Living

Abandonment. Attachment. Lament.

Frustration. Irritation. Isolation.

Consolation.

Repression. Depression. Confession.

Relief.

Anger. Temper. Stutter.

Freedom.

Betrayal. Dismissal.

Friendship. Companionship. Shipwreck.

Ammend. Pretend. Contend.

The End.

I slept a grand total of two hours last night, after arriving home around midnight after attending the Hoop-Dee-Doo Revue at Fort Wilderness with some friends. I tried to enjoy myself, claiming the distinguished role of Designated Driver because:
a) Pain killers and alcohol don't mix
b) Emotional stress + alcohol = sobbing Shelly
c) Emotional stress + alcohol = enraged Shelly
d) Work at 730am
e) Did not want a glimpse of a hangover while I dealt with the closure of PB&J (yes, we had a joint petname-- doesn't every couple at some point in the course of a relationship?)

It was tough, though. For once, I actually didn't want a distraction. My friends' laughter, the upbeat music, clapping hands... I should have been able to lose myself in the fun. But I couldn't. I wanted to sink into the silence of Shelly. But at the risk of receiving a multitude of "Are you okay?s", I pasted on a smile and sang along, sipping on a rum and coke, minus the rum.

Today arrived. March 15, 2008.

Here is the eerie part. This very day last year, Luke and I signed the lease to the apartment. This very day in 2007. And it's the same day he moves out, signifying the true end of our relationship. This gives me real shivers. For nostalgic purposes, I want to share a paragraph from a blog I wrote at this time last year:

"Last weekend Luke and me took a HUGE step in our relationship. We signed the paperwork and paid the deposits for our OWN apartment. It's a gorgeous first floor, two bedroom/two bathroom... a corner apartment looking out at the pond and pool. It's amazing... and it's ours. We move in on May 12th. The apartment is in the same complex that I currently live in, which I'm thrilled about, because I love the area. My roommates were expecting it, and are happy for me... which is a great relief; I didn't want them taking it personally. I love them and I've loved living with them... but it's time to take the next step with Luke.

I can't wait to wake up every morning to roll over into Luke's arms. I can't wait to have breakfasts and dinners together, when our schedules allow. I can't wait to try to cook for him and do his laundry. I can't wait to have silly arguments about which towels to use when we have Guests in the spare bedroom. I can't wait to fumble with the elctronics while he laughs at me and fixes the problem in a mere second. I can't wait to start our "real" life together.
I'm simultaneously ecstatic and terrified."

I had a childish perspective of what it means to live together. I remember writing this blog. I remember being more excited about the layout of the apartment, and not having to clean up after roommates and worry about roommates not paying bills, than I was about physically 'living' with Luke. I remember feeling like I was forcing Luke to do something he truly didn't want to do: move out of a house he shared with a friend to an apartment with his girlfriend and two cats. I remember doing most of the work, research, and moving preparation between March and May of 2007. I remember telling Robin that I was really scared about moving in with Luke, because it was either going to make or break us. I just didn't think it would break us before the lease was up.

I idealized living with Luke, based off what I had seen in Robin and Brian's marriage. My fantasy of sharing an apartment, and essentially a life, with Luke was just that-- a fantasy. I felt more distant from him after sharing an apartment than I did when we lived 25 minutes away from each other. I was alone every night in the apartment, and asleep long before he even got home from work. Looking back, I'm not sure why I thought living together would bring us closer. The template still existed-- opposite work schedules. Plus, we butted heads about cleaning habits, weekend rituals, and the ultimate-- money.

Of course, my writing all this is probably just my way of coping with the fact that Luke moved out today. It was very surreal. I felt surprisingly calm when I walked into the apartment after being at work for a few hours. Luke was quickly moving items from the former Guest room to a moving truck parked out front of our building. Actually, quickly is an understatement-- he was practically running. Apparently he had to return the truck by a certain time, or he would get charged an extra day.

This made for very quick closure. It wasn't exactly the "hey, been a good run" type of ending I'd foreseen. We argued about why I wasn't taking him off the lease, and why he didn't want to give his keys back to me. We went in circles for a bit, until I finally convinced him that I wasn't going to screw him over and come after him for money. I just wanted this to be as easy as possible-- for the both of us.

Our parting words:

"I'm not going to fuck you over regarding the lease," I said. "Why would I do that? You were the bigger person here, Luke. You took the last step and broke up with me. I should have ended our relationship in September."

Luke tossed his keys on the counter. "Hope your ulcer gets better. Goodbye."

I'm not really sure what I was expecting. A good-bye embrace? A "well, it was a good run" type of closing comment? I don't know. This was the most serious relationship I'd ever been in, so I wouldn't know how these things are supposed to end.

When he closed the door, finality encompassed me. I cried. No, I actually howled. I think I scared the cats. It was worse than when he broke up with me over a month ago. This was it. This was the last hoorah. I wasn't crying over Luke, though. I was crying over the sheer magnitude of what had just occurred. The man I had devoted almost six years to had just left for good. Anyone with a heart can agree that it's simply sad. When love doesn't last, when happiness fades, when fantasies become jarred back into reality... we cry. Then we pick ourselves off the floor, and look at what's left of our life. And we realize that we have a lot to live for... and the living needs to start today.

My first moment of "living"? I stopped ignoring the grinding of my brakes and brought the Shellymobile into the shop. Three hours, six phone conversations, and $427.89 later... I drove out of the shop with new brakes, a new perspective, and a new smile.

I'm going to be all right.