Dad left for Minnesota today. It was more stressful than sad because my brother called this morning to say my sister-in-law went into labor six weeks early.
Now that I am alone again, I feel the way I did the first time Mom left (Post 14) . Actually it's worse this time because I finally have to think about Reindeer. Which has me realizing that in so many ways Dad’s visit was a great distraction that allowed me to neglect myself and the residual Reindeer pain.
Sigh. Since I can no longer ignore myself I flop onto the bed and wait for the ache to commence. But instead of feeling pain, I feel flat. My emotions are empty and linear, stretching far and wide like the Midwestern plains. It’s almost like the edges of my heart were pressed into the asphalt, lacking corners or depth; leaving nothing to scrape back into a shape. I would actually prefer pain to flatness. And not blue pain, like depression or pms bloat, the kind that can be solved tequila shooters or Pamprin. I want to feel red pain, the mean reds that know how to swim, not drown.
This has me thinking that if I had been selfish, maybe this wouldn’t have happened to me. What if I had dumped him? What if I had ahd the relationship power and had called the shots. I should have been greedy. I regret cooking all those meals for him. I should have used him and wrapped myself in the relationship. I wish I had demanded the comfort I needed. I regret not asking for more.
And really, I am tired of being strong and a survivor. I am sick of being loving and caring and dependable and reliable. The thought of going back out there and doing this desi dating thing makes me want to buy a phone with a cord so I can wrap it around my neck! Because I just can’t do it again. I know I sound like a pouting baby, but I don’t wanna do it again.
Hope. That is how I got into this mess. I had hope. What a disastrous concept. It made me believe when there was nothing worth believing.
Upbeat desi woman outsources herself from Minnesota to Manhattan in search of love, and finds something more...
2 comments:
I have to say that I don't understand the romantic-ness of cooking a meal for someone. In fact I find it very nuturing and maternal (or paternal if the guy does the cooking), which, early in the dating game would seem to be kind of a turn-off. I had a guy cook a fab meal for me once and it made me a little uncomfortable, esp. since I hate lamb and had to choke it down anyway. I also had a guy tell me, after our first date, that he was going to come over and make lunch. He brought a shopping bag with a 6 pack of Bud and frozen Tombstone pizza. I thought it was hilarious. We've been married 15 years. My opinion is to save your cooking skills for the worthy guy who commits.
Dear Peg ... I dont who invented it! Probably a hungry man! LOL! I am so with you. I am all done cooking for others. Of course I now have the world's smallest kitchen and I dont cook for myself! And I am couchless so when I had friends over for a carpet picnic. They say on the floor and ate pizza and drank wine. And loved it. So I am with you, the next man who even makes the cut for dinner, gets carpet picnic --- pizza and wine. :)
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