An Update

I was concerned that I was going to have issues being at the gala with this person. I am also concerned that constantly saying ‘this person’, or ‘them’ is going to drive me insane. From here out I will be referring to them as Ess. I thought being at the gala with Ess had the potential to be problematic, but Ess never showed. Which was fine. I got through the gala, had some delicious food, watched my friends win awards, and then went to start the after party.

There were two pre-drinks going on, the guys team at one, the girls team at the other. not sure why we did it this way, but we did. The pre was good, Ess wasn’t at my pre. After the pre, we all met up at this one club downtown where we had booths reserved, and bottle service.

It was lit.

Ess was here though. And this is where things started to get out of hand. I was already drunk at this point, and it’s important to know, up until that point in my life, the whole being drunk makes you miss your ex thing, was a very foreign concept to me. I was lucky to have a good friend with me, she was able to keep me from acting on this new found drinking phenomena and doing anything dumb, like talking to Ess, or asking Ess to dance. So, I got more drunk instead.

A shot of tequila and half a bottle of vodka later I was ready to really party. I was also ready to be colossally petty. So, I got petty.

It seemed that whenever I turned around, Ess was right there. Now, I wasn’t trying to be in such close proximity, but I also wasn’t trying to avoid Ess either. I did take advantage of the close proximity though, to be petty. I danced with so many people. It must have been out of spite, because I was beyond messed up, I wasn’t going home with anyone, I knew that.

I also made out with four different people, all of them right in front of Ess. Ess also made out with someone, but only one person. I also grinded with Ess’ best friend. Right in front of Ess. Very petty, all of it.

This night left an impact on me. I thought I had done the leg work on moving on from the whole mess with Ess. But as I learned, this morning when I thought about last night there is apparently something still going on in my head and heart.

I don’t understand these emotions, or what any of it means. I don’t know how to sort it out, I only know how to write it down.

I’m confused by what I was feeling. When I saw Ess dancing with someone else, or when Ess kissed that person, I was jealous, and that does not make sense to me. Why would I be jealous? I have been seeing other people, I was feeling good. But I was jealous, regardless. I spent today in silence, mostly thinking, I checked Ess’ Instagram page for the first time in over a week. It feels like I’ve taken a huge step back. And it sucks to feel that way. I am frustrated by this. I want to move past this, I want to be done with it. I don’t want to have to sit and feel the pain of it every couple of weeks.

My desire to have that final conversation with Ess, that I mentioned in the last post, has never been greater than it is now. I need to know their side of the story, the curiosity burns in me. I feel like if I could hear what Ess has to say, I could take another step to getting through this. A large part of what I’m feeling day in and day out, is a sort of anxiety over not knowing what was going on, on the other side of the wire. I don’t know if Ess cared about me, or cares about me, but I want to know. But it’s not something I will know. Unless Ess comes into my work to talk to me about it, or gets in contact with me about it, I don’t see there being a situation where the opportunity for the conversation to happen can exist. If I am sitting by myself at a table, Ess will not sit next to me, and if Ess is sitting at a table, alone, I know I will lack the necessary balls to sit down and start the conversation. I also won’t text Ess. I haven’t deleted the number from my phone, I haven’t even deleted the messages, but I will not allow myself to send that text. And my friends agree that I should not.

I have to accept this, even though last night has made the prospects of that conversation all the more lucrative.

I don’t regret last night. I’m glad I went out, I did have fun, although all I seem to have done is complain about the night. It was fun, a lot of fun, and I needed to have some fun. This makes 4 nights out in 3 weeks, more than I went out in all of my first year of university. So although it was fun, I think both my bank account and I need a break. I think I might need some time to recharge, I am an introvert, so some time alone is actually good for me. When the breakup was fresh, I spent an entire day, about 5ish hours, to get on my bike, and cycle to a beach a couple towns over. It really helped, I’d like to do that again, but it’s a little cold at the moment. But maybe I will find something else to do.

The writing helps, I never expected to enjoy it this much, or for it to be so effective at helping me sort through my emotions and feelings. I want to write more, if I can’t get on my bike and just cycle away from my problems, then maybe I can try writing them away this week. I might also just suck it up and go riding in the cold.

I am not sure what I am going to do about this setback, I believe I need some time to myself. I also believe that this is something that may pass with a bit of time. I’m hoping that these feelings were brought on simply by a combination of being drunk, and being in the same room as Ess. I’ll take it one day at a time, see how I am tomorrow, and then the day after, and so on. School is also about to become very hectic with final assignments and exams, so that should take my mind off it, and then I’ll be moving back home, and I will be in a completely different city from Ess.

I know it’s quite the update, but it was also quite the night. More to come this week I’m sure, until then,



Continued Adjustment

There has been a longer gap between pieces than I would like, my first week back at school has been quite busy with a massive midterm, lots of seminar work, and a lot of shifts of actual work. But it’s been a good week.

Apart from my hectic schedule, I’ve managed to be fairly social. I went out twice over reading week, hung out with friends two other times, which is monumental for me. I am not a very social person, especially when I am feeling down in the dumps, but recently, I have been coming out of my shell so to speak. And it’s been good. I am having fun, and I am more productive. It feels good.

On the internal side of things, I am doing better. I am not angry any more. The whole situation with my ex had left me very angry. Like incredibly angry. I punched a bouncer. That’s how angry I was. I’m not angry anymore. I’ve accepted what has happened. We’re both young, and young people do stupid things, like treat people like shit, or cheat on them, or dump them on Christmas eve. I understand, their situation is quite unique, and I don’t have any difficulty in recognizing that the circumstances of their life have made being a part of their life something that is either impossible, or impossibly difficult for me, or anyone really. As such, I don’t hold what they did against them. In fact, I think I would be ready for forgiveness if I were to receive an apology, but I doubt I will. This person even came into my work today, looking for my boss, and I wasn’t immediately consumed with rage and a desire to break things, like the previous few times I had seen this person. This is the difference between now and before. Before I would have been furious at seeing them, probably made a snarky comment, not today though. I smiled, and I was professional.

I have had a lot of time to think about the situation, and I have to come to a number of realizations. The first is that I am ready to forgive. The second, even though this person treated me so horribly, and even though they said they cared, and I now have my doubts about whether they ever did or not, I still care about this person. It’s not something I can just turn off. I have also realized there is no way this person can be a part of my life without causing me some great anguish, pain, or trouble. With this, I have resolved not to let this person back into my life.

However, in spite of this, I wish I could have the chance to close things off with a final conversation, I would love to know their side of the story. I would also like to be able to vocalize my forgiveness, and my understanding. I think I also need to explain that we can’t be a part of each-others’ lives. Not now, maybe not ever, but that I do care, and I’m not likely to stop. However, something I do know for certain, if this person ever needed me, I know I would be there for them. I have a desire for closure, and unfortunately this is something that I don’t think I will ever get.

Because I don’t think I will ever tell this person any of this.

Although I am ready to forgive, I doubt I will ever trust them again, and I definitely don’t trust them not to take advantage of all that, and of me.

With all that said, I’m attending a gala and after party tomorrow and they will also be there, so it will be interesting to see what happens when we’re in the same room drunk. I hope I’m not too mean.

I wish I had more to say, something less lame, and less emotional. But my life hasn’t had much substance. Apart from the events of going out, not much has gone on. It’s just been a series of events, apart from all the thinking I did. But to be fair, that’s a great more thinking about such things that I do. And I haven’t exactly left myself open to experiencing something new.

Oh well, I guess all I have is to see what this coming week has in store for me. And this gala.




Yes, dress pants were very nice. In fact, the entire ensemble of pants, shirt tie and jacket was quite lovely. Black of course. Why anyone wore suits that weren’t black remained quite a mystery to me. Although, to be fair, my suit did have some almost black, dark blue pinstripes. But if anything, they just highlighted the black.

But the pants. Yes. Very nice, well-tailored, hemmed neatly, and looked very good in photographs. Horrendous to sit in. Likely because most tailors measure your pants when you are standing, pants have this funny little habit of only fitting properly when you are standing. Jeans had a similar problem, but it wasn’t quite to the same extent. Denim had a bit of stretch to it, whatever you make suits out of, they most certainly do not.

So, I had elected to stand. Sure, there were plenty of open seats, but sore knees after a few hours of standing were well worth it, if it meant I could avoid the weird, bunching up, and pinching of my pants when I sat down.

The speaker would probably only talk for fifteen to twenty more minutes at most anyways, then the rest of the night would be spent “mingling” as it had been decreed we had to do tonight.

So, that’s what we did. We mingled. We met the alumni, and the distinguished persons, and the other rich old people. We discussed the how the team did this fall,

No, we did not get the banner,

Yes, we were very close,

I’m sure we will get it next year.

It was around the time the old people were asking about the state of our equipment and training facilities that I began to question my outfit. Yes, my outfit was smart, and I looked good, and others were wearing similar outfits. But, I had yet to successfully get a donation.

Some of the other girls wore dresses, and some wore suits, and some wore some combination of pants and blouse. But based on whose pens were moving, on which clipboards, it seemed that dresses were winning the evening.

This invited a new discomfort. Not the same discomfort the pants created when I sat down, but definitely related to the pants. I had never been a confident girl, which may have been why I leaned away from dresses and towards pants. Yet here I was, feeling the sting of betrayal, from a pair a pants. It had been some time since I felt like this.

I began to edge my way to the doors on the left side of the room. The bathroom was just on the other side, and I hadn’t been all night. This seemed like an excellent time to use the facilities. So, I said my ‘excuse me’s and I snaked my way through the crowd to the left side of the hall. It felt like I was making zero headway. I took 30 steps, but the door didn’t get any closer. I passed the man with the silver moustache at least twice on my journey to the door. And that little table with the desserts, I must have walked past it a good 3 times. At least three times, I had eaten three of those chocolate desserts.

And then I was through the doors.

You don’t realize how warm a room full of people until you step out of that room. The cool air washed over me, and I took a deep breath and glanced around the room for the door to the bathroom. It was where I had been told it would be, nestled on the east wall, a red-ish wood, with a brass oval with the typical silhouette of the female figure. Very typical for any restaurant or banquet hall.

I heard my shoes clacking on the floor for the first time since the gala began as I hurried into the bathroom. I immediately went for the sink. I turned on the hot water, only the hot water, and I let the burning sensation cover my hands. I put the tips of my fingers, palm up, under the little soap dispenser, and the small motor inside made a slight whirring noise as it deposited the familiar white foamy public bathroom soap onto my waiting fingertips.

I went through the motions of washing my hands, because I didn’t really need to wash them. But the hot water, and the almost sceptic smelling soap cleared my head a little bit. The longer I washed my hands, the clearer my head got.

I felt as if my hands had been under the sink for hours. But my head was clear. I turned off the tap and reached to the right where the paper towels were. I grabbed a handful of them to dry my hands.

Oh gross, it was the harsh brown kind.

My hands, now dry, I gently dropped the wadded-up ball of paper towel into the small cutout in the sink counter and looked at myself in the mirror.

I looked at my face for the first time since I had finished applying my makeup earlier that afternoon. I noted the streaks of mascara that slowly faded into streaks of foundation.

I had been crying. I don’t know when I started.

Oh god, who saw?


It was a new feeling. Not the feeling of anger, that had been felt before, and not even a greater intensity of anger. No, this was a different kind of anger. Where before he had punched walls and thrown chairs, this was a calm anger. Despite the rage bubbling underneath, everything was calm and collected. His breathing was even, his heart rate no different than if he was reading a book by the fire. His hands maintained that steadiness, carefully groomed over years of writing, and drawing.
What was new was the blood. The phrase my blood boils flitted across his mind. It was accurate, he decided. There was a burning in his veins and arteries, that began at the centre of his chest and spread right to his toes and the crown of his head.
Their was a fine line between pleasurably warm, and uncomfortably hot, and his veins danced on this line. For a few seconds the heat was soothing, almost relaxing, the next it made his toes curl in discomfort.
He focused on his breathing next. It had continued at the steady in and out that one could expect from someone lying down. So he began to count his breaths. When he reached 10 he moved on to the next step.
He let his left eye slowly shut, focusing on the picture in his right.
He counted his breaths again. 10 once more.
He moved his finger from where it was resting on the cool aluminum half circle to just inside of it. He gently pushed his finger forward, and waited for the audible click.
When he heard the click he changed his breathing. No longer a steady in an out, but a mechanical in, hold, out, hold, and repeat. So he did.
And on this out, with the precision of years of practice, thousands of hours dedicated to mastering this one aspect, he let his breath out.
The moment his breath had left his body and his lungs were empty, he squeezed his finger back towards his palm.
With a crack that left his ears ringing, and a sharp kick to his shoulder, he watched the little dot of light trace its way through the sky for a brief second and a half.
Then with a puff of brown he watched the wooden board buckle and twist, and for a moment appear to be ready to fall over, but then right itself. All this, over a thousand metres away.
With his ears still ringing, and his limbs burning where he knew his blood flowed, he got up, and he left.
Still angry.