DocHeart
08-05-2010, 10:40 AM
So, last night was the end. Kaput. Finis. Credit roll.
I was with her for a year and a half, and I loved her (and still do). She loved me, too. But we had different agendas.
I, steadily creeping towards the end of my 30s, after years of drinking and getting laid with just about everything with a pulse, wanted to settle down.
You see, settling down feels right these days. I feel I'm "there" in so many ways. I've got my own business (which survived the Greek crisis beautifully), a nice apartment, all "things" that make it easier for a man and a woman to start thinking about living and growing together - and eventually starting a family.
Of course, when I first met Alex, I didn't think we'd get serious in any way. I mean, she was 26 and I was 37. But weeks and months went by and the damn thing did get serious. She settled down with me, and I settled down with her.
But I knew deep down that she was just trying this out. It was a new experience for her, playing house with an older man.
She didn't deceive me. She never promised it would last for ever, and she told me several times that once she had managed to get a steady income for herself she would move out. She would still want to be with me, she said; she would visit, and I would visit, and after some time we'd probably end up living together in the same home again.
In those discussions I told her that I understood her need to live alone, but warned her that if she moved out it would be a serious step backwards for me, and I wasn't sure how I would deal with it.
So, two nights ago she broke the news. And I didn't deal with it well at all. We spent a day in the house not really talking, and yesterday afternoon I decided to tell her it was over. I packed some underwear and my shaving gear and spent the night in a hotel.
When I came home from work an hour or so ago, she was gone. And everything of hers was gone. All of her clothes, all of her bathroom stuff.
But the stuff she had given me as presents or the stuff we had bought together when she had first moved in is still here.
A framed photoshop-processed image from Sin City, where she's put her head on Kelly's shoulders and my head on Dwight's shoulders. She's written in the background using a small font: "If I have to die for you tonight, I will."
Oh yea. She's an illustrator and comic artist.
A small toy squirrel which she once put in my briefcase. I saw it as I opened it to get out some paperwork in a meeting. I laughed, and told my colleagues about it. They laughed and said I was becoming more of an old fool every day over that girl.
The realization just hit me:
I've broken up with women many times before. But the last time I broke up and had to stay behind in the home which we shared was when I got divorced, back in 2000.
All other times either we didn't actually live together, or we did but it was at her place.
So much more difficult to feel like I'm at home right now. It's so full of her presence in here.
I walk around, go get a drink, go for a pee, look out the window, sit on the sofa, look for a lighter, turn on a tap, switch on a light...
She's there. In every corner. Every nook and cranny.
It's gonna be a long night.
Regards,
Chris
P.S. It just feels more comfortable writing this here than talking about it with friends right now. So thanks for letting me.
I was with her for a year and a half, and I loved her (and still do). She loved me, too. But we had different agendas.
I, steadily creeping towards the end of my 30s, after years of drinking and getting laid with just about everything with a pulse, wanted to settle down.
You see, settling down feels right these days. I feel I'm "there" in so many ways. I've got my own business (which survived the Greek crisis beautifully), a nice apartment, all "things" that make it easier for a man and a woman to start thinking about living and growing together - and eventually starting a family.
Of course, when I first met Alex, I didn't think we'd get serious in any way. I mean, she was 26 and I was 37. But weeks and months went by and the damn thing did get serious. She settled down with me, and I settled down with her.
But I knew deep down that she was just trying this out. It was a new experience for her, playing house with an older man.
She didn't deceive me. She never promised it would last for ever, and she told me several times that once she had managed to get a steady income for herself she would move out. She would still want to be with me, she said; she would visit, and I would visit, and after some time we'd probably end up living together in the same home again.
In those discussions I told her that I understood her need to live alone, but warned her that if she moved out it would be a serious step backwards for me, and I wasn't sure how I would deal with it.
So, two nights ago she broke the news. And I didn't deal with it well at all. We spent a day in the house not really talking, and yesterday afternoon I decided to tell her it was over. I packed some underwear and my shaving gear and spent the night in a hotel.
When I came home from work an hour or so ago, she was gone. And everything of hers was gone. All of her clothes, all of her bathroom stuff.
But the stuff she had given me as presents or the stuff we had bought together when she had first moved in is still here.
A framed photoshop-processed image from Sin City, where she's put her head on Kelly's shoulders and my head on Dwight's shoulders. She's written in the background using a small font: "If I have to die for you tonight, I will."
Oh yea. She's an illustrator and comic artist.
A small toy squirrel which she once put in my briefcase. I saw it as I opened it to get out some paperwork in a meeting. I laughed, and told my colleagues about it. They laughed and said I was becoming more of an old fool every day over that girl.
The realization just hit me:
I've broken up with women many times before. But the last time I broke up and had to stay behind in the home which we shared was when I got divorced, back in 2000.
All other times either we didn't actually live together, or we did but it was at her place.
So much more difficult to feel like I'm at home right now. It's so full of her presence in here.
I walk around, go get a drink, go for a pee, look out the window, sit on the sofa, look for a lighter, turn on a tap, switch on a light...
She's there. In every corner. Every nook and cranny.
It's gonna be a long night.
Regards,
Chris
P.S. It just feels more comfortable writing this here than talking about it with friends right now. So thanks for letting me.