Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Things to Remember and Things to Forget

In the past week I've had a couple days where the memory of Andy has come upon me, accompanied by this thought, "Wow, I haven't thought of Andy in a couple of days..."

I don't know if it's the progesterone or if it's Time finally doing it's fucking job of "healing everything," but it's interesting, and not a bad bit of progress to be sure.

Of course, when I do think of him, it's like a snowball gathering speed and mass, and it's like all I can do is think of him. Even these occasions, however, are becoming less distressing--which means I make it through them without breaking down sobbing. That I do attribute to the progesterone, but who cares?

I had a moment walking through Target the other night. I love Target, and yet it's so hard to walk through there sometimes looking at all the nice stuff I would love to have and can't afford... and don't have have anywhere to put. But my problem with Target was more of an Andy-Christmas deal as I passed by the Men's area.

Last year for Christmas I'd bought a bunch of stuff for the loser--who insisted we exchange gifts and see each other on Christmas Eve, as I believe I've mentioned. I bought him boxers, and a pair of "special" boxers with Stewie from "Family Guy" on them and some Christmas joke or other... I also bought him a pair of pajama bottoms that I couldn't wait to see him in--not that I ever did. At any rate, I walked by this year and there were all the Christmas character pajamas and boxers, the same Stewie pair among them, and my blood boiled.

The "why" is more convoluted than just "because I bought them for him." It's because around June when I discovered he'd been dicking me around and was actually about to move in with someone new, I told him I wanted all my Christmas presents back. He'd never deserved them, just him sitting there in my bedroom opening them that night was a LIE and I WANTED THEM BACK. I harrassed him for weeks about it. Texting and e-mailing, leaving him voice-mail at work, reminding him of my address. Why would he want them, anyway? He really wanted to remember me after all of this? He couldn't afford to go out and buy himself seasons one and two of "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" if I took away the set I'd given him? What the hell?

He finally responded to one text and said they were on the way and to leave him alone. After a week-and-a-half had passed with no package arriving at my doorstep, I texted him again demanding to know where they were. He responded that maybe the postman was dancing around in his boxers, how should he know?

Right. Because mail SO OFTEN gets lost in 2008. Especially big ol' packages traveling a mere seven miles.

Obviously he never sent them. What did he do with them? Who the hell knows. Probably threw them away, I guess. But why not say that? What the hell is wrong with men that they can't ever 'fess up or be honest about the tiniest thing????? Why not just FUCKING SAY "I threw them away months ago, sorry. Now leave me alone." Why say something like, "They're on the way," when CLEARLY the jig is going to be up when they NEVER ARRIVE? What the hell is wrong with him?

So it's the fact that I ever spent the money on them, and the fact that he lied about sending them back, and the fact that maybe, just maybe, his new fucking girlfriend is going to be seeing him in these items that I BOUGHT and never got to see him in myself.

Other stupid things that never fail to remind me are the Edible Arrangements poster displayed in the hallway I must walk down to get to my office. EA is right across the street from my building, so naturally they have to have a big ol' ad right there in my face as a constant reminder of this idiot.

I can't see a Mini Cooper without cursing. When I see one that doesn't exactly resemble his, I typically hiss, "Gay ass car!" or "Fucking loser!" Whenever I see a blue one like the one he drove, the epithets tend to be far more extreme and explicit. I have to say honestly that I really feel that if I ever saw him crossing the street while I was in my car, I would run him over. I fear this lose screw in my head that is just waiting to be activated. I really think it would happen. I really think I would run him down with my car. I know if I was on foot and I saw him ANYWHERE I would absolutely punch him in the face. That would really make my day, honestly.

I have a friend whose ex was friends with another mutual friend of ours... didja follow that? Anyway, there was an annual Christmas party that we all got invited to, and even though it was years later, and she'd been with a couple other people since then, it was sort of a big to-do that they were both going to be there, and the host would often try to stagger the time-line a bit so they'd miss each other. If they were both there at the same time, they'd never be in the same room together, and it was a bit awkward at times for others in the group. I remember thinking, "Holy crap, it's ancient history! You've both moved on--who cares at this point?"

I get it now. Seriously. I don't think she ever knew that I felt that way, but I feel like I should apologize to her even for thinking it, because I get it now. I can't IMAGINE a time when I would want to be in the same place as him. I don't care if I marry George Clooney next week, it will not absolve Andy of all the pain he caused me, it will not make me forget or feel better, it will not make me wish him well, and it will not make me want to let bygones be bygones and be friends, or even civil acquaintances. I will still want to punch him in the face. I will still want to actually do FAR WORSE than that, but I don't think I'd do very well in jail.

Anyway... that's the stuff worth forgetting.

The past couple days as it gets closer and closer to Christmas, I have been thinking I do want to put up my decorations, because if I don't, then I can't do it for another year, and I feel like I don't want to just gloss over this chance to reconnect with the stuff I like about the holidays. I intentionally sent loser boy the ornament I'd bought him last year... I don't know, like in February? It took me that long to take my decorations down because I wasn't staying at home at the time. I didn't want that moment this year where I found this ornament that was for HIM and it made me sad. Screw that.

So I shouldn't have any negative associations with the task itself. There are some logistical concerns: mainly the fact that my sister and I share a storage unit and she currently has the keys because she'd lost her copy. No idea when she'll be around next, so that makes the planning a little tricky, especially since they don't have any late hours. I also have a bunch of stuff in my car for work, which I am kind of stuck with until Friday night--unless I want to make an extra trip, which seems really stupid. So that leaves me dealing with all of this on Saturday. And it's supposed to be all snowy and stuff, I think, to boot. Well, we'll just see how it all pans out.

But enough of that. To balance out all my angsty, heart-broken posts, I thought I'd do a little storytelling. My family and I have a certain group of stories we always seem to reminisce about this time of year, and I thought I could share them as a way of lightening things up. I thought for a moment that I'd do some sort of "Twelve Days of Christmas Stories" or something, but we're already too short on time, and I really can't be trusted to blog every day anyway. So here's one for now, and hopefully I'll get a few more in before it's all over.

Every year my family has a big open house on Christmas Eve. Generally, the day before is spent prepping and baking cookies and all of that. This one particular night before Christmas Eve--probably about six years ago--we were all baking cookies and stuff, and my cousin, who was about fourteen at the time, and lived next door, was over to help out and share in the fun. We had quite the assembly line going, and were probably using every cookie sheet in the house (like eight of them) in a constant rotation. At one point my cousin Ashley grabbed a cookie sheet to make one of many trays of chocolate chip cookies. It wasn't until a little later that we realized she'd grabbed the tray that one of my sisters had used to make pizza on during the night when we were in need of a snack. It was just Ellio's frozen pizza and wouldn't have been a big deal if my sister hadn't sprinkled garlic powder, pretty haphazardly, all over the pizza, much of it landing on the pan. Ashley hadn't noticed, but now we had a problem because all of the chocolate chip cookies were together in a big tin, and there was no way of knowing which ones might be tainted. None of us really wanted to throw away six-dozen cookies for the one batch that may or may not have come out garlicky, so we just kept quiet about it. On Christmas Eve it was like a game to watch our guests eat the cookies and see who might have gotten a garlic one. I got one--it wasn't pretty, but it was just as well since we'd been perfectly happy to serve them that way. I certainly had it coming as much as any of us.

We still tease Ashley about it, and are much more careful with the cookie sheets!

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