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.

1 comment:

  1. I was at a concert in Winnipeg once and my car was broken into. They ripped apart my dash to steal my CD player, stole my purse with my Social Security card, credit cards, cash, passport etc. When I got home and told my mother what had happened, she yelled at me saying something like "Why do you need to go to Winnipeg for concerts, you live in Fargo, there are concerts there. What's wrong with you!"
    As I sat there calling credit card companies and feeling sorry for myself, I watch Brokedown Palace on HBO, which was a channel I hadn't subscribed to, but could watch in black and white with closed captioning. It gave me an incredible sense of relief. Yes, I would have to put my car back together, get a new passport, get a new Social Security card and deal with my mother, but at least I wasn't in a Thai Prison.
    There's always someone sadder than you.

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