order for you to understand my reasons for calling him on Sunday, I need to give you some background information.

Sebastian

About a year ago, The Ex and I adopted a cat. This cat is named Sebastian. Sebastian is an awesome kitty, and I got to keep him after The Ex and I broke up (victory!). Here’s my current dilemma: Sebastian is accustomed to having company all day long, but said company has since moved back in to his parents’ house. Subsequently, Sebastian now spends most of the day alone. He protests this new arrangement by pissing and shitting under my kitchen table. Damn cat.

Even though it is nasty, I can deal with the piss and the shit when it is under the kitchen table. It is easy to clean up so my apartment doesn’t smell, and summer break is very soon so I will be able to spend more time with Sebastian; but I cannot deal with piss and shit when it is on my bed. On Saturday night I biked to a bar with some friends and because you can still get a DWI on a bicycle, I spent the night on a couch. When I finally got home on Sunday morning I flopped onto my bed and into a lovely, pungent piss stain. Damn cat.

Given my newfound single girl lifestyle, I took extra pains to make sure my bedding did not smell like cat urine post laundering. That’s when I realized that my newfound lifestyle is not ideal for Sebastian. I’ve suspected this for a while, but I didn’t want to admit to it. I love my cat! I don’t want to get rid of him!

The Phone Call

I knew I have to give Sebastian away, so I called The Ex. If the roles were switched, I would be hurt and angry if The Ex gave Sebastian away without asking me if I wanted him first, but I really didn’t want to call The Ex because I knew that he would also want to talk about “us.” The conversation sounded something like this:

The Ex: Hello.

Me: Hi. I’m not calling to talk about your text yesterday. I want to talk to you about Sebastian.

The Ex: Okay…

Me: Basically, I am barely home anymore, and Sebastian has been pissing and shitting under the kitchen table.

The Ex: …

Me: I’m also going to be gone a lot this summer, and I know he is upset because his routine has changed since you moved out, and I’m going to work extra-long hours next semester, so it isn’t fair for me to keep Sebastian when he is clearly unhappy.

The Ex: …

Me: So, I want him to go to a good home, and I know you love him too, so can you take him?

The Ex: I don’t know. I’ll have to ask.

Me: Okay, thank you. Just let me know as soon as you find out.

The Ex: Okay, but can you please give me another chance?

Me: No.

The Ex: I’ve been working really hard on changing, and I’m much better now.

Me: Clearly, considering you sent me some nasty text messages marking your friends as your friends last week, and this week you’re begging me to take you back. That doesn’t show growth. So no, I will not give you another chance.

The Ex: But–

Me: No. I’ve moved on, so should you. I am not having this conversation with you. Let me know if you can take Sebastian or I will find another home for him. Bye.

I then hung up and cried for twenty minutes, but I didn’t cry about The Ex. I cried because I don’t want to get rid of my Sebastian, and because I was experiencing the emotional side effects of PMS. I felt much better after a good cry and continued with my day.

The Ex-Mother-in-Law (AKA xMiL)

The next day I got a text from his mother, my ex-mother-in-law(ish). Let’s just refer to her as xMiL for simplicity’s sake. Her text looked like this:

“My heart has been broken for my son and I will never understand how u could stop loving him like turning off a switch. Also turning your back to us as well. He was always faithful and there to support u and how sad that you’ve become someone we would not recognize as being the DAISY WE KNEW.”

Umm…seriously? It’s been three months. I expected this text, or a phone call, two months ago. At first I was going to respond. I was going to tell her that my heart was broken every night he drank himself into a rampage, every time he failed to follow through with his promises for a future, and on the day I discovered he had been lying to me about taking college classes for a month. His excuse for dropping the classes? He needed the money to buy me an engagement ring. He failed to see the flaw in his logic. I wanted to tell her that I didn’t stop loving him like turning off a switch, but that it was a very slow and painful process.

I also wanted to tell her that while I am no longer sixteen, I am still the stubborn, independent, driven Daisy they knew. I just outgrew their son.

In the end, I decided not to respond to the xMiL. There is nothing I can say to that woman to make her happy with me. And let’s be honest, does her opinion of me really matter? I haven’t spoken to them in three months, and there is no reason for me to speak to them in the future. I believe that right now she needs me to be the bad guy so that she can feel better about the situation. I can do that. I can be the bad guy. I suppose this is my final act of love for her and her family, although I know she will never see it that way.

Sometimes the past has a way of throwing stones at your back, but why do they have to hurt so much?

Return of The Ex

I love being outdoors. Whether I am walking, riding my bike, or just basking in the sun, there is something comforting about being surrounded by blue skies and a perpetual breeze. I haven’t spent as much time outdoors as I would have liked the past couple of weeks, so I desperately needed to ride my bike this morning.

At 7:30 I rode my bike to the Starbucks about a mile and a half away from my house, which may not sound like a big deal but since I’ve only owned Hercules (my bike) for a week, and the mile to Starbucks is mostly uphill, I was sucking eggs by the time I pulled into the parking lot. It felt great. It also felt great to not be hung over. The best part about my Starbucks ride? The trip home is all downhill. I LOVE gravity!

But the purpose of this post is not to tell you about my early morning bike ride. Instead, I want to give an update on The Ex. Mostly, I want to vent.

Since I bought my bike, I’ve been trying to find other people to ride with. Remembering how much fun I had on bike rides with my dad when I was a little girl, I thought it would be fun to invite Max and his two daughters to explore a trail by the river this weekend. We decided that a Mother’s Day bike ride would be fun, especially since CDog is going to a concert that evening instead of spending the day with her girls.

The Story

I called Max after work yesterday to plan our outing, but he didn’t answer. We played phone tag for a while, and when I tried calling him before going to bed last night he still didn’t answer. I should have known that it wasn’t a good time. Max is in The Ex’s band, and they have band practice on Friday nights. Well, the Ex saw my incoming call on Max’s phone. Oops.

I fell asleep without realizing what had happened, so when my phone rang again I was expecting it to be Max, but it was The Ex. Damn. I ignored the call and went back to sleep. I woke up this morning to these text messages from The Ex (verbatim):

“Don’t call max”

“If you’re done with me you have no business talking to MY FRIENDS!!! I don’t care if you want to see the girls, I think I’ve been really cool about this bull shit breakup but don’t talk to my best friend.”

“I don’t talk to your friends, so please give me the same respect and not talk to max”

I didn’t respond to those either, but I did text Max this morning. I felt I should apologize for getting him into trouble with his new girlfriend last night. Ha!

Good Ol’ Max

As you already know, I was with The Ex for eight years. When you spend eight years of your life with someone, you end up with quite a few mutual friends post-breakup. Max is one of those mutual friends. In fact, Max is The Ex’s best friend and he is also one of my best friends. Before I jump into the Max story, however, you need to understand the gravity of the situation, so sit back for a little background information.

 Here are some basic facts about Max:

• Max was married when we met him.
• His ex-wife, CDog, and I used to be good friends, until she lost her mind and became psychotic.
• Max and CDog have two beautiful little girls together, and I love these little girls more than anything.
• Max is the singer in The Ex’s band.
• Max was a combat medic for the Coast Guard, and has served tours in both Iraq and Afghanistan.
• Max was the only survivor in a helicopter crash while fighting overseas, and he is now considered a “disabled war veteran” but you wouldn’t know it by looking at him.
• Max is amazing.

Max: My Breakup Hero

The night I broke up with The Ex, I packed a bag and went to spend the night at a friend’s apartment in the same complex. Keep in mind that Valentine’s Day was on a Tuesday this year, so I had to teach the next day. In my emotional frenzy, I forgot to pack half of my over-night necessities, and the last thing I wanted to do was go back to my apartment to get the rest of my toiletries while The Ex blubbered over my shoulder.

As I pondered this dilemma, Max called to check on me. I think his intention was to talk me out of breaking up with The Ex, but after I half sobbed half yelled my extensive list of reasons for the breakup into his ear, Max said, “I can’t disagree with anything you just said.” I was shocked. He then asked if there was anything he could do to help me through the transition, and I explained that I needed The Ex to leave our apartment for the night so I could sleep in my bed and function at work the next day. Five minutes later The Ex knocked on the door to tell me that he was going to his parents’ house for the night. I went home, toiletry problem solved.

Wine + Whiskey + Max = Oops…

About a month after breaking up with The Ex, Max came over with wine and whiskey. This wasn’t anything out of the ordinary; he usually came over with wine and whiskey pre-breakup too. We had a great time catching up with each other. He told me about his conquests, and I told him about the sexy teacher at school I had been flirting with for the past couple of months (I’ll tell you more about him later). We took shots of whiskey between glasses of wine, and even thought it was a Sunday night I decided to be reckless and drink far too much. I justified this behavior by reminding myself that the next day was library day, so I wouldn’t have to teach, just monitor.

The unfortunate thing about whiskey and wine is that there is a tipping point when all inhibitions come crashing down around you; but perhaps this happens with other alcoholic beverages too. Everybody has their spirit to stay away from. For most it is tequila, for many it is whiskey, for some it is rum. I suppose it is easier to blame the alcohol for your bad decisions than to blame yourself. It is much easier to say, “Well the whiskey made me do it” than to say, “I drank too much and made a bad decision.” I prefer to say that the whiskey made me do it.

Max and I reached the tipping point of intoxication around midnight. We were sitting on my couch which is really a love seat, and Max started to tell me how amazing I am, how much he’s loved me since he first met me, how he never thought that The Ex and I would break up. I’ll admit that I had always had a mini-crush on Max too, but I never thought I would have the opportunity or the carelessness to act on it.

He moved in to kiss me and in my foggy state of mind I was open to the idea, but he stopped just before making contact and asked if we were really going to do this.

We did. Twice.

The whiskey made me do it.

The Breakup

I’m the girl who was with her high school boyfriend for eight years because she was too lazy to break up with him for the last three. I’m also the girl who broke up with the guy on Valentine’s Day. What a bitch, right?

Long story short, I am a teacher and he has been delivering pizzas for the past eight years. I am very happy with my life, and he drowns himself in beer, my wine, and whatever hard liquor he can find in the house, pretty much every night. He is lost, and I couldn’t afford to follow him around aimlessly for another eight years. I was no longer able to pretend to be someone I wasn’t.

And for the record, I’m not actually a bitch. Unless you ask The Ex or my students; then I’m Super Bitch. *Insert super hero music here*

The Gory Details

The catalyst for the breakup came the weekend before Valentine’s Day. I had plans to go out with the girls on Saturday night while The Ex was working. I had a bottle of rum left over from New Year’s Eve hidden in the closet (I had to hide my alcohol from him or else it would disappear while I slept), but I guess I hadn’t hidden it well enough because it had already been mostly consumed when I found the bottle. You couldn’t cover the bottom of a shot glass with what he had oh-so-considerately saved for me. The Ex, of course, didn’t see a problem with this minor detail.

After an explosive sprint of a fight I decided to ignore him for the rest of the night. In eight years, I had never ignored his calls or texts for longer than a couple of hours. I ended up closing the bar, and he slept on the couch. I think my night was much more enjoyable than his.

The next morning I went to a friend’s apartment before he woke up. I continued to ignore his calls, until I got hungry and decided to let him treat me to breakfast. Over breakfast I forgave him and we went on with our lives.

Enter St. Valentine…

By the time Valentine’s Day rolled around we had come to a silent agreement to forget about the fight. We had dinner at Chili’s (and it was delicious. I freakin’ love Chili’s). We had a perfectly enjoyable dinner and we were waiting for our dessert when it started: the beginning of the end.

The Ex brought up the events of Saturday night during our Valentine’s Day dinner. Who does that?

I won’t bore you with extensive dialogue, but after describing the complete fucked-up-ness of my behavior on Saturday night he told me to “take a good long hard look in the mirror” because I’m “not perfect either.” I agreed with him, I did need to reevaluate my life decisions. In the eight years we’ve been together, I’ve graduated from high school and college, found the job of my dreams, kick ass at it every day (I’m not a modest person. It is one of my faults.), I’ve been offered a second (awesome) job because of an education blog I write (not telling which one), and I was extremely happy with almost every aspect of my life. What the hell was I doing with this guy?

He stormed out of Chili’s after I paid for dinner with a gift card from work, and I broke up with him when we got home. The following day I packed up all of his crap because I’m nice like that, and he picked it up the next day. I am kind of surprised at how easy it was to end an eight year relationship.

I am also surprised at how much I love being single. First of all, living alone is amazing. If I clean the kitchen, it will still be clean when I get home!! What a concept! I can play my music as loud as I want to, leave my shoes in the living room when I’m too lazy to put them away, and I can hook up with inappropriate men at any time of day…but more about them later.

The clouds have parted, as have my legs, and I am having too much fun to not document it. When I’m an old lady I will know that I have lived. As for The Ex…he can drink shit. 🙂