In case this blog is being read...

Today was the first time in 8 years that I actively and purposefully thought about my ex husband. Not *remembered*, not stuck to some inner turmoil of angst and self doubt or trying to analyse chapters with my mates, when we ran out of merrier subjects..  I got up, made myself my coffee (as assumed, General is still angry with me, so no sex this morning), woke up G, it was his Sunday turn to vacuum the floors, checked my mail and my timetable, fed the pets and, as the coffee got down to the temperature I favour, started thinking long and hard and leaving feelings out of it.

The stranger across from me yesterday noon.

No dew pearls and siren song veil over him this time. A man, after the bitter acid rain scraped off the lacquer. Me, trying to remember why my heart broke so badly, how could I not have seen it coming, how could I not have gotten prepared. I should have. He grieved me plenty. Youth be damned, I thought that putting my all in was going to reward me over time. He is so simple to understand now. Still freaks out completely when conversation turns to his mother. She is still a tender thing to be defended to the death. The father, well, he's found another excuse to look down on his father. His friends are still the best, most loyal friends anyone has ever had. I better believe it. Himself... So starved for attention - even in a dialogue - that he would follow me for hours, just to be told things he didn't want to hear. To this day blaming people being hurt was their own fault – for mistakenly thinking he was decent.. Or will grow into being decent. Some were willing to wait. Unable to see most people are flawed – if they don’t start out like that, they get broken over miles. Nothing wrong with being flawed. It’s why there’s coupling. Cracks get filled up. But not when you refuse to believe you belong to someone. Belonging is the best part.

He seems to squander away every opportunity at being anything, growing old much too fast, because he accumulates only the reasons to be unhappy with situations. And all relationships he's ever had, and ruined... It's because he hates being liked by lovers, because he cannot like himself and thinks their affection is means to an end (or a sign of a weaker mind.). To what end? Must be a shitty day indeed when you realise that in no scenario will one ever be a good husband, a good father, a good man. Good at loving, not as if it's a statement, proof or a desperate patch on an otherwise fragmented existence. He cannot comprehend that someone might want to feed him, clothe him, comb his hair, just because it feels right. Not as foreplay. Not as making up after a disagreement. Not because they're unstable. We argued about this yesterday. He held it against me. Buying him food and clothes and stuff, when we were married – when I would find him passed out on the floor, working himself to near brain damage, just to make an impression on someone. In his mind, for taking care of him, I was retarded. Because he didn't reciprocate, it was my fault. He wasn’t just ashamed of me because I was ugly, he was ashamed of me because he thought when people heard someone loves him enough to marry him, this person will be publicly considered a mental patient. 

I don't know what he thinks spouses are supposed to do? There’s the big stuff, certainly, but there is so much of the silly little stuff. Come on. The things General and I buy each other. Things we do just because we’re in love. Nobody’s business. Private story stuff. Interesting stuff, meant for NO audience. Though, he would have made a good model, which now he believes me, fifteen years too late. He might have even made a good architect, if he didn't waste all his energy on trying to be a mediocre conversation piece. He would rather spend his whole life serving up to opinions of strangers and half-friends/groupies than for twenty minutes relax over coffee with someone who invited him to be truthful. I never liked the legend. I thought it was an emotionally challenged drama queen faggot. I liked the guy. I just only ever met him 8 years too late. Someone who knew him too well to allow him to blink pretty and talk cutie his way through an ugly confrontation. How tired we got, how fast. It was exhausting.

Poor little stick insect. Too empty to be warm. Too scared to die. And this a guy who told everyone a) he will kill himself at 30, because that's the last chance for a man to be great and b) claimed none of the greats had families.. Do you see your peers now (oh, and I know how you look down on all of them), your contemporary inspirations, happily married, with pubescent offspring that make them feel so good they want to shape the world into a better or at least better looking place for them to inherit? Isn’t that what the greats are supposed to do? Remember when I told you to trust me, that when you're forty you will loathe yourself for not having a wife and kids somewhere, to come home to after every fail? Someone who would believe in you long after you refused to believe in you? You argued we would only ever just be burden, a dead weight on your glory.

Is the suspicion I might have been right starting to creep in yet?

...

General is starting to see my point. There may be sexy times for me today after all! :D And I can't get over the fact that little shit dDaniel calls ME the unforgiven. Fuck you, ungrateful little grudge keeper!