Sunday, February 05, 2006

The Process Of Processing ...

G just popped up on my screen.

I've taken him off my IM list. It's just too weird to see him online and not hear from him.

But he popped up to thank me for my recent mail and e-mail, which was nice of him. Good manners should supercede what's transpired between us recently.

We very rarely talked on the phone. Almost every conversation we ever had, if it wasn't in person, was on IM. But this was our first post-break up contact. Interactive contact, that is.

He mentioned that he still has my copy of "The Girl with the Pearl Earring."

"Should I send it to you?" he asked.

Oof. Why did that feel so weird?

I told him to keep it, that he'll like it. I left it there, when we were dating, because I expected us to watch it together sometime. I'll pick up another copy one of these days. It is one of my favorite movies, but to have him send it to me just smacks too much of divvying up posessions after a divorce or something. Not that I'd know what that feels like.

"This all feels so weird, like going from 80 miles an hour to a sudden stop," I wrote.

And that's the thing about break-ups, isn't it? The abruptness of it all.

On my penultimate visit to his place, I'd spent the night. When he was getting ready to leave the next morning, as I stood in the foyer in my PJs and he put on his coat to head to work, he kissed me goodbye, stepped into the hallway, turned and looked at me and seemed to consider something, then stepped back inside and kissed me again.

It seemed so sweet. So, well, loving.

The last time I was at his place, just a week later, well, we all know what happened.

There was no love there. There never was. Not that he ever said "I love you." It's not as though he lied. But his actions over the couple months we were together seemed to belie what he told me that night, that he didn't feel a connection to me.

"I just feel like I have all these things to say, yet none are coming immediately to mind," I wrote. That's a phenomenon everyone can relate to: You almost never think of the thing you want to say when you have the opportunity to say it.

He still reads this blog. He made a reference (along with a wink) about not realizing that I had hoped for the feather blanket. So he'll read these and understand what I'm feeling, what I'm unable to say in those IM moments.

"Check in sometime if you want," he wrote as we wound down.

Maybe. Maybe that would alleviate some of the sensation of whiplash.

Or maybe not. Maybe, as he said tonight, I just need to "give it a bit more time."

1 Comments:

Anonymous Q! said...

Before I met my G, I was in a similar relationship. I thought it was going somewhere, but it went nowhere. Don't give up chasing the leprechaun, there is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

10:10 PM  

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