I am super-gluing the pieces. Difficult but necessary. Leaving, or being left by, someone is more than disconnect. It’s removing pictures from frames, removing pictures from the refrigerator, removing photos from the wall by your desk. It’s hard to determine which is worse, seeing the former us staring back when we were “happy,” or the now empty holes begging for new memories that don’t exist yet.
The radio is a mutherfucker. Last Saturday, in efforts to live outside of my head while keeping busy, I went to get a manicure. I sat there quietly listening to the “love” station on satellite radio, each song a four minute ode to hurt, not love. “Love Takes Time,” by Mariah Carey, “How am I Supposed to Live Without You,” by Michael Bolton, and “Can’t Stay Away from You,” by Gloria Estefan played back to back. This last week has left me mostly driving in silence, but one evening I asked for a radio sign. The song that played next was “Hold Your Head High.” Wednesday evening I watched Entourage, one of my favorite shows, and the closing song was Marvin Gaye’s “Piece of Clay.” I don’t know why, but this song has affected me the most. I forgot how much I love that song.
I’ve forgotten a lot in the last fifteen months, longer really. I’ve neglected my own advice and allowed mediocre to be enough. Months ago, my best friend Wes said, “It’s like he’s been given a brand new Bentley that only needs tires. You’re the Bentley and he isn’t willing to put forth the effort for tires.” When I repeated this analogy, which I probably should’ve kept to myself, he retorted with (after snickering,) “If you’re a Bentley, I’m the Batmobile. I mean, you’re not high maintenance and Bentley’s are high maintenance. You’re more like a 350 Z.” Thanks. He went out of his way to say mean things, things he knew would hurt me, with the sole intent to hurt me. To quote Winona Ryder in Reality Bites, “That ain’t love much.”  I’ve got to believe I’m worth loving. At the very least, I am worth tires.
I’ve been chasing a rainbow.
I’ve been hunting a unicorn.
I’ve been avoiding the literal writing on the wall. When the “unicorn” encouraged me to date others, I dated a kind man, Ben. My heart was elsewhere (Ben was gracious, understanding) and I severed ties as a result. Months later, Ben and I were able to be friendly. While at a local piano bar he wrote “Lauryn chose wrong” on the mirror. Later he said, “The man isn’t nice to you. He doesn’t appreciate you. He makes you sad. You deserve better and better is out there.”  I just want a little peace in my head, peace in my heart. Each day, I’m granted a bit more. Maybe by clearing out the clutter, I’ve made room for the peace.
I considered blogging about the actual events versus how they’ve changed me, but I’d rather make a “hole” on the wall rather than framing the photo.
Years ago, my mother shared a sentiment she had shared with a man she loved. She said, “I’ve give you all 52 cards in my deck. You’ve given only 51—almost enough, but not enough to play the game.” She received 49 more than I received. See, he didn’t give me 51, he gave me two, only two… and he can have those jokers back. So much hurt morphed into anger and finally, the anger is morphing into indifference. Know when to try harder and when to walk away. I’m uncertain who coined this phrase, but it’s good advice. And…