Wednesday, March 16, 2011

The Ides Of March-Indeed

Yesterday was the Ides of March, and while I'd like to think I'm not seriously superstitious. . . I should have heeded the warnings.   For the Ides of March were not kind to me.  I had begun this week in a blue funk that I felt almost sure I could shake off. . . but found it increasingly harder to do so as the day wore on and by Tuesday, as I found myself wallowing in Lake Pity, hating my life and lusting after the life of various and sundry other women. (okay, okay. . . who am I kidding.  One woman)  Anyway, I have no magic wand, no tele-a-port device or time machine, so I guess that's not going to happen and she gets to keep her life.  Fair warning to her if she's out there reading this. . . I still am gunning for it.  But on to more grief.

So, on Tuesday, the Ides of March, as I'm sitting on line, wasting my day off hoping to see  him on line, it occurs to me.  I've become a stalker.  I'm an Internet stalker! If course I've been told over and over by the people that matter that ". . .of course they don't consider me a stalker". . . But hey?  Isn't that EXACTLY what you would say to and Internet stalker?  I mean you wouldn't want to upset them right?  Right.  So instead of going outside and living my life, and being the woman he fell in 'whatever' with, I continue to lust after her life, and for some strange reason have found the shores of Lake Pity to be far too accommodating to leave.  I think I'll invest in a lawn chair and a big beach umbrella, for I burn so easily.

That night I was out with friends, our lap tops in hand at the local Internet hook up to chat with our social networks while with our human ones.  Like all the 'really cool people do'  (I really hate them. . . . the really cool people --nod to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett) My mission to regal him with the most hysterical stories of the people watching that night, and show him all the fun he is missing not being with me.  And what do I do?  I start to feel.  that's right.  I start to FEEL.  And I don't mean the wonderful, fabulous ways he makes me feel when he's telling me he loves me. . . oh no.  I start to FEEL like I deserve more.   MORE!  can you believe it?  MORE than the hours he already spends on line with me, MORE than the twice a week phone calls, MORE than every way he lets me into his life now that proves how much he needs me. . . . Crazy you say?  Maybe.  And what more do I want?  Well, not much.  Just what any sane woman would want from a man that says he loves her. . . I want him.  All of him, all the time.  Not a half life (good game) kind of fantasy where if I hold on he might someday, maybe, if circumstances were different, and if i don't do anything to hurt him between now and that fantasy,  want me as much as I want him.   WOW.  Is that what I've been doing for over a year?  Wait a minute, let me check my watch.  One year and four months.  And the hits just keep coming.

So I start to feel and I state my case and of course, he listens, and tries to convince me that he does love us both and its real, and I'm just so stubborn.  I push him away.  AGAIN.  OVER and OVER I do this.  And he keeps coming back.  You'd think that would convince me that he loves me, and it does.  But as my inner self loathing is oft prone to remind me. . . .'not enough to marry or be with, no. . . he loved her THAT much, you just enough to. . ." well we won't go into the details here.  At this point I decide my pride needs a good soaking at Lake Pity and get out the sunblock.

 Needless to say, as verbose as I am I did a SUPER JOB.  As you can imagine. And I know you are so very proud of me and I must say for about fifteen seconds so was I.  And in the process made myself sick.  No I mean it.  I was so upset afterward at the thought that I'd not have him in my life at all, I was a puddle, and made myself sick.   Either that or I ate a bad melon or something because I was in the bathroom being sick most of the night and morning.  Between sobbing.  You know it's really hard to throw up when you are crying?  Kind of like trying to stop a sneeze. . . you just can't do it.  So needless to say I didn't sleep all that well, and couldn't make it in to work today because i kept thinking i might start throwing up or crying again.  Well the throwing up was the part that had me the most worried.

I'm keeping food down now. . . and trying to figure out why I can't just be happy and accept what he can give me.  Why I have to self-sabotage my life when I'm happy, into some freak show of drama and unhappiness.  And why I continually love men that clearly don't deserve me or I'd be THE ONLY choice. (Actually I don't believe you can choose who you love, but thats an earlier blog topic).  I'm off to the land of Oz now to dream of lands somewhere over the rainbow that I can be happy in, I've checked out of my executive suite, it was getting lonely in there anyway, and all the root beer is gone, and tomorrow I'm striking back at the world with what I hope to be the old Jill. the Jill he fell in 'whatever' with, before my heart was reawakened to love and trophy winning sex  The Jill that was actually happy alone and single and didn't need anyone to complete her.  I miss her.


  1. yeah, withdrawls can be a bitch. (Can you have emotional delerium tremins? why not?)

  2. I think that is exactly what has happened. While I caved yesterday morning and talked to him and 'fixed' it, that did not make me happy. In fact it made me sick again with a headache. Perhaps my heart (and head) have decided that until he's single, it just won't be fun anymore. Perhaps my pride and self esteem has finally kicked in. I deserve the best of him, not the best he can give.