I’m supposed to be packing. I’m headed up to NY again (yes, I know gas is expensive) to spend a few days and the 4th with some friends. I have a job interview while I am up there, but I don’t know that I want to return to Buffalo for good.
I walk around this apartment; the place I’ve tried so hard to make our home for the last few months.
I think about what is “mine”. What I can leave with, what I have to leave behind. Am I prepared to start over with very little? To have to finnagle a way to find some of the basics, because it’s easier for me to get them than to have him need things? I find myself taking things into the spare room, making piles of necessities. Making two separate spaces, one for things that can go now, one for things that can’t until I find a permanent place.
So much of this place is “ours”. So many things I can’t take, because he needs them, and I know I can find a way to live without. The fact that I want to leave him as comfortable as possible doesn’t escape my notice. I know my guilt about this separation is leeching into the ability to pack belongings.
Some part of me feels I don’t deserve the things that might make me feel at home somewhere else.
A dozen years ago, I sucked it up and auditioned for Buffalo’s Shakespeare in the Park.
I remember late nights in late June finding my way onto stage, finding myself. People who asked questions, who praised my talent and loved me for who I was, not what I did for them. They embraced me, encouraged me. It was because of them that I discovered my love of poetry, as well as my inner poet. It was at their urging that I traveled to NYU to audition for the Tisch school.
When I smell a June evening, it brings me back. I can see the hill, the stage. I think about being rained out and traveling somewhere as a gaggle because of it. I remember walking to Hoyt Lake when I arrived early, and workshops on the green earlier in the day. I remember interacting with the audience as part of the Green Show and how much fun the characters could be.
It was where I learned just how painful unrequited love was. How bittersweet romance could be. How some people just weren’t meant for a traditional setting, and needed room to grow. How different people could be and yet still have some commonality.
I think about the starry evenings waiting for something to happen, because something always did.
I can't expect him to process his way through all of this in a little more than a week. I've been thinking, debating for months, maybe even more, and I've had time to think about every consequence, opportunity, possibility.
I'm trying to be fair.
But, part of me wishes I had been more deceitful, that I had just found somewhere else to lived and left. I wouldn't do that, I couldn't do that to him, but I think about it.
Reminds me of this episode of Monk, where he rapidly cycles through the five stages. Which, if you think about it, is kind of funny. Also how my brain works when it comes to this. One minute I think I'm no longer angry, that I'm way ahead, into acceptance. Then I regress to denial and jump forward to bargaining.
Oh yeah, you know it; I won't fit into some stupid model, I like to buck the system.
Dad called tonight. Someone I graduated with gave the commencement speech tonight at my former high school’s graduation ceremony. That was all I got from my father’s message – I didn’t feel like calling him back. Was peeved that no one asked me. Then I remembered – I’m much more important in my own mind.
Looking for jobs and apartments in both areas sucks. I would like to be independently wealthy. I would totally put my money to good use, helping those I care about and those I don’t know. I’d want to do it quietly too. Hard to believe, thanks to the above statement, but I’m not all about self-promotion.
I don’t understand my husband’s ability to move from conversation to casual talking. I can have a touch of the dramatic in me. Shocking, I know. But, I feel going from “Leaving is up to you” to “Do we have fluff?” is just awkward.
Now I’m hungry – and there’s nothing in the house. I desperately need to grocery shop. I miss going out to breakfast at home this late at the 24 hour diners; or hitting the bar/restaurant around the corner from my old place. There’s not a lot of that near me, that I’m aware of. Plus, you didn’t feel bad hitting the one place for food at 12 or 1 because you knew they were still open another 4 hours or so. Ah, Buffalo bar hours…
I laid in bed at 7 this evening, shortly after he got home because I thought that might help me avoid more talking. I’ve been talking in circles, and avoiding the one thing that’s hardest to say. Instead I killed 3+ hours of my night. Aargh. I actually fell asleep too, which further fucks my already fucked up sleeping schedule.
Instead of thinking about how I should be sleeping, I will instead think about the dog’s grooming appt. in the morning. Will think of maybe going to dinner by myself tomorrow while my husband attends some blind people night out thing. Yes, I know, I am a horrible person. What you don’t know is that upon marrying someone blind, you have the right to snicker at these activities. It’s in the “spouse of a blind person” handbook.
Which totally reminds me that my book will be titled “Love is blind… and so is my husband”
Like a bruise changing color, this is transforming and getting uglier.
I think about when I started blogging and it was a blog about getting married, then trying to conceive. Then an infertility blog, then cancer, marital issues, moving, now what? Divorce? (Am I even ready to use that word?) Separation?
I know he can’t give me permission to go, or absolve me of the guilt I feel about leaving. I know it’s hard to get him to even talk about this in general. Our progress is marked by the fact that he finally said something negative about me. I’m a bitch. I will add this to the one time he (kind of) called me heartless.
I am thinking about where I should be. With him or not? Here? Back home? Somewhere completely new? Whenever I think I make up my mind, he influences me and I second guess myself.
A conversation with him is something that takes getting used to and there are times I wonder if I really ever did so. I cannot look into his face and eyes and see what he’s feeling. He cannot see my tears as I tell him things I never wanted to say. There’s so much lost in body language and looks that I try to express with tone and inflection, but I know I fail. I want him to know that while it isn’t the same pain, it is difficult for me to leave.
Even if I give in and give up and stay now, things will never be the same. Do I have faith or hope that they would get better? Honestly? No. If I had that faith, I wouldn’t have brought up leaving in the first place. He doesn’t seem to understand why I’m unhappy, or leaving, or… even me.
(Wow, I feel like I must sound like a soap opera, or some crappy therapist’s nightmare. Thanks though, it helps to vent)
Talking didn’t go as badly as it could have, but not as well as I would have liked either. It was like a repeat of the therapy sessions we’ve already been to. But, I tried and I said many of the things I haven’t had the balls to tell him. Still, like so many couples, there are things we will just never “get”.
I’m frightened and relieved; exhilarated and anxious. But I’m trying to do what I need to for me. Be it selfish, perhaps. I can say he may be happier in the long run without me, but that sounds like bullshit. I don’t know that either choice is the right answer. I do know that I have to find out.
Side note: Craigslist is as entertaining in the job and apartment sections as it is in the personals. I’m intimidated by both hunts. With apartments, I’m trying to decide where to look. Stay here or head back home. There are pros and cons to each. I may just look for both things in both areas and see what happens.
I sit facing the trees and brush behind my apartment, grateful that I don't view the parking lot or another concrete slab such as the one I'm on. Because here I can contemplate a future different from what I intended without my tears on display.
Behind the glass lay a man and a lab, both disturbed by tonight's show of emotion. While relief washes over me in waves, anger builds inside that room. I know not what tomorrow brings us, beyond more words, but I know I'm one step closer to whatever lies ahead of me.
As I enjoy the warmth of the evening, my body remembers another kind of heat. Reminiscing the decadence of recent past, perhaps nights like that are not lost forever. Perhaps happiness isn't either.