Month: July 2015

So, gorgeous friends, my life is changing at such a rapid pace it is hard to even keep track of what’s going on anymore. As I mentioned in my previous post, J will no longer be living with me. That’s the biggest change–and it will take a lot of getting used to. I will have to become comfortable with being alone at night, in the dark–sleeping alone. That will probably be weirder than I can really anticipate. But I’ll get used to it. And no, I’m not currently taking applications for other-side-of-the-bed occupancy. 

Another equally large change, which is related to the first one, is that this is the first time I’ve been entirely single since late-1996, when Adolf and I got back together. J and I have been in an open relationship for almost the past year, so I was kind of single for all intents and purposes when it came to dating. But this is single-single–like I am on my own right now–and I’m not entirely unhappy about it. 

Sure, I will ALWAYS love J forever and completely–but this year seems like an excellent time to work on getting back to me. I have to figure out how to reconcile the single me with my entire reality–things like depending on only myself to make sure that things get done. Before, I always had resentment and blame to fall back on when certain stuff didn’t get handled–now, it’s all on me–and I am really excited about the challenge.

So, yeah, it’s been a while. Sorry about that. 

Well, gorgeous friends, first things first. J is no longer living with me when I move into the new house. His alcoholism finally destroyed what was left of our relationship–left meaning, what was still there after I caught him cheating last fall. We split off everything last Thursday night. Although it was already an open relationship, J got really drunk, got angry with me and wanted out. So, I got the door for him. 

Ordinarily, I would have been very upset, trying to smooth everything over, regardless of how ridiculous his questions and accusations got. In the past, I would have said whatever it took to talk him down. 

Now, no. I can’t take it anymore. I can’t take the uncertainty, never knowing what I’m coming home to–a raging drunk, a relatively sober guy or someone who I won’t see until midnight because he will be passed out until then. Some of you knew this, and some of you didn’t, but now you do. That’s all that I really want to say about this, because it’s not just about me. J deserves his privacy. 

As for everything else, it’s about the same as it’s been since I moved into my parents’ guest room–except that the water bill is 20$ higher than before I moved in. Never mind that my mom waters her gardens every day with a sprinkler in each garden for about an hour. I’m sure that’s not contributing to a higher water bill. It’s all me. I confess. 

With that, I’m off to bed–well, to watch Pulp Fiction in bed. Laters. xo

So, it’s the evening of July 5th–and the holiday weekend is officially over–which for me, is really no big because I have nothing to do tomorrow anyhow, except pick out paint colors. It’s not as easy as it sounds, given that my designer’s primary job seems to be bringing me back to Earth when I get too outlandish in my selections–and my job seems to be making ridiculous, colorful choices. 

In this instance, I want very cool blue-whites all over the upstairs, except maybe a soft pink white in the bedroom, closet and main bath. I know that my designer will say no to the blue white because it’s so cold, but that’s exactly how I want it to look–spare, arctic and icy. The furniture and art can warm it up–but I want to look good in my own home–which means the cooler the better when it comes to shades of white. 

It’s Monday now, and things are only as they can be in a life as odd as mine. The doorbell woke me at 730am with a bunch of parcels–most likely of items that I ordered while under the influence (not alcohol) during the holiday weekend. Shopping while intoxicated has become a fun, but expensive, hobby wherein I order things while inebriated and then try to guess what will be in the packages that arrive. Today, it was tshirts in a small parcel–ones that say, “#Imnoangel. I have yet to check the larger box–but the return address says, “Feminist Apparel”, so I can only imagine what I ordered. You’ll know when I know. 

Another development is the return of a friend who wasn’t a friend for a while and who was the subject of an earlier article. I’m torn as to whether I should be friends with him again, given that he hurt me really very badly–and that he’ll likely do it again. The problem is that during the time he was gone–I genuinely missed him and probably will again as soon as he dumps our friendship in favor of pursuing a relationship with some rando. They will always come first for him. I know that, but I hate it.