Routines

So today I spent the day chilling with the kitties and reading and then I watched In Treatment. I also wrote in my journal for the first time in months. So far so good, right? But now it's about that time when normally I'd be on the phone. And yeah, that feels a bit lonesome.

But why does it feel lonesome? Is it because I really want to be talking to that person? When I ask myself that question for real, the answer to that is no. At least, not if it would be another Wednesday-night-style conversation. And also not if it would be a conversation that pretended Wednesday night didn't happen. I feel lonesome because my routine for two years was to be talking on the phone right now. And you know, that's just not a good enough reason to be talking on the phone.

I'm a creature of routines. In order to be a successful academic, I think one has to be. The thing is, we don't have a lot of outside pressure to order our time. If one is going to get done all the things that one must, one has to have some sort of internal organization system, a penchant toward making routines for oneself so that one doesn't just transform into a sloth. But breaking routines is much harder for me than making them. Breaking a routine takes a lot more effort than sticking with one.

I feel a lot of anger that breaking this particular routine was on me to do. I'm really resentful of the fact that I had to make the change - a change I didn't really want to make - because I wasn't getting what I needed. This doesn't feel empowering to me - it feels irritating. This is not what I wanted, ultimately. I wanted to be able to do anything else but this. But here I am.

I'm also angry and resentful because I know that the lonesomeness I'm experiencing is less than the lonesomeness he's experiencing - because another of my routines is writing on this blog. My situation, ultimately, is one of total radio silence. He doesn't have a blog at all, let alone one on which he'd ever spill his guts. I'm cut off - totally. He, well, isn't. He can check in with me via this here blog. He gets to know what I'm thinking, what I'm feeling, what I'm doing. Now, I could shut down the blog, but seriously? Fuck off to that idea. Or I could choose not to write about how I'm actually feeling or what I'm actually thinking about. I could do a series of posts about teaching or research or something. I could cut him off from what's "really" happening. But how satisfying would that really be for me? How honest? Um, not very. And I'll admit, I hope he's reading and I want him to be reading because I think that he should have to deal with me. That's weird and lame. But it's how I'm feeling.

I think one of the reasons that I'm feeling that is because he'd mentioned a while ago that he was convinced if things ended with us that I'd just get over it in a snap. That he'd be bereft and wallowing while I'd be moving on. Because, of course, he's this total fucking victim of circumstance. As if just because I'd be the one to end it I'd be cool. And then he'd be able to feel sorry for himself ("Woe is me! She is moving on! I'm a loser!") while also being able to congratulate himself ("I'm very selfless and awesome! I have let her go and now she shall be happy!") Sure, that's convenient for him to think, but it's not true. And beyond not being true, it's a totally shitty way to think.

Here's a tip, fellows of the world who are too cowardly to end something that is lame: just because the girl ends it, it doesn't mean that she's "happy" now or that she's "fine" with the decision. In fact, she may be very distraught over the whole thing, while at the same time she feels regret and guilt and a general sense of unease about her decision. Even if she has no intention of changing her mind, she still might feel those things.

The bottom line is that he's neither a hero or a victim here. He's just an asshole, really. A coward. A fool. That's not why I ended it, but it's how I feel about his response to me ending it. And I don't feel "good" in feeling that. I feel horrible. But I'm not calling him. Because there's really nothing left for me to say. I'm not willing to pretend that what we've been is enough, nor am I willing to have another fight. The only thing, really, would be for him to apologize and to step up to give me what I need. And he's not going to. I get it. I really and truly do get it.

But god, that so sucks right now. Because I didn't want for this to be how things turned out. It's just - man, I'm an adult. And as an adult person? Yeah, I saw the writing on the wall. Once you acknowledge that there's nothing that you can do to change a thing? No matter what you try? The only thing for it is to stop that thing. Even if all you'd really want would be something else.

I spent 22 years of my life in a routine with my father, wherein I would be disappointed when he didn't give me what I needed, and then I would try harder - harder! - and still it wasn't enough, and then I'd decide to stop trying but would feel like a shitty daughter for it. I refuse to keep trying in that same way, and feeling the same bullshit guilt, now that he's gone. Crumbs are just not enough. What is convenient for the other person, in spite of my needs, just isn't enough. I couldn't say no to my father, not really, even though I tried. I can say no to just about anybody else. It's not on me to make this ok. It's not on me to fix it. It's not on me to make things comfortable.

I just can't believe that people who claim to love another person can act this way. I can't believe that if you love somebody you hurt them the way that he hurts me, and that it's in any way possible to justify that. It's really unforgivable. Unforgivable.

So. It's time to start making some new routines, right? To fill up the hole of this one with something else. But all I feel right now is empty. I don't feel like I know how to fill the hole.