Keeping the Memories Alive aka Romantic Rumination

I'm trying to keep alive the memories, sensations, words and pictures from 2.30am-ish Friday night. The boy-man genius and being fed a bite of a musk stick, discussion about walking as a pleasure pursuit, my haircut, his haircut, his conflict issues, my cheeky swap of a kahlua with a fuller glass and his giggles, his warm almost-English voice describing his love of email but distaste for sms messages, his voluntary farm work in Hungary, his sickness in France.

What did I say? What did he ask about me? He asked if I liked walking. I do.

The hour such interaction took place is not known for rendering accurate memories. I'm second guessing my warm fuzzy preoccupation with him. Not him as a charming boy-genius but rather me as an astute reader of vibes.

There are things I can't remember; whether he was moving back to Melbourne in one week or two, whether I rightly perceived he was single, whether he was interested in me or whether I maybe did the labour of stoking both our fires. Bad metaphor considering the ongoing bushfire tragedies in Victoria. Inappropriateness aside, I just feel I have a slightly swollen heart. I'm thinking about him, but not all the time. I'm hoping to hear from him but not desperate.

Tonight as I rode my bike home (wonderful device for making my brain work at its best) I had two conclusive thoughts about my long-gone relationship with the EX. I thought that what still upsets me is one of two things:

1. He didn't love me as much as I believed for those 8 years. I never felt anything but a soulmate to him. He was the most loving, caring, doting, affectionate, thoughtful man... that I find it hard to believe I was led astray or in a relationship with a blindfold on... and if that wasn't the case, if he did indeed love me and was as committed as I thought, then...

2.Why did he not try to save it? Why did he give up so abruptly? Why can he so quickly move onto another relationship? I acknowledge we had the heaviest of emotional problems to deal with and that arguably needed to happen separately, but why walk away from something that had your whole heart in it for 8 years?

Minutes after I pondered this whilst riding through the park, I sighted his van in my neighbourhood. Hey!! That's not allowed. You've had your girlfriend move in with you and now have no excuse for loitering in my neck of the woods.

There's perhaps an option three...

3.It wasn't perfect. We were cross-eyed lovers rather than star-crossed. I won't have any true perspective til I'm in a new relationship. I may not have any real perspective til my hypothetical new relationship passes the 8 year mark.


Received a back-handed invitation from the VTL and the OB hasn't resurfaced since his 10-day delayed pathetic sms. This is all useful, it's all data and benchmarks in the evolving dossier of my standards.

I've chosen the nostalgic, sad but somehow uplifting and comforting Seachange by Beck to accompany me during installment one of my washing up. I really, really would like and think my life would be improved by having one of those mini drawer style dishwashers. This is in the wishlist dossier. Beck's Seachange is so much more than my break-up summarised and encapsulated in a record. It goes on and reveals it's auditory wonderment to me over and over again. I can't recommend it to you (or myself) highly enough.

Today at the traffic lights (on my bike) I noticed some of the thick white road markings were all bendy. Like some funster had crept in after they were painted (years ago) and pushed the lines around to make a wavy non-straight line. Or is it the bitumen underneath the white paint that is pushing and pulling away from itself?

Blogging is my just desserts. So therapeutic. Beats the hell out of washing up. But will I one day regret the trivialities of my heart and words and time spent on the boy-genius and other follies? Interesting to note the boy-genius hasn't been turned into an acronym yet; it must be serious.

Unsearchable

I told the EX I have an anonymous blog. I then tried to google this blog through entering the scant details I gave him. Ms OK is gladly unsearchable.

Just had a pleasant catch-up with the EX, he told me his girlfriend and her child have moved into his house. Rationally I am ok about this, but there's some uncontrollable emotion that just 'taps' on, tears were shed and nausea prevails. It is nothing compared to the heartache felt by the many victims of the Victorian bushfires. After these tears I ran into a friend, she was in a restaurant with a big group of people, I tapped her on the shoulder to say hello. She couldn't string a sentence together because the group of strangers she was with had gathered to support each other and mourn the loss of a mutual friend. They desperately needed to start drinking the wine they'd just ordered. 

What is the emotion I feel about the long-gone relationship? What is the nausea about? Is it just pity for myself? Is it that pathetic? Is it because someone I loved with all my heart turned away? Is it because I am left behind, replaced as a soulmate and left to ponder my self-worth? Is it because I was perhaps not 100% loved for those 8 years (I find this difficult to believe but the thought of it is the most crippling). Is it because I feel not even close to a new relationship? Is it because I can forsee myself as a spinster? Robbed of the opportunity to love someone in the way I can? What is the importance of human romantic relationships anyway? Is it just purely a romantic notion and equal happiness can be found in other pursuits? Is it a tradition? An ideology? Is it really a natural human instinct? So many questions. I knew that catching up with the EX would stir me. I appreciate his want to delicately convey the news in person though. At least I will no longer (or start to not) be haunted by white commercial vans in my neighbourhood. What is the meaning of fate and circumstance that I have to grow stronger to cope with his new relationship situation whilst he falls tenderly into his new partner's arms? 

I guess I can reason, rationalise and attribute cause to my quandary in a way the bushfire devastation can't. Life is brutal and sweet. Hot and cold. Ferocious and calm. We carry on. 

He gave me a scarf, a scarf he bought for himself but that I wore more often than he did. It's a wonderfully long, thick and rugged scarf. A photo he found of me reminded him of my bond with the scarf, that's thoughtful. It'll keep me cosy when winter comes. I am under control yet carefree. Worry not, is me. 

Position Vacant

Applications for a Part-Time Lover are now being considered, attractive pro-rata renumeration package attached.

Went out in a red dress and killer heels* on Friday night. Despite the likelihood of running into the VTL or OB, it didn't happen and I didn't care. I danced with friends and had a drunken buddy (partnered with a child), declare what a catch I was, he and his partner both love me. Well, I was chuffed and it was certainly better than any other male attention I could've received. My new mantra is to go out and NOT get a pash or a shag. Bizarrely, it feels like more of a challenge. I reckon my short period of wanton wants has come and gone already. Glad to have done it but I'm now experimenting with self-respect and sexual maturity. Watch this space, things could change at anytime, I've always lacked discipline and shunned rules.

Back to domesticity, Stevie Wonder is still playing and calling me to finish the washing up.

*Shoes that cause blisters and inevitably need to be removed on the walk home, or endured, causing a Frankenstein-esque walk.