if you’re tired of reading about my breakup.
I’m only writing this here because I figure this *IS* supposed to be a personal blog, right?
I know I’m tough and I’m going to get past this feeling. Maybe too tough, and maybe too soon. Who can say? I can’t, definitely.
But in the meantime, the weirdest thing is not sharing the stupid stuff with anyone. You know, the stuff that doesn’t warrant any time out of your friend’s day, but which your partner has to tolerate and listen to and respond with an “aw, honey” or a “haha really?” Or whatever.
At this moment, there is no one in the world for whom reading a text from me that says “If my mother asks me one more time what the status of my packing is, I’m totally going to plotz” is worth their time. Two months ago, there was. But two months ago, I didn’t have any packing to do.
Which brings us to, who do you go to to confess all the niggling little frustrations and emotional reactions about your breakup? There comes a point that you just can’t (or don’t want to) ask any more of your friends. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve flipped open my phone to call him and complain about something, then had to realize he wasn’t the person to share my apartment search woes, my allergy to my friend’s cat (newly discovered from sleeping on her sofa), my great aunt’s rather over-the-top response to the news, my mother’s rather egregious behavior (e.g. having two glasses of wine and crying about how great he was–extremely helpful). All things I can’t complain to him about anymore.
It’s a pity, because he would have been the perfect person to share them with.
I’m learning (late in life, I know) that it’s ok not to share everything. When I feel wistful, I remind myself to relish that, that new power of keeping things to myself.
It’s funny how quickly I feel myself becoming a slightly different person without him.