More Bitterness About My Ex

Today, The Lawyer and I had a...discussion.

It was nothing too serious.  In fact, all that he did was mention something over email that bothered me.  He was perceptive enough to realize that it might come off as too similar to a Rich behavior, and was wise enough to preemptively apologize.

I appreciated that, but since we are both of the talk-it-out-until-it's-over-then-lay-it-to-rest variety, I responded anyway.  I said, "Why yes, in fact, that was annoying.  And no, I don't like it.  Also, you're a jerk and I hate you!  Now, leave work right now and bring me a cup of coffee and a cupcake as penance!"

OK, fine.  I didn't say that.

There were a few emails back and forth to hash things out, and then he wrote this:


I was truly horrified that you had to [do things to entertain Rich's family].  You've given so many anecdotes of things you had to do that are just unacceptable.  I probably have too, but please don't worry that I'm going to turn into a vampire sucking the life-blood out of you while giving my energy to everyone else. 


Although I am the writer in this relationship, his description couldn't have been more accurate.  Rich sucked every drop of energy, enthusiasm, and kindness out of me, in order to give his energy to everyone else.  I was his trophy girlfriend for work events, his personal chef for his family, and his muse for making himself appear better.  Our relationship was never about me or "us," and it broke me in a way that no others ever have.


I've never been able to articulate exactly what it is that happened to me with Rich, but The Lawyer did.  Perfectly.


It will probably take a while for me to fully resolve my bitterness about the situation, but rest assured what The Lawyer mentioned in the email doesn't come close to anything that Rich ever asked me to do.

Dreams and Dresses

Last night, I dreamt that I wore my nearly-wedding dress.

I don't know what the circumstances were, exactly, but I was wearing it as an evening gown to some country club kind of place.  And, I felt beautiful.

As is usually the case in dreams, my dreaming wedding dress looked nothing like the actual one that I purchased to marry Rich.  Even though it was very clear to me that I was wearing a wedding gown, I was somehow pulling off my "just a fancy white dress" look to other people.

On the third afternoon that I wore it (yes, there were multiple days in this dream), Rich's parents were attending a wedding in a tent that was adjacent to this club.  His mother saw me, recognized the dress, and also, recognized the flippancy with which I was wearing it.

This somehow made me happy.

When Rich and I were dating, I wanted to be a good future daughter-in-law and not start our marriage with weirdness and strife.  So, even though the wedding dress shopping trip is very personal and special, I knew that Rich's mother would be thrilled to come. When my mother flew up to New York to go dress shopping with me, I also invited Rich's mother to come.  It was perhaps too gracious of a gesture.

When I returned to New York for my final dress fitting, the lack of boundaries that his family had towards me and our relationship reached a new high.  His mother had been invited again, so that she could find her own dress at the same bridal store, but she brought Rich's aunt with her.  And sister-in-law.  And brother.  An entourage of people met me at 34th Street, where I was only supposed to be meeting his mother for lunch, and the whole group proceeded to form a small caravan to the bridal store.

What I meant to be a quick in-and-out afternoon in New York ended up being an overwhelming parade of my dress fitting in front of more eyes than I wanted, followed by lunch for a party of five outside of Rich's brother's office.  Because I lacked assertiveness was still trying to be nice, I never called his family out on being selfish, rude, or overbearing.  (In many worse ways than the dress fitting day.)

My old roommate, Janice, texted me yesterday to ask if The Lawyer and I had talked marriage yet (Hahahahaha...yeah, right.  The man doesn't even get to see my face during the weekdays.  So, no.) and her question started me thinking about whether or not I'll actually wear my perfectly fitted, never-been-worn-before wedding dress for my real wedding day.  I'll probably cross that bridge when I get there, but two summers ago, it just seemed too beautiful and special to resell.  Now?  I guess sentimentality fades.

Maybe my dream was a reflection of how my feelings are changing about Rich, now that I'm starting a new relationship with someone else.  Or, maybe my subconscious self was just throwing me a bone by making me feel like I gave Rich's family a very tiny dose of the public humiliation that my real self never had the guts to do.

The Wildflowers

I felt the same way waking up from an afternoon nap yesterday.

The preoccupations of finals studying had invaded my dreams and what should have been restful slumber ended with thoughts of exam-taking.  Both times, I was awakened with the typical and hasty realization that I didn’t study for the right things.  Or finish the exam.  Or show up to the right room. 

Yesterday, though, he was there.  He was less than an arm’s reach away in my bed, napping in his soft cotton undershirt and boxers.

When I woke up feeling upset, disoriented, and overwhelmed, I reached for him.  I snuggled into his warmth and with my head on his chest, I told him about my dreams.  I started talking myself out of my anxiety, while he listened, and eventually, he started telling me about Florida.

I can’t remember the context of why, but he started telling me about the childhood walks with his mother.  They would take walks around the same neighborhood I grew up in, collecting wildflowers.  

I remembered those wildflowers well.  

They were delightful bursts of yellow-orange and frosty white flowers that lined the streets and our yards.   All the kids probably did what the two of us did, picking the best and most unique of them, and presenting our mothers with our raggedy weed bouquets that they’d accept with exaggerated enthusiasm. 

I added my commentary about the wildflowers to his, as we lay in bed.  He stroked my back, while I relaxed into such a comforting memory about the place that formed our collective memory of childhood. 

I could remember the grasshoppers that couldn’t help but leap into the air after my father cut the grass on Sunday afternoons.  Their fate was usually sealed by my sister and I in empty jars that were stored on the low shelf in the kitchen.  Similarly, he used to make “potions,” in jars, with his sister.  He described the immature pollen-laden pine cones, which I remembered immediately, that they’d strip and mix with sunscreen.  There were the mosquito trucks that always sprayed at dusk, sometimes before I had been called inside for the night.  And, lightning bugs that he swore that he saw at home, but for which, I playfully disagreed.

As we lost ourselves in that special childhood place, I forgot what I woke up so worried about.  And, this morning, when I felt that same creeping anxiety, I reached out for that same memory—of Florida, of muggy sunsets outside, and of wildflowers.

As he talked yesterday, he told me that when picking the wildflowers, he’d search long and hard for the single purple or pink bud that was the coveted rare find in a sea of others.  Then, he’d pester his mother about whether or not he’d found something that she’d never seen before.  Obviously, she had seen all of the species of wildflowers already, but as all good mothers of inquisitive little boys do, she’d indulge him every now and then with a,

 “You know, son, I don’t think I have ever seen that one before.”

He’d delight in the knowledge of his rare find, realizing that he’d found something special.

Twenty-eight years later, that little boy would be a DC lawyer.  We'd have reconnected after many travels, educational experiences, and failed romantic attempts.  Our paths would have taken us everywhere except back to each other.  But, when I would be a stressed and tired medical student, hyperventilating about my exams, it would be his arms that held me and his words that took me back to that special, magical place.

This time, he would also be right about the wildflowers.  Except, I'd be the one who'd feel like I'd made the rare and special find.

Conversations With The Lawyer

Well, hello! I am alive!  I'm just in the middle of finals and have nothing interesting or substantive to post, unless of course, you'd like to hear my super cool stories about HIV retroviral drugs and their interactions!

No?  FINE.

--

Last night:  After using this amazing face cream that he let me use, which suspiciously had the label removed, but for which he said was his "mom's" brand...

Me:  Your mom's face cream is amazing!  My skin is so soft!  Can you tell me where to order?  I want to get some for my mom for Christmas.

Him:  Dude, stop using it on your face!  It's skin toning and tightening.  I experimented with it because of my skin and kinda got attached to it...it might be bad for all I know!

Him:  It's literally being marketed as a pregnant lady cream now!

Him:  I use it because I'm not scared, but I don't really know if it's safe.

Him:  And I didn't use that exact one from my mom.  I found an ingredient in one of hers and researched and started seeing what others had it.  It seemed too complicated to explain, but clearly, I've created a monster.

Me:  (undeterred) So basically...you will send me the link?  :)

Him:  Haha, yes.

Does anyone else find it hilarious that The Lawyer is buying and using experimental face cream from the internet and worse, that he's trying to keep his skin secrets to himself?  (I'm telling you, this face cream was AMAZING.)

For inquiring minds who want to know, The Lawyer has agreed to let me post semi-professional pictures for all of you (by "all of you," I really mean my sister, Janice, and Ev!  Hello, ladies!) to see.  They are coming after finals are over next week.  Get excited!