Thank you, Uncle Ben Lybarger, for Hall and Oates.
It was inevitable. My ex-husband and I had to end up in the same place and the same time. But we didn't have to talk to each other. Yet we did. And we shouldn't have. It was so weird to be in the same place, at the same time, as the same people (well, I am the same but I'm pretty sure that at some point he just wigged and lost any trace of being the goofy, carefree dude that I loved), and not be "us".
He tried to make small talk. I tried to explain why it would be best if certain people were kept out of my path. And then my feelings were belittled and I was "blowing this all out of proportion". I'm sorry...but when it floats around that a friend of mine may have been trying to put the moves on my husband...whom I LOVED...I take that seriously. Seriously enough to put the stomp on someone. But he doesn't understand nor care how I feel. Why should he? He walked out on me after all...several times...and tossed the word "love" around like confetti.
And then Bean swoops in like a super heroine declaring "This is accomplishing NOTHING" and "Make your happy call". And my happy call was 15 minutes of sugary bliss that made Bean sick to her stomach which made me purr with joy. It made me very aware of my tiny, ineffectual fists. I am in love with them now...my fists. They may appear ineffectual, but they are incredible, and someone out there appreciates them no matter how small.
My heart feels very sore right now. Possibly because I was forced to say out loud that a few months ago, it had been broken. I wish I had never even suggested that if I COULD (which I CAN'T) that I would want to be friends. I should have just stored that away with the rest of my life's embarrassing moments...like my skater-girl phase.
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