06 December 2010

The Hits Kept Coming

I went into September with high hopes. It was going to be better than August. It was going to bring friends and excitement and the possibility for reconciliation.

I wish I could explain my hope to you. It sprang eternal. No matter how sad I got, or how much I cried over the death of our relationship. I still had hope. Some days I just hoped it would get easier. Some days I hoped for someone to understand what I felt. Some days I hoped Jesse would get his head straight and agree to give us another chance. All that hoping kept me functioning. Don't get me wrong, I was a weeping mess most days. I would send an e mail to Kate explaining what caused me to start crying at my desk. I looked for distractions, but I couldn't listen to any music. No genre was safe. Either the lyrics were too profound or there were specific memories tied to the songs. And I have a great memory.

September was going to be good, except (immediately) it wasn't. Jesse's Grandpa Ducky died. I was sad, but that didn't seem allowed. I did really like Ducky. He always accepted me and that matters. Still, I had lost my right to care. It was as if being dumped made me an instant stranger. Jesse left right away and I was not invited to the funeral. I mourned Ducky alone. His funeral was Labor Day weekend, when Jesse & I were supposed to go camping. I was going to go alone, but it was his tent and his grill and he appeared worried at the idea of me camping alone. He didn't need the stress and I didn't want to need anything of his. So I spent the long weekend alone.

Kate & Melissa offered to visit, but I said no. I wanted to be alone, free to sob when I wanted and wallow when I didn't. I began organizing my photos. It's a task on my 2011 to-do list, but starting it kept my mind busy. I don't know how people managed before photos were digital and tag-able, or why I took so many over the years, but the time had come to reap what I had sewn.

Pictures.

More Pictures.

I started with some pictures my dad sent earlier this year. They were left in his private collection from my early years. I had planned to scan and upload them, but the time never presented itself. I lost myself in my young years, my Jose years, my really fat years and my college years -- in no particular order. I also watched a lot of Hoarders. Something about watching people with serious emotional or physical problems made me feel better. It kept me grounded. I was one girl dumped. There have been millions before me and there will be millions after me. At least I didn't have dead cats in my box spring. Always a silver lining.