Other women (I'm told) daydream idly about meeting the man of their dreams and falling madly in love with him. The object of their affections is a shadowy figure, half imagined and eminently possible; being a man very much of the future. I, on the other hand, have an unhealthy tendency to find myself very much mired in the past. Mucked up to the oxters in coulda-woulda-shouldas, poring over every little thing I did or didn't do and generally assuming the blame for any and all of my failed romances (presuming that if it wasn't something I did or didn't do, then it must be something I am). I daydream about ex-lovers suddenly repenting and declaring their undying affection for me. As I've said, it's unhealthy.
I keep letters, emails, texts. I've maintained platonic relationships with some - or tried to - but what betrays my imagined feelings for them is the presence of their friendly messages in my various inboxes long after I've replied, when normally I would delete them. I don't reread them, that would make me feel worse. But there is comfort in knowing that they're there. Occasionally I will be tempted to follow one up, suss him out, revisit familiar territory, scratch at old wounds. It invariaby ends in disaster.
So today I decided upon a purge. Wiped the archives clean.
Midway through my deletathon I got a text from someone I haven't been in contact with for more than a year, someone I had had a brief affair with and (unusually for me) I decided that I didn't want to see him anymore. He was getting very involved very quickly and talking about making some pretty big decisions based on a three week casual affair and I just wasn't interested. I told him so in no uncertain terms; I was very nice about it, but firm. I balked at his suggestion that I forget about it and we go back to something casual ("if that's all you'll allow me, well it's better than nothing..."). When all I'd said seemed to be falling on deaf ears I broke all contact. And now an innocuous text a year later, to ask me how I am and to let me know he's in town. All I could think was seriously, fuck off, wouldya?
There is no surer sign that I should quit flogging my dead donkeys. I don't want to be anyone's seriously-fuck-off-wouldya.
I keep letters, emails, texts. I've maintained platonic relationships with some - or tried to - but what betrays my imagined feelings for them is the presence of their friendly messages in my various inboxes long after I've replied, when normally I would delete them. I don't reread them, that would make me feel worse. But there is comfort in knowing that they're there. Occasionally I will be tempted to follow one up, suss him out, revisit familiar territory, scratch at old wounds. It invariaby ends in disaster.
So today I decided upon a purge. Wiped the archives clean.
Midway through my deletathon I got a text from someone I haven't been in contact with for more than a year, someone I had had a brief affair with and (unusually for me) I decided that I didn't want to see him anymore. He was getting very involved very quickly and talking about making some pretty big decisions based on a three week casual affair and I just wasn't interested. I told him so in no uncertain terms; I was very nice about it, but firm. I balked at his suggestion that I forget about it and we go back to something casual ("if that's all you'll allow me, well it's better than nothing..."). When all I'd said seemed to be falling on deaf ears I broke all contact. And now an innocuous text a year later, to ask me how I am and to let me know he's in town. All I could think was seriously, fuck off, wouldya?
There is no surer sign that I should quit flogging my dead donkeys. I don't want to be anyone's seriously-fuck-off-wouldya.
