Shifting sands

I've been saying goodbye to my imaginary boyfriend (there's no other word for it - we had an actual relationship, which he participated in, briefly a long time ago but it was all one-sided for many months after that.) When I look back on how many times I signed onto Instant Messenger in case he was looking for me, how many months between tepid emails from him, it's pretty awful. So I threw away the pictures. I deleted the emails and IMs. I'm going to throw away the diary of my obsession (But keep the first one, of the trip when I met him, and the immediate aftermath). I'm keeping the paintings but tossing the scans and copies of them. I am deleting him, slowly, from my heart and mind. So why do I keep dreaming about him all of a sudden? In this entire nearly TWO YEARS - GACK - I never dreamed about him (only daydreamed, constantly) and now, three times this week. My subconscious saying, "not so fast, sister!" perhaps? They're mostly anxiety dreams - showing up in Paris and not sure if I should call him or not, looking for him but not finding... nonetheless I consider this to be a real shift. I've stopped signing onto AIM. Even deleted the email that has his IP number so I can't check whether he's visited my blog. It's small steps, Ellie, but steps nonetheles.

But overall things are better emotionally. Still largely sexless. I'm incredibly tired and don't feel particularly well physically. My back hurts. My elbow really hurts. My knees complained in a very annoyed tone when I went jogging today. I have a weird rash and some strange pain under my ear. But my kids are sweet, my house isn't too bad, and work is OK - can't really complain about any of that. (My isster in law sent a letter about a trip she'd just come back from - every sentence was basically complaining about it. " It was really nice except for the hard beds and the lizards and the weather..." - much more energy went into describing the bad stuff than the good. When she gets her baby - oh dear!

A day off, a vacation, a letter to a lost friend

My husband is taking the kids to the city tomorrow - I will have 24 hours to myself. Mostly I'll be working, but it will be lovely to come home at whatever hour, drink a glass of wine and eat dinner, listen to the radio, watch TV, sleep and wake, with nobody to talk to me, touch me, ask me for anything. I'll have to go to sleep early to pop out of bed early to be out the door early to meet them at the airport - Wednesday before Thanksgiving at LaGuardia - lovely. A weekend in Ohio - lovely. A weekend at a nice hotel, no dishes to do, with a pool, truly lovely, no sarcasm intended.

Meanwhile this is what I want to write to HIM: Dear M: I need to know. Are you not getting my emails, or just choosing not to answer them? I have sent four in the last two months - none of which you've answered. If you've decided not to be in communication with me anymore, just say that much, and I will leave you alone. Of course I'd want to know why, but an explanation is not required - I can imagine enough reasons. But if you still consider me a friend, someone you care about, then I need for you to answer my emails, if only with a single sentence - "Hi J--, I'm really busy these days but it's nice to hear from you" would be a lot better than total silence. If you can't do this, for whatever reason, then I will stop corresponding with you - it's too painful to send a letter out into the air and not get anything back. It takes a little bite out of my soul every time.

If on the other hand you are just not receiving them - if you didn't get my birthday greeting, and my "wave across the ocean" and my good wishes for your concert - then perhaps I must find a new way of communicating. I hear passenger pigeons might be making a comeback.

Yours, J ---

I suppose this looks absurd -- anyone reading it would say, this is so clear, just stop writing, forget about him. But they have no idea what I had, what I lost, what it meant to me. It's hard to stop - they don't make rehab hospitals for what I'm addicted to.

What I wrote today

I hate you

What else can I say? I sent you a birthday greeting on Friday. You read it on Saturday. Now it's Sunday - afternoon, evening there - I know you are celebrating your birthday, probably with HER, probably sleeping with her, but how hard is it to take a moment to say " thank you." How hard? A month ago, and a month before that, when I wrote you thoughtful notes, why couldn't you respond? What are you telling me? Shut up? I don't care? I don't have time for you? Whatever it is, by telling me this way instead of directly, it makes me hate your lazy, passive/agressive, selfish ass. Because it's your birthday I've been thinking more about you lately - and because this time last year, Thanksgiving, was in so many ways the beginning of the end. It was when I obsessively looked for you online and via email the entire time I was gone. It was when you went away with her and left me alone. It was when I realized that, even with a trip to see you planned, the fun was over. Maybe once these milestones pass, I can move on a little. I hope so. Are you trying to make that easier for me? If so, thank you, but I still hate you.

Yes, I wrote that, but I feel like I need to say more. Or say it again, over and over and over. I loved you with an intensity, a crazy unrestrained passion, divorced from all reality. I was completely obsessed, I stalked you, I thought about you every minute. When I had sex with my husband, I thought aobut you. While I was driving my kids to school, I thought about you. When I was staring at my computer at work, I thought about you. I waited for you to email or IM me - I lived for those moments, was high for days afterwards. That was a year ago. What is left, now? What do I feel, now? I'm better, healing, focusing on other things. But on days like this, god I still miss you so much and I'm so angry/sad/resentful/regretful that you do not think of me.

sex would be nice

So I keep dreaming about having sex with my husband - that's good, right? Last night it was about as graphic as it gets -I was woken by the alarm clock in the middle of a porn movie. But I haven't wanted to when we're awake, not that he's been available at all - working late every night (at home -he's not out having an affair, or if he is he's VERY clever about it).

The man I'm in love with, the one who lives very far away and hasn't written me for months - oh, that's a healthy situation - doesn't crop up in the dreams quite as often these days. Maybe I'm gettinig over him. Maybe I'm not. Today I'm so tired, never washed my face this morning let along put on makeup, wearing a schlumpy sweater that makes me feel as if I still weigh 222 pounds - and let's be very clear, I DON'T - oh, it's not a good day today. I should just leave now - why sit at this desk for another hour when I am bound to get nothing done?

Pathetic

So at school this afternoon for our fall fundraiser - I'd baked pies all morning - what a mom I am. But mostly, I got dressed carefully, choosing what I think makes me look GOOD, makeup not too much but enough, for whom? My husband? He doesn't even look at me. No, for Mr. ...better not use his real initial so let's say R. For the dad of the best friend. And not only did I dress up, ("up" being flattering jeans and a snug v-neck sweater in a great color) but I soughtt hem both out - I went to the classroom where I know Mr. R would be, and chatted him up, went with the dad of the best friend (hereonafter called "tdotbf" to wash out some buckets. Did nothing inappropriate, just wanted to vibrate near them for a while, feel a charge of something (whether it was coming from them, reciprocated in any way, or not. Hopefully I don't act obviously like some bitch in heat.)

The one place, the one time

Everywhere in my life, I'm wearing a mask. The truths are so hidden even I don't know what they are. I'm 42 years old, halfway through my life. This will be where I tell the truth - that although I'm married I'm in love with another man. That the other man doesn't love me and never will, and I'll probably never see him again, yet I can't stop loving him. That although I love my children I long to run away. That although I work for a charitable, nonprofit organization and have always acted ethically, I am essentially selfish and shallow: I wish I had a lot of money, I wish I were thin and beautiful and popular and cool. I long to have affairs - I have crushes on half the men I know. My daughter's first grade teacher. Her best friend's dad. The guy with the honking laugh and the ugly glasses. I want to become friends anonymously through this blog, but have nobody I know in my real life ever, ever find out about it. I have my "public" blogs for that but there will be an unbreachable wall between them.