… say it in a blog.
At least that’s how I think the saying goes.
I thought about the pros and cons of writing this post last night, mulling over whether it was best to suffer in silence, lending a quiet dignity to the situation, or deliver a tirade, which what I suspect may even be the desired outcome from a certain party, giving credence to the saying “bad publicity is better than none at all”.
Dignity’s overrated (believe me, I’ve lost enough of it), and since when do I ever do anything in silence?
The tirade wins, so without further ado, I present to you, Occasional Reader, my ex-girlfriend.
Now for those of you who arrived late on the scene, I’ll throw in a very quick recap.
Met a wonderful woman, we dated for a mostly wonderful 9 months.
She decided for whatever reasons that she didn’t want to continue the relationship.
Understand that the reasons were not because of any violence, perceived or real, or mistreatment in any way. Just a purely personal opinion that it simply wasn’t going to work.
She then changed her mind, and returned. Yay!!!
Changed her mind and left. Boo!!!
And returned. Eerrm.. Yay?
And left. Umm… Boo.
Returned. Yay.
Left. B.. Oh stuff it.
Since that fateful final day, I have been the not so proud recipient of 226 text messages and 98 emails, ranging from pleas of forgiveness, to vitriolic declarations of hate for yours truly.
I’ll admit, I fell into the trap at the start and replied to the messages, defending my honour as I saw fit, but that got tiring very quickly.
So I sat back and tried (sometimes unsuccessfully) to absorb the false claims of infidelity, the declarations of undying love, and the assertions of my levels of assholeness.
I mean, my honour can only be defended so much before it gets tired of my defence and makes me go and do things that are completely dishonourable just to shut me up. I apologise unreservedly to any chickens that may have been offended.
Besides, I gave up trying to defend myself after our last conversation, which quickly degenerated into one of those tit for tat pointless arguments.
I hung up the phone, put it on silent, ignored the texts that were streaming in, and went for a drive to clear my mind. Which was working like a charm until I received a text from the local police station.
She had gone and called the police, claiming that I was in danger of “self-harm”.
The police had then turned up at my door while I was out, and even spoke to my neighbours. Thankfully my neighbours showed them my empty car space, so they assumed I was out, rather than break down my door looking for the body.
I apologised profusely to the police (I’m hoping they gave her a talking to after that), and explained sheepishly to my neighbours after they knocked on my door to inform me of the police manhunt under way for me, that I had a couple of “issues” with an ex girlfriend.
Now while there haven’t been any instances of boiling bunnies or any danger of real or physical harm, and putting this latest embarrassment aside, the amount of messages I have received can actually get to a person, even one as self absorbed and emotionally oblivious as me.
Think of it like someone following you around for six months, constantly poking you in the head with a stick.
It might not hurt you, but eventually you’re going to tire of it to the point that even the smallest poke can feel like a swing from a baseball bat.
Well, that final swing of the baseball bat happened for me last night.
I received a couple of emails from her last night, which wouldn’t have normally been enough to piss me off on their own.
It was the 23 messages on my blog Facebook page that did it, commenting on everything from which past women in my life I had mentioned in my previous blog post, to offers of returning pieces of luggage to me, to those ever reliable claims of dishonesty and infidelity.
I’m not proud of it, but I finally caved in and replied.
I won’t bore you with the details of the conversation, but it went along the lines of me asking why on earth would she want to continue talking with someone who has supposedly cheated on her, lied to her and never really cared for her in general, mixed in with about a thousand expletives.
The answer came back with offers to return my luggage.
Oh yes, and because she cares.
Blah blah, blah blah, blah blah!
I’m not sure if she realises that you can’t frustrate someone into submission.
Maybe she thinks I’m just going to throw my hands up in the air one day and say “Okay, you win! I’ll be your loving boyfriend again!”
This has now been going on for six months. Almost as long as the time that we actually dated!
I’m starting to think that I may have dodged a bullet here. Imagine what I’d be subjected to if we had dated for a couple of years?
Considering what an asshole I might have been during the relationship, or how terrible a boyfriend I was throughout, you’d think she would have run a mile away from me and not wanted anything more to do with my terrible self ever again.
Wishful thinking.
Now I know she reads the blog, because there’s no way to block a reader (I don’t think there is, anyway), so to summarise:
Dear Maria,
I’ve done my best to move on, and have done so for the most part, but in the words of the not so immortal Barenaked Ladies:
“How am I supposed to remember you when you won’t let me forget?”
I’m sure I speak for everyone that has been subjected to my rants and ramblings on the subject when I say, can we please, please, please move on?
Thank you.
For those of you who don’t care for such a post, here’s a pair of shoes:
Shoes – Jimmy Choo
