Well.

I have to say, I'm feeling pretty sad right now - and for once I don't have to blame it job or moving stress. (Despite being sad, I'm glad to have my head out of my own ass for a little while).

Pixie was in town this weekend, and over the course of a few days, several things became clear to me. When we got the call from Q in July, it was like being sucker punched. I couldn't believe it. How could they be splitting up? I mean, every couple has a million secrets that are nobody's business but theirs...but weren't Pixie & Q supposed to be the success story? Weren't they the ones who braved the uncomprehending attitudes of their peers and took the plunge far in advance of the rash of marriages that come when people decide that they're the right age to be hitched?

It's not that I'm a slave to neatness; I don't demand that other people make clean choices that fit in with a super narrative. Pixie & Q didn't owe me stability because of the reasons listed above. When the Boy lived with them and I became the Most Frequent Houseguest, I looked at them with delight. They were quite obviously crazy about each other, and while there is much that I don't understand about them as individuals, I saw something beautiful in that little apartment.

I often wished, quietly and to myself, that I would grow up to be like them. In my secret prayers, I longed to be as blessed as they were.

So when the call came in July, I hid from the significance as best I could. I searched for ambiguity in the phrase, "splitting up," and took it upon myself to hope that this would all be resolved in a few months when the two of them found the blessing again. I decided to think about couples who had undergone a separation and then reconciled for many happy years afterwards. I decided to hide from the ugly alternative, which was that I couldn't keep this beauty in my life through sheer force of will.

And I hoped. O God, I hoped. I thought about the time that they were living with the Boy's mother for awhile: Q had had to return to the US and Pixie had, by all reports, gone nuts with longing. I fixated on that story. I was sure that history was going to repeat itself. I welcomed Q back to town, and studiously ignored him when he began introducing the Boy & I as "ex-in-laws." I tried not to think about it, as much as possible.

But this weekend, this visit, contained enough dynamite to completely destroy the comfortable bridge of rationalization connecting reality with fantasy. I could ignore Q calling us exes, but I couldn't ignore a living, breathing boyfriend. Don't get me wrong, I like the guy. I was fully prepared not to, because that would've made things much easier, but I did anyway. I admire his courage: this couldn't have been the easiest trip to make and if I were in his place, I'm pretty sure that I would've behaved abominably. I tend to, when I feel threatened. I suppose I should be glad that I didn't freak out this weekend, threatened as I am by what needs to be acknowledged.

This whole weekend I've been feeling kind of angry and I haven't been able to figure out why. This afternoon I realized that I wasn't really feeling anger, it was just the sadness that I'd squashed down until I couldn't feel it any longer. On the whole, I think I prefer anger. Anger feels more productive than sadness, because you get to lay blame in anger. With sadness, all that you can do is face facts and try to live with them in your world.

I feel kind of stupid confessing this. It's not my right to mourn, just as it's not my right to say anything in particular to anyone that matters. But right or wrong, I'm crying tonight. I just hope that my upset comes from an honest sorrow and empathy for my family, rather than a petty desire to see the story play out as advertised in a thousand fairy tales.

Last night, by the way, I wore a slutty top, I drank too much, I smoked half a pack of cigarettes and I danced badly. Nevertheless, I think I had a good time for all of 3 hours. I'll take what I can get.

-- years ago today: this is my first entry for december 1st. feel blessed!