I wrote the following yesterday....

******************

Tick tock tick tock

Its not often one gets to schedule the tragedy or sorrow in one’s life.

If you could know the date of a future injury, sorrow or pain – would you want to know of it? Or would you prefer to walk through life normally, unaware of the inevitable sadness awaiting you around the next corner?

On the one hand knowing, they say, is half the battle. It allows us to adequately prepare, plan, brace and fortify ourselves as best we can against what we know is coming. On the other – would you want to enjoy those few moments you have left before this sorrow touches your life?

An interesting question that I’m afraid I do not have the answer to. The practical side of me says ‘yes – let’s plan. Let’s guard. Let’s go into it with our eyes open’. The other side of me…wants to hide under the covers, shut my eyes and pretend the monster’s not there.

All abstractly loose questions, are they not? And unless one were to acquire a sub standard 1980’s style sports car that comes fully loaded and equipped with a flux capacitor….it will never really matter, because no one can see into the future, no?

Yes. And no.

What I don’t think that many of you know is that The Russian and I haven’t ‘technically’ broken up. We’re on a ‘break’. What this means? I don’t know – I didn’t make the rules to this utterly fucked up situation. However, the ‘break’ had a time span of two months – ending January 31^st. And so, my dear readers, the Russian and I have scheduled a time to talk…this evening. It is THE talk. Hoping its not… but knowing that it will be…the break-up.

It’s not often that one gets to schedule the date and time their heart will break. I’ll chalk it up with genetic engineering on terms of control to the nth degree of creepy.

Frankly, I don’t want to walk around this next corner, but I know this street ahead of me is a dead end…so I’ll have to turn eventually if I want to keep moving. I’d rather hide my head under a blanket, close my eyes and wait for the morning to save me.

***********

We're broken now.

You know, more and more I realize that people actually DO read this blog. Statistically speaking, hundreds, sometimes thousands in any given week. But with the exception of a select few, most I view as no more than I.P. addresses that show up on a stat tracker. This is not to say that I don't care who's reading - just that only a small overall percentage of you, my lovely readers, comment or email me on a regular basis. Thus, its harder to get to know you.

Apparently though, a friend of the Canadian’s reads this blog (Scarlett waves 'hello'). This friend has managed to put two and two together (aren't you smart!?) and has taken it upon themselves to share these pages with him. Thank you, dear reader. This extra amount of romantic drama is JUST what I needed in my life right now. Perhaps you were sick of hearing about the Russian? Maybe my posts were getting a bit boring and you thought you'd shake things up?  At any rate - its done.

Be careful what you wish for I guess because I wanted to meet his friends....just didn't know they'd meet me first.

And so, my beloved Canadian decided to come clean yesterday evening and share his reaction to these pages. Much to my relief and frankly, surprise, and shock – he’s not angry with me and wrote the below message.

He posted the following in response to Friday's post. I’m afraid that I am at a loss for words….

But he obviously took the opportunity to address my readers and therefore this act of contrition, I believe, deserves the floor.

**********

Many of you for may remember my on and off former sig. other who I refer to as 'The Canadian' for uncreative and obvious reasons. I broke up with him at 12:03 on New Year’s Eve 2007 and then sealed the deal later in February. We have stayed in touch over the past year, not in any romantic context (at least on my end) or in any way that could possibly undermine my relationship with the Russian. We would touch base via txt, call or IM every few weeks. And now – he’s making his annual pilgrimage to our nation’s capitol, his former home. 

By way of some background information, we broke up for the following reasons: #1. During our relationship, his priorities were in the following order: work, friends, hockey, cooking, drinking, reading, cleaning, watching West Wing reruns…THEN me. #2. During our entire on-again/off-again dating cycle, I did not once meet his friends, family, nor was I ever introduced to anyone we happened to run into as his girlfriend. #3. Because of reasons 1 & 2, I never felt important, loved or included in his life as one should when they are in a healthy relationship.

Over the past year (both during and post-Russian) he has apologized profusely, proclaimed his idiocy and stated in no uncertain terms that he would like us to try again, that we belong together and that we will live happily ever after. My reaction to these grand overtures and statements could be described as tolerant at best. The lack of enthusiasm comes not from a shortage of affection, or attraction (the man is a taller version of JFK Jr.). It comes from the fact that I’ve been on this ride, I’ve gotten off the merry-go-round and the theme park is closing.

Conclusion: I have mixed emotions surrounding this visit.

On one hand, we have known each other for a very long time now, and it is always nice to spend time with old friends. Add to that the fact that it’s been awhile since I’ve had sex and, well…a gal can’t live on batteries alone. On the other, it may be an incredibly awkward situation as I know he is harboring romantic ambitions towards yours truly and I am still licking fresh relationship wounds.

The situation escalated when Mr. Canada called last night to ask if he might be able to stay with me during his last few days in DC. My response…not altogether a positive one, which apparently took him by surprise. I immediately supplemented my answer with the explanation that I didn’t think it would be productive to put unnecessary pressure on a potentially volatile situation. I was looking forward to becoming reacquainted with him and I thought the task might be best accomplished in a low tension scenario as opposed to forcing an existence in the confines of my fabulous, yet compact studio apartment. A rational argument, no?

The boy acted like I took away his cotton candy and told him he was too short to ride the Ferris wheel.

I feel bad. Bad that I hurt him – and upset him. But until I see some actual, measurable improvement in his treatment of me – there’s no WAY my recently pedi'd Manolo-clad feet are leaving the ground.

I was once addicted to this ride and the adreniline, but now I know that in the end, it will probably make me sick.

Frankly,

‘5 more miles.' I thought to myself as I upped the resistance level on the bike to the tune of Fergie’s ‘London Bridge’ streaming through my earphones.

All of a sudden, I noticed the guy peddling furiously to my right was looking over. I thought nothing of it until about 30 seconds later, he did it again. I looked over to my left to see what was so interesting. Nothing as far as I could tell.

4.5 miles.

He did it again! So this time I looked back, and he smiled. I’m not going to lie – superficially, the guy was just my type – (tall, dark and handsome) sporting a Michigan basketball jersey no less with baby blue eyes. And the man was smiling at me. I smiled back, and then reimmersed myself in a club remix of ‘Walk Away’.

4  miles.

The smiles continue. Is this flirting??

3 miles.

I think – this is very odd. Who flirts with a girl who has her hair in pigtails, is sweating, no makeup on, wearing her ex boyfriend’s old t-shirt, a sports bra and shorts?

1 mile.

Why is he still smiling? People working out aren’t supposed to smile! They’re supposed to be out of breath and sweaty and icky. They’re only supposed to smile when they go home, feel the endorphins, step on the scale and realize they’re down another pound and a half!

Done.

I dismount and stretch next to the machine. He starts talking: ‘hey’ (smile). ‘hi – go blue’ (in reference to the basketball jersey.) We ended up chatting briefly about Michigan athletics (i.e. Rich Rodriguez, the Michigan vs. Wisconsin basketball game displayed on the large TV in front of us). He introduced himself, as did I and then I excused myself to go do some ab work.

Ok, not that I’m not flattered that this beautiful, wolverine basketball man was taking an interest – but WTF!? Seriously – who picks someone up in a gym? This is the place to go when you DON’T want human interaction. Usually it’s a pretty safe bet that if you seal yourself in your little cardio zone w/ headphones, etc. no one will bother you. Especially when there are all these beautiful, skinny bitches on machines around me! They wear cute little sports bras and little running shorts that show off their awesome stomachs and cellulite-free thighs. I’m just a girl in a baggy t-shirt….with pigtails!

Just one more thing about men that I can’t figure out. Guess I’ll add it to the list next to ‘commitment phobia’ and ‘emotional unavailability’.

Frankly,

Either the Russian was dating Serena Williams on the side, or being an emotional fuckwit is the new trend among men this year. Was there a recent article in GQ or Maxim calling all men to run for the hills?? So Jennifer Anniston, Addison Sheppard, Scarlett and now Serena Williams. Cheers, girls and please pass the vodka.

Recently Serena Williams, 8 time Grand Slam tennis star, wrote the following on her blog (and I've highlighted the particularly eerie similarities). She is so strong and so beautiful and so extraordinary... could someone tell me PUH-LEASE what is the matter with men!?

Here’s to you, Serena. Frankly, I know it feels like no one understands but trust me, honey….I do. I think I may even start taking tennis lessons as a sign of solidarity.

Stand In These Shoes (I’m Sure U Have Before)

You can’t stand being without each other. You start to feel like you have never felt before, and you do things for him you have never done before.

He tells you he adores you. He tells you u guys were meant for each other. You care for him. You are falling for him.

You take things slow. You don’t want to make any mistakes. You are feeling this and you feel this could mean forever.

You ask him "are we moving too fast"? He replies "We are just following our hearts." You start to trust him. Something you have not done since your first heart break. How long ago was that? You wonder. Trust is something you vowed you would never do again. But slowly your heart comes out of its steel enclosure. You feel like you can trust him. You feel as if everything you went though was for a reason. And the reason was to meet him. Days turns into weeks. And he tells you about the connection you guys have in each others hearts.

Weeks turns into months and you slowly start to wean the other guys in your life out. And than it happens. No not the "L" word. But what you have been most afraid of. What deep in your heart you have been afraid to confront. What you always suspected would happen one day sooner or later. HE STOPS CALLING. You panic. But you try to stay calm. He did this before when you first started talking, but u tried to forget it. You knew u should have not forgotten. But u tried to ignore it. He disappears for a week with no phone call. No answer to yours no nothing. Finally you hear from him. You want to rage you want to scream you want to cry. But you can't help you heart from feeling a tad bit happy.

As you begin to ask him what happened he stops you. He says "I need space". You cringe at these words. This is the very reason you begin to think why your heart was in that steel enclosure. The reason you don't put your emotions your feelings, your heart into it. Because one day it always turns in to this day. But you are already too far out you are at the point of no return, you can't come back. You can't believe, although a piece of you does believe it. Space. How many time have you heard this before? Space? Wasn't you giving him enough? Space. Hummm you laugh because its so ridiculous. You laugh because again u knew this day would come. Why did you not listen to that little voice inside your hear telling you to "watch out". "Be careful". You laugh only because tears won't come.

You know its not you, but u cant help but look at that man in the mirror. You can't help but pick yourself apart. Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? And again and again you can't come up with the answer. Slowly as you try to focus on other things and think of other people you put you heart back into that steel case.

Tears finally come and they make you feel a little better, but the pain is piercing through your soul. The pain never hurts as bad as the first time. . But all the same you can't help but feel hopeless, foolish. Your great chance to be with your soul mate has again somehow slipped and failed.

But eventually you know you will pick yourself up. Eventually you know you will try again. And eventually you know you will find the keys to you heart, but also in the back of your mind you think.... Will it happen again.