I was talking with a friend yesterday about my "wasband". She gave me the suggestion for that name, which I find preferable to "that man". "That man" reminds me of this expression used to label a character in an Amy Tan novel, which I will not reference directly because the character is such a terrible person, I don't want to imply a connection between him and any real person.
So she was discussing her surprise at his reacton to our break-up, that he doesn't want to talk at all, much less beg for remediation. Her husband suggested that it is not too surprising if my wasband's feeling is that I am a total jerk for splitting. I thought about this, and it actually brought a tiny sliver of relief. I can't explain why, it doesn't make sense, but my thinking went something like this: I am terribly distraught by the thought of someone truly hating me, actively despising me. But I'm not so upset that someone thinks I'm a jerk, especially not my wasband, whose opinions of character I often found flawed. So if he just doesn't want anything to do with me because I'm just worthless, that is easier than thinking he is looking to hurt me because he hates me. Clear? No not to me either, but you grab what you can.
Because I am really feeling down today. Feeling like I have nothing to grab, feeling like I have nothing for the four decades of trying and trying.
I wonder if I would be feeling much better if I wasn't regretting this tiny apartment so much. I keep thinking about the Frasier Episode "How to Bury a Millionaire" (I wanted to link to it, but CBS or Paramount or whoever has also been on the freebie erasure roll). Niles is driven to distraction by the thought of leaving his luxury apartment at "the Montana" to take a horrible tiny place at the "Shangri La". "I just want to go home," Niles yells, to which Fraisier replies, "Niles, you are home." I always found that scene very unhappy, but now I'm actually crying.
I just paid my credit card bill, and will be carrying a balance until at least next month, so I really don't want to buy anything, but this is never going to feel like a real home until I have a proper fridge and I figure out some nice way to store clothes. It is just so damn tiny. I will really need to fix it up a lot before I enjoy being there. Unless somehow the boys mysteriously take a tremendous shine to it and want to be there all the time. All my life, it seems, I keep moving to crappier and crappier apartments (well, you have to take the college years out of there, but at least I really really liked living behind the record store). Where is this going to end? I'm really too quick at getting worked up over this.
Oh look what I found:
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