Woe Is I

Slowly, but steadily, my far flung friends figure out what is happening - or at least are curious enough to ask.

I'd started Saturday stating on Facebook that I'd fake it 'til I make it on the advice of a good friend.

I'd posted on Sunday that I'd follow the lead of the famous Christmas special and "Put One Foot In Front of the Other," and posted a YouTube clip of the Winter Warlock doing just that.

I met Kate for Mass and enjoyed the peaceful quiet of a traditional Mass made more beautiful by a lovely young boys choir.  Kate and I chatted for a time in the parking lot before I headed homeward.

A friend from college reached out and asked if I was okay, and I'd texted her the story.  She said I'd dodged a bullet. I am still not sure whether if feels worse to have people demonize Scott or to think it is a shame such a wonderful man is gone from my life.

I drive home and call my college roommate.  I tell her the entire story, soup to nuts, all the high light film instant replay worthy moments. She is aghast and horribly saddened by it all. She'd been friends with him on Facebook too. They'd really had some fun together. We are all feeling a little bit of loss.

As much as I'd like to curl up and die, I can't. I've aske Lars if the kids can visit for a little while. My cousin is coming for the game and they have been asking for her. Somehow he finds a way to be a decent human being and allow it. I need to rally. The kids don't need to see me in pieces again.

The game is a stinker so my cuz and I chat about all that has happened. I tell her how I miss my life, I miss having things to dream about. I am so angry that he deprived me of any kind of say in the matter, or even a final parting comment, however meaningless to him. She advises me to write it all down. Send him a letter. Get it off my chest.

Instead I'll blog. He wants to vanish from my life and make a clean break. No messy lingering thoughts to contend with. There is no way he'd read a letter. I imagine that it would go straight into the shredder. And I'd have said it all to no one.

I'll blog, though the notion of taking myself through the darkest hours again just to get it all down is scary, especially since I am trying to get to a place when what happened and why doesn't matter, and to a time where Scott and our life together is not the first thing I think of when I open my eyes.

The kids go home. The game ends (we lose). My cousin goes home. I have had one too many beers.

It is Sunday night and I face a long sleepless night, a week of lonliness, and work that I can't begin to concentrate upon.  Woe is I.