More.

She wrote to me today. I can't re-read it, because she was really lame about it. Blog, then send a link, then delete it. Oh, of course all of the positive memories about ME were gone in her briefly reactivated blog.

What a @#$@#. It makes me angry just thinking about it.

I almost understand the need to excise me. You make the decision to go back to your husband -- for real -- and he'll require it. No Alfe. No mention of him. No remembering, no good thoughts, no wondering, no nothing.

I would need that if I were him. And that would be just the beginning. I'd need penitence and micro-managing for, oh, I dunno... how about a year? Yeah. It would be crazy overbearing controlling. Actually, it would piss me off if I had to be, because she would OWE me the act of volunteering any info I needed to know.

So, yeah, I get it. It still makes me angry. But I'll get to that.

So her letter. I don't remember details... Grrr. I would have liked to have reread it. To introspect, to catch the nuance, to understand if my initial reaction was appropriate or not, to understand me a little better.

But it included a lot of disdain. A lot of anger. Not just dismissal of me, my feelings, and our relationship -- she already did all of that -- but at how I created problems at her job of all things.

And then, of course, she went on about how great her husband is. Really? I don't give a FUCK. Your husband is not my concern and never was. I was never there to RESCUE you! I was there because you told me you loved me and I believed it and loved you back you. Duh. Stop being so dense. It was never a fucking comparison. Heck, I wish it were. I'd happily measure up to any contest with any other dude. That would be EASY.

The one thing you miss, Mel, is that our relationship was NEVER A FUCKING THREE WAY. Jesus fucking Christ. I don't want to know his name, I don't care if he's a good man, and I could care less how he feels about you. All that matters is how you feel about ME. That's all that mattered then and it's all that would have ever mattered.

Grrr. This is not an open letter to her. This is not a response to get the last word in. This is about emoting. About feeling my own humanity.

Part of me hates that she knows about this. But, well, fuck it. I write for me. If you don't like it, don't read it. It is a part of me, however much hate it has, however much it is but a glimpse in time, however brief it's shutter, how few read it or how much, it just is. All of it should be taken with a grain of salt. All of it is temporary, free flowing like Buddha's river. And all of it is fucking real.

I hate that I feel the need to justify. The blog. Me. My feelings. My actions. God damn it. You're an ex! Stay in my dreams where I can miss you the way you were. Or come back and let me love you the way you are. This terrible place where you....

Ugh. Never fucking mind.

Ok. So she writes this letter. And I read it. And I email her immediately, hands trembling with the breadth and depth of the emotion, and tell her she doesn't know me at all. That it is ridiculous to have such anger, to suspect me of revenge, to call me promiscuous, to accuse me of using her as a conquest.

I'm sorry. I'm not the fucking cheater. And you're angry over your JOB. Yes, I understand that this is a big deal and it would really ruin a week or six of your life, but MY FUCKING HEART JUST GOT RAN OVER BY YOUR GODDAMN DUMP TRUCK. Suck a dick. Oh, and you're in fucking sales. Sales people get fired and hired every single day at every single publicly traded company in the world. EVERY DAY.

Call me sentimental. Call me a fool. Call me emotional, gay, naive, immature, or stupid. Call me whatever you want. My heart is more important than your job.

Yeah, I said it. And it's not like it would have been directly caused by me anyway. Besides, your sales organization is fucking boiler room. They want you to think you can get fired for shitting in the wrong toilet for fuck's sake. But don't get me started on what I think of pressure cooker sales... ugh.

Besides, I made a business decision. I cancelled an order my company had made on services ordered based on the expectation of future business. That business evaporated without apology or explanation. I made the appropriate call based on that. It was a two word email. "[Cancel] it." People do that all the time.

It wasn't like I could call your ass. Jesus.

All of this is just mental masturbation. I'm venting to my blog so I feel better.

That makes me mad too. Not only am I an idiot for falling for her, but I'm now wasting time and energy on the near-worthless experience of getting over it. Fuck.

The idea that I would cause her problems at work out of revenge is offensive. The idea that I looked at her as a conquest, that I'd have had no interest in her if she weren't unattainable... that's just absurd. I can't believe it. I can't believe she would ever even question that.

That's her jealous husband talking. What a self-absorbed bitch! Both of them. God damn it.

This is soooo not fair. This is NOT how the world is supposed to work. This is not right.

You slept with ME. You fell in love with ME. I was just nice. I was just a friend to you. I asked you about him, I pushed you away. I have never acted in revenge in my fucking LIFE! I don't lash out at brothers and fathers, for fuck's sake! Sorry, I know you think you're special and all, but those wounds run a little fucking deeper.

*#&R%@*#&^@#*(!!!!!!!

Sigh. Ok. Catharsis begins.

Her lashing out... these beliefs, this anger, this dismissal of my feelings, this lack of empathy... it is needed for her world.

It is needed to go back to her make believe happy life, filled with her materialism, her supportive (and surely wounded) husband, and her playful pets. It is needed to truly dismiss me from her heart and soul.

And so... it isn't really about me. This anger that I feel... nay, felt... it's appropriate, but not based on accurate information.

Today, again, as I seem to have always done with everything surrounding her, I will be a bigger man than I want to be. Than I really know how to be.

I will read between the lines and answer with compassion.

It's ok, Mel. Go ahead. Be angry with me.

It's ok to hate me. Deep down you know the truth. Or, at least, you know the truth about me.

And as for me... well. I'm a good man. I always was with you and I will do my best to be just as good with everyone in my world.

Today I choose.

--

Heh. Perhaps I should rename my blog to that. It's a bit more empowering, eh?