Archive for the 'Rachemism' Category

I’ve decided I hate the smell of hospitals.  They always smell so…. clean.  And not like that Pine-Sol clean, or that laundry clean, or that FeBreeze clean.  But like, that “I can’t use bleach so I just used rubbing alcohol to clean everything” clean.    It’s making me nauseated.  

I’ve also decided that I hate morning sickness.   Smells (and even non-smells) make me sick.  Shit I used to love smelling like garlic and my mom’s perfume.   I don’t understand it when people say I’m glowing because I wanna barf every 10 minutes.   Is “glowing” a nice way of telling a pregnant woman that she’s pale and green and has vomit on her shoe?  Hmm.  

Oh and I also strongly dislike (read: hate) strangers who think it’s ok to rub my stomach because I’m pregnant.  GET YOUR FILTHY, STINKY HANDS OFF OF MY GODAMN BODY YOU FREAK!   Why am I so irritable?  I hate that pregnancy makes you hate everything. 

And while we’re on the subject of hating things, I really hate going to these ultrasound appointments solo.   Where the fuck is my husband?   Working, shmerking, a dude shouldn’t let the mother of his child drive solo.  When I become the first female president of the United States, I’m making it a law…..

“Oh, Hi.” 

This tech is really REALLY nice.   She smells kind of like coffee and lavendar — if they had a baby.  Just kidding.  She had some kind of garlic for lunch, I can smell it.  It’s very faint but its burning my nose hairs and my stomach is starting to turn.   Am I green yet?   Where is the nearest vomit hole – I mean – sink?

“Yeah, I’m 14 weeks now.  Yes, It’s a boy.”

Isn’t all this info in my file?   Someone tell Garlic Lady that I’m not a vampire, please.   Oh, and that it’s not necessary to hover so close to me.   You’re checking my belly and you have a long arm.   This doesn’t have to be so uncomfortable to me!   Sheesh.  I mean, SERIOUSLY, wtf did she…

“What?  I’m sorry what did you say?”
“They didn’t tell you that you were having two?”
“Two WHAT?”
“Two babies!  Twins! See, here’s Twin A, and here’s Twin B”  

“SHUT.  THE.  FUCK.  UP.”

I’m in shock.  Twins?   TWINS?  Like, 2 babies?  Like, more than ONE?  At least I no longer want to vomit.  Fuck, where is my husband?!  Why is he not here? I pick up my phone and dial my husband’s cell.  No answer.   I call his work line….  “Sure let me get him for you.” 

“Hello?”

“You know, I hate that you don’t answer your phone!   And I REALLY hate that you don’t go with me to these things…..   “

*bzzz*

I look at my phone that’s secretly been hiding in my pocket.   It was one of my girlfriends, seeing what I was up to. 

“What you doin’?

I text back.  “I’m on a DATE.”
“Whaaaat?  Who ARE you right now?”
“hahaha.  I’ll call you later!”

My date wonders from accross the table.  “Everything OK?”

This man is SO handsome.  I could watch him watch me foreverrrr.  Am I really here right now?  Is this real life?   He asks me again and… God his voice.  His voice is so deep it shakes me from my core.  It causes earthquakes  in my chest and I think… I think my vagina just winked at him. 

I excuse myself and use the restroom.    As I’m fixing my hair and makeup, I mentally give myself a pat on the back.   I’m not going crazy.  Even though this bathroom tile reminds of the tile in HIS bathroom, and I just passed a guy wearing HIS scent,  I’m….  ok.    And I surprise myself because when I was in that place, I never thought I’d be able to get out and into this place.

*sigh*

As I’m returning to my hot date with the hot voice, I feel a jerking tug on my arm.   I’ts Him.   My heart drops to my stomach..    I haven’t seen him in 2 weeks, and I haven’t heard from him since my last text to him.   God, he looks so good when he’s mad.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”  he demands.

I fully expect my knees to buckle and give way.  I’m waiting for the tears to well up in my eyes and my throat to be scratchy.   Depression, who has been my friend since that day I ran home, is on its way; I know it.   I wait for all of these things… But, they never come.

Instead this calm voice (that sounds a lot like my own) comes out of my mouth and replies, “I’m on a date.”

“Who the FUCK told you you could go on a date?!”  he barks back.
“You did.”    (there goes that freakin’ voice again)
“And when did I ever say it was ok for you to go behind my back and date another dude!?”

And then I answer, in my own forceful, calm voice.

“When you said we were on a break.”

I wonder.

I wonder if I’m going to have to wait another 5 days before he calls me.   I wonder what he’s doing today that he didn’t.  I wonder if AT&T didn’t get my payment and turned off my service.   Nope.  My phone’s working. I wonder if he’s fucking somebody else, or talking to somebody else, or shit, even FEELIN’ somebody else.  I wonder why he wanted this space in the first place. 

And then I wonder why I just can’t fucking let it go.

More and more this “break” feels more like a break UP.   And the more I think about it, the more annoyed I get.  Why couldn’t he just be a man and tell me he wasn’t feelin’ me?   Why not just let me go and be happy with someone else instead of unhappy and waiting on him?   I don’t understand why he’s so selfish.

I’m done.

I text him exactly that and immediately feel a weight lifted from my shoulders.  But just as quickly as the relief comes, it gets replaced with more wonder.   I wonder if he’s gonna text me back.  I wonder if he’s even gonna acknowledge the text.  I wonder if  AT&T got his payment and turned off his phone.  

And then I wonder why I couldn’t have just told him what I REALLY thought.    

I wonder if he’s probably gonna do the exact opposite of what I hope he would.   Cuz when a girl says, “I’m done,” she really means, “Fight for me, asshole.”    

I wonder.

He is everywhere, but he is nowhere.

His socks are still in my underwear drawer and every morning as I get ready, I fully expect them to not be there anymore.  But nope.  There they sit, taunting me.  There they will always sit, until the day he either spends the night here and gets ready in the morning, or I throw them away.  At this point though, I’m not sure which option is more realistic.

I stare at his toothbrush in the bathroom, at his mug in my dishwasher, at his gym shoes in my closet.  Sometimes I wish so hard they would just DISAPPEAR because everyday I see them is yet another reminder.  His shit keeps filling this space.    My space.  There goes that goddamn word again.

I’m sipping on this cup of coffee and hating myself.  I don’t even drink coffee anymore.  Matter fact, I hate coffee.  But here I sit, drinking it, wishing with all my might that we could just go back.  Back to when this coffee was just a coffee instead of this thing trying to keep me awake because I didn’t get any sleep last night.  Because I was up thinking about him.  About me.  About us. Just thinking.

Back to before he purged my soul from my heart.  Before I decided to sell it to the devil for one more ounce of happiness with him.  For him.  By him.  Back when I would enjoy cuddling with him in our bed, instead of sleeping alone in mine.  Back to when Blockbuster nights were simple.  When we wanted to stay in and enjoy each others’ company when now they just confirm how lonely I am.  Because as a beautiful young woman, I have nothing else to do on a Friday night.

I wish this coffee could just take me back.  Back when we would just talk.  Over coffee.  Over this stupid cup of coffee.

Space.   The more I acknowledge it, the bigger it gets.

“I need space.”

The funny thing about hearing the word space, is that it automatically makes room for itself.  The word space creates space – in your life, in your heart and even in this room, it shows itself.   Here it is now,  filled with a deafening silence. 

“So you want to break up with me?”  I asked.
“No.  I don’t want to break up.  I just want… a break. You know, to figure it all out.  To figure out if this is what I really want.”  

I swallow back a throat full of tears and say exactly what I think he means.
“To figure out if I’m what you really want?” 
“Yeah.” 

He said this with so much conviction and without any hesitation.  There was no doubt in his eyes, no emotion on his face.  He needs space and instantly, there is an infinite amount of space between us despite him sitting accross the table.

Space.

And there it is.

I’m staring at this man.  This man that I love whom I’ve shared the last three years with.  I’m staring at him, searching for the man I used to recognize.  That man wouldn’t have needed space and that man wouldn’t have even WANTED space but this man?  This man can’t even stand to look at me, and I can’t even stand to be here. 

I pick up my purse, throw the pieces of my shattered heart in, and run.   With each step the space between us increases.  I laugh at the irony of it all. The tears finally find their way out of my throat , make their way up and out of my eyeballs and fall onto my face when I finally make it home. 

My roomate looks startled to see me and asks me why I look so shitty.

I start to answer her and try to explain the best I can.  But with each spoken word, the “space” gets realer, and wider, and longer, and deeper. 

“We’re on a break.”

I’m dieting.  And I’m grumpy.  You have been warned. 

Reading Abi’s blog the other day and came accross this:  “I like the person that you are, but I’m in love with the person that you have potential to be.”

I gotta give it up to all those ambitious people.  All the guys who say they’re gonna be somebody and actually become them.   To all the girls who want aspire to be better and more.   But this post isn’t gonna be about you.

It’s not gonna be about you because I’m a bitch, or Devil’s advocate or shit, maybe even Satan himself.  This post is about the rest of you.   The people who want to be somebody and do something, but don’t want to even START to get there.  The people who waste their potential on (insert petty shit here.) 

Ok, so maybe it’s not fair that I’m blaming my jaded sense of reality on you.  Maybe the blame should be put on the people who love you.  The people who love you regardless of how lazy you are, or how much you procrastinate or how dependant you are.   The people who enable you.  The people who see past all of that and LOVE THE PERSON YOU HAD SO MUCH POTENTIAL TO BE.  Because when they see you, they still see that person.  When the reality of it all, is that even after ten years together, you’re exactly the same person you were when you both met.   You haven’t grown.  You haven’t changed.  But they love you anyway, and it cuts both ways. 

There are no guarantees in life.  People change or they don’t and love is or isn’t enough.  What do you do when you fall in love with “potential?”   What happens when the person they COULD HAVE become never fucking shows up?   Where does the blame lie?   Is it your fault for being that way, or is it my fault for letting you think that being that way is acceptable?

I think the most important thing about potential, is that you both have to see it.  You both have to believe that you can be more and be better.   You can’t expect them to be better if they don’t think they can be.  

Don’t build your house on sand.  Don’t fall in love with potential when potential cannot love you back.