Tuesday, July 08, 2014

Just One Of Those Things

Have you ever felt like this?

A bit wobbly today. In fact, majorly jittery and wobbly. I couldn't even concentrate properly in yoga -- the one sure way to get me on my feet again. Getting over a love affair gone awry takes time. This is what I'm told. I'm in the driveway sobbing, great rivers pouring down my face, and my ex-husband is on the phone walking me through it, step by step, gently and kindly. "I've just been through this," he said. "It's natural to think that this was a cynical move by the guy, but people really do their best. It's not you." I sob a bit more. Sniff. Look in the mirror at my hideously red, grimacing, wet, goblin-like face, look down and realizing I'm wearing my engagement ring -- a beautiful diamond and sapphire ring that I put on yesterday for a meeting because it matched my dress. It's on my right hand, not my left, but I like the way it looks. It makes me feel weirdly safe. My ex-husband is kind. "We're in this together, you know" he says, and the humanity makes me sob even more, like a truculent, hyper-ventilating two-year old. The sweetness is too hard to bear. I am so very, very grateful for this kind, kind man and not being in a husband/wife relationship with him means that we will always be there for each other, until we are both old and incapacitated and sitting in chairs in the garden, wrapped in blankets, him and me, old, old friends, against the world. It makes me hiccup with emotion. The hiccuping makes me cough and splutter. I am amused at my own miserableness.

But it's hard not to make the other person (the ex boyfriend, the LDR, the charming, adorable, messed up man (I feel a Sarah MacLachlan song coming on)) the villain. It seems to be the only way to get over this stuff. Oh Lord, I am so very naive and unused to this. Dear Lord, for an injection of sophistication and elegance and cold-hearted meanness. I have NO idea what to do in this territory. I fluctuate from being fine and jolly and happy and myself, to wanting to roll up in a ball with Thistle, in bed.  Applying myself to my work, or writing, or walking seem to be the only ways to assuage it.  But I just don't understand (she wailed, plaintively). I just don't understand.

The great thing about crying is that your face becomes so indescribably screwed up and hideous and contorted and beetroot like and awful that if you catch a glance of yourself in the mirror that way you can't help but laugh. No-one looks good crying, except perhaps the actresses who have been botoxed within an inch of their smiles. No-one does. And we cry like children, even as adults. First you feel sorry for yourself. Then your bottom lip starts to wobble, then you sniff a bit as if you're going to somehow, miraculously stem the flow, and then you just give up, and the wails start, loudly, inelegantly, sometimes bubbly, all kind of bodily fluids appear, even ones you didn't know you had. And you become stiff with it, stiff with misery, like a character from Dickens. A caricature. The weeping ladies in Chaucer's Knight's Tale, whose crying wouldn't stop till the horses stopped.

This duk, of whom I make mencioun,

When he was come almost unto the toun,

In al his wele and in his moste pryde,

He was war, as he caste his eye asyde,

Wher that ther kneled in the hye weye

A companye of ladies, tweye and tweye,

Ech after other, clad in clothes blake;

But swich a cry and swich a wo they make,

That in this world nis creature livinge,

That herde swich another weymentinge;

And of this cry they nolde never stenten,

Til they the reynes of his brydel henten.

You have to laugh, right?

And then there's this:

And of course, this:

Enjoy it. Seriously. It's cathartic. And it makes you hungry. For chocolate.


Anonymous said...

couldn't see your pics sweety!

Anonymous said...

It does take time and you are lucky to have people who care and the resourcefulness of present mind to understand your suffering. Simply, these are not evil people, yet there are those who do not recognize a responsibility for another's feelings. It is more than they can handle. It is not abnormal to expect to be treated as you would treat another, with the kIndness. Respect and forethought, yet for some this is just not in their wheelhouse. Forgive them. X

ToboAnn said...

Oh, so often felt like this. Thought there was no end of it. Enough so that every day I feel blessed to be beyond it and happy to be where I am. Don't give up! (And I am really happy to have discovered your writing and blog.) I hope your day is lighter today and that there are joyful surprises awaiting you.

SuperWoman! said...

Dear Miss Whistle, (yes that's how I have bookmarked your blog, I just want to tell you, "God has a plan for each one of us which is far more better than the plan we made for ourselves.."

Anonymous said...

I love checking in on your blog every so often, and I thoroughly enjoy the mixture of poetry, references to great meals and observance of nature. I sympathize with what you are walking through these days : )
I am currently dating someone who has a friendship with his ex, much like you do with yours - which is a nugget of gold and that I wish I had with my exes, except that when I left them, I completely left them - they are my past. I know that one day he will be sitting in a garden with her, incapacitated, while wrapped in blankets and having pudding. It is this knowledge that causes me to shy away from fully committing to him, for if it will be him and her together in old age, then where does that leave me? Selfish thinking on my part, I know; but, I am looking for someone who is looking nowhere else but in my direction. I ask, rhetorically and understanding that of course I do not know your complete story and there are many dynamics and needs of which I am unaware: (Forgive my poor grammar) Towards what direction are you looking?