Army’s parents are in town. And yes – I will be meeting them this weekend.

I’m very conflicted about this whole “let’s play happy family” scenario that will consume my Friday and Saturday evening.

Personally I don’t see the point. I don’t see the point of me meeting them if he’s leaving in two weeks. Why even attempt this family integration when the relationship is rocketing towards a cliff? Why did I even agree to this potentially and inevitably tortuous affair?

I suppose it’s because I’m trying to be the caring, giving, NICE person that I know I have hidden SOMEWHERE deep down inside and sigh…that’s what you do. When your friend’s parents come into town, you meet them, you have dinner, you entertain and try to keep your language and the stories of their child doing jell-o shots on top of a bar last weekend – under wraps.

Frankly, herein lies the problem: no surprise, it has to do with Fuckhead.

Fuckhead’s family LOVE-D S me. They L-O-V-E yours truly, and rightfully so. They astutely pointed out that moi was the absolute best thing that ever happened to their Neanderthal of a son and integrated me into their lives like built in hardware on a MAC.

And cynically speaking, I don’t want this to be one more thing in this on paper “perfect” relationship that isn’t as shiny, or bright, or sparkly or “special” or whatever as before. I don’t need another family. I don’t want another family. And I still HATE the idea that a she-beast who’s never ventured beyond the confines of the greater Albuquerque metropolitan area has no doubt been integrated into the family that I miss and that I loved. As bitter and resentful and unattractive as that sounds.

And don’t tell me that I’m not “giving them or him a chance” – because frankly today, I just don’t care.

Not to worry dear readers. I will smile. I will charm. And be the dutiful girlfriend. I just don't feel like being reminded all weekend of what I Don't have.

Somehow I'm predicting a lot of alcohol in my immediate future.

Army is leaving. He’s not going off to war, not to some distant dessert covered country but to Tampa. Where people go to die. Prehistoric man had Tar Pits to dispose of their elderly. We have Florida.

I’ve known it was coming. Since our first date I knew. What I didn’t know was that he’d still be around seven months later or that I would want him to stay. So, I’ll ask you again. What do you do when your relationship is ending? When you have a date when you know it will be over?.

How do you function when the dark cloud looming off in the distance for so long, has found its way directly overhead, attempting to block the sun at every turn and threatening to storm before you’ve remembered to open your umbrella?

To be honest, over the course of this relationship, my feelings towards this man have fluctuated more than a schizophrenic politician on a teeter-totter:

“He’s perfect – but I’m not over Fuckhead”

“He’s wonderful – but I don’t think I’m cut out to be a military wife”

“He takes care of me – but he’s leaving and I’m going to have to learn to live without him”

“He’s PERFECT – but is he perfect for me!?”

Because I’ve known that he’s leaving, it hasn’t exactly inspired me to open the emotional floodgates and give this relationship a real chance. Perhaps this is one time the Canadian got it right.

Nine months before he left for law school, he started to withdraw. He bucked all my attempts to continue a relationship even in the face of inevitable separation. Still retaining some semblance of romantic optimism at the tender age of 24, I was very much of the “no day but today” school of thought. The “let’s be happy today and not worry about tomorrow” mantra. He didn’t want me to get any closer and risk making it any harder.

So who was right? I still cried. But maybe not as much as I would have? I still loved him, but maybe not as much as I could have? Did we wasted precious time together or did we soften the blow?

While logically I know that it’s self defeating to keep worrying about the evitable and to let it spoil the time you have left; part of me hopes that whatever walls and barricades I’ve managed to build, will still be standing after the next two weeks.

Frankly, with the cloud of separation growing at an exponential pace over all my attempts to keep my blue skies blue – its hard not to feel frustrated. And angry. Even if it WAS/IS good that we met and event if he WAS good for me and what I needed circa a broken-hearted January….I’m just tired. I’m tired of the leaving and the goodbyes and the tears and building back up: a little stronger and a little thicker.

Then again, maybe its classic Scarlett – only wanting something that I can’t have. Either way, I’m sick of the walls and the floods and the storms and the survival and the reconstruction.

Isn’t there anything that lasts forever?

I admit it – I cried.

I cried when I gave her the box. The box I’ve been hiding under my bed for the past seven months. The box with your fraternity t-shirts. Your college sweatshirt. Your books. Your clothes. Your shoes. Our pictures. Your gifts. Your cards with all your broken promises written inside. Everything that reminded me of you. Everything you left behind.

It was my last hold out. My last reason to say “remember me?” “remember what we had?” “Look at the pictures! – Remember how happy we were!? How we had everything? How we could do anything?”

And I let go.

I gave her the box. I don’t CARE what you do with it. I don’t want to know. - I told her. Don’t tell me – and take it now before I change my mind – before I decide to keep holding on. Take it. And go.

I loved you....and go.

A wise (and I might add, beautiful) woman once told me “you have to put out positive things into the universe in order to receive positive things in return.”

Unfortunately, I haven’t quite been able to implement this piece of advice, which I know to be good and right and the very recipe for healthy and normal self (just add a pinch of Martha Stewart sunshine and stir). I've tried! And I smile, and the anti-depressants kick in and life is good for an hour or two.

But, I do still cry. I can’t help it. There is usually music involved, something about love, or loss or….trees(?). It really doesn’t take much. But I HAVE erased all traces of DHT, Corrine Bailey Rae and Gabriel Mann from my iPod. That’s got to give me a FEW sunshine points, no?

I’m sure you’ve all had images dancing in your head of your darling Scarlett staying in night after night with no one but Ben, Jerry, Van Gough (bottle half empty) and the cast of the OC (still alive and well on my TiVo) to comfort her. And while, on the surface, this ensemble could be construed as a rather…lively… way to spend an evening, it's not QUITE an accurate description of my daily routine.

Fortunatley, the universe has its own rosey colored plans for me, dispite a lack of deposits its 'positivity' accounts weighed against a hefty portfolio of doom and gloom.   For starters, I’ve gotten some wonderful, quality friend time in recently! Barbie time, XO & G time has been wonderful if slightly emotional and intoxicating. I’m hoping our encounters in the near future will take an upturn turn ala the sunny spring weather!

Job is great – I’m busy, which I love. Kicking ass and taking names – what I do best (professionally anyway)! And since the federal government has deemed me fit to handle super secret stuff, I'll be starting my new position in June after a much needed vacation. So that's DEFNITELY something to look forward to. 

And then there’s Army – who is nothing short of perfect. He’s gotten the friend thumbs up, the very decerning cat vote, and even my father thinks he's brillant. Our relationship is insanely open and honest, and sickenly healthy. Weekends on the Eastern Shore, hiking, movies, grilling, drinking, dancing and all around general fabulousness.

And sometimes it feels right. And sometimes I’m happy and I laugh. And sometimes, I forget, and I let myself start to care, but then I stop. I stop because I’m scared. I stop because he’s leaving. I stop because I’m not quite whole.

Maybe he won’t turn out to be the Sandy to my Kirsten, but right now, he's definitely the Zack to my Summer**.

But here's a question: how do you fully enjoy the Newport colored sunset when you know it will eventually disappear? And puh-lease don't tell me 'live for today', because that philosophy only REALLY works in Jonathan Larson musicals.

 Frankly,

*If you get this reference (and no - I'm not referring to the case of South African Zin delivered to my apartment yesterday afternoon), give yourself cool points for the rest of the month! You're set!

(Written on Saturday.....I may take it down again)

How do you let go? How do you finally say goodbye without saying a word? How do you just mentally release when your thoughts and anger are the only you can cling to at night, even when there’s someone else sleeping right beside you?  

How do you drop your memories, your feelings, everything you know in your heart to be true? How do you just walk away? How do you stop your tears from falling even on the most beautiful spring morning you’ve ever seen? 

How do you stop wondering if it will ever REALLY be OK? If you’ll ever be THAT happy again?

Why, after knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that you deserved better, do you still want what you know is so wrong? And why, when you’ve changed your life for the better, given it renewed momentum , a green light for progress – you want nothing more than to put it in reverse?

I have a few posts brewing in my overcluttered, hyper-analyzing brain at the moment, some more thoughtful, some more angsty than others. However, as I berated you with angst last week, I’ll pick a topic from the more positive end of the spectrum to give you a brief rest.

As many of you know, the strains of work, life and love have been wearing on me over the past month. Moving on while desperately trying to leave the past behind, dwelling in possibility and trying to cope with the reality that I do not, in fact, have complete control over the world around me. Ultimately I cannot even control my own heart. I cannot tell it to stop loving someone bad, start loving someone infinitely better, or even to let go and trust someone one more time.

I never did get together again with the Canadian. Although we did talk and the thing he said that resonated with me the most was – ‘I love you. I want to give you a real relationship. A proper one.’ Those words have stuck with me over the past few days.

My affection for this man has ebbed and flowed over the past five years, hoping and praying that he’d ‘change’, that he’d give me what I want – namely, a ‘proper’ relationship. And in all fairness, he has changed, as well all do from the age of 25 to 30. While openness and communication issues still arise – the mere fact that he invited me to meet some of his friends last week, while it may not seem all that significant, is a big deal. I know he loves me. What form that love takes or whether we’ll be able to hammer out our issues and eventually get our romantic ducks in a row in anybody’s guess.

Frankly,

So apparently it took the nausea a little longer to abate than origionally predicted. I’ve truly been mentally vomiting since Tuesday afternoon.

So, I did what any sane, rational girl would do…drank a bottle of wine with Army Guy, bitched about my ex and then proceeded to have mind blowing sex. Charming, no?

You know what they say: The fastest way to get over one man….get under another. Truer words - never spoken.

You may think it strange that I would bring up the ex to the current boy toy – not at all. Oddly enough, Army got his heart sliced, diced and handed to him on a silver platter right around the time I was having mine pureed and served up as road kill. Therefore, the bitching of the ex’s really isn’t all that uncommon – though it has become significantly more infrequent as the weeks roll on. Healthy? Most likely not – and I don’t know what it actually implies about our current relationship other than the fact that its nice to be able to relate to someone, perhaps it’s a flashing neon ‘rebound’ sign that I’ve chosen to ignore? At any rate, there it is.

He’s not like normal rebounds I’ve experienced throughout my roughly dozen years in the dating world. Example: After severing ties with my college boyfriend I immediately started seeing a rock star wanna be who wrote punk rock songs about my eyes and lived in his mother’s basement. After the football player, it was an IT guy who told me he loved me after three dates  - and frankly, I’ve tried to block out the memory of the rest of the month or so that we dated. Scary stuff.

Rebounds are SUPPOSED to be inappropriate. They’re supposed to remind us that most of the time, our own companionship is preferable to that of being with someone for whom we do not care a great deal.

That’s why this one is a tad trickier, if it is, in fact, a rebound. Who knows, it may be something more. It’s in no way inappropriate. It’s in no way unhealthy. Army is everything a girl could want – handsome, together, sweet, thoughtful, doting, sexy as hell and a great cook! However, he’s being deployed in August – so at least I know approximately when this relationship will hit its expiration date.

Frankly,