Writing About The Boy and Some Crumbs

A couple days ago, I had the flu. But I still had to pick up Hana and friends in my 115 degree car while sweating from all of the pores under my boobs, because why would I put on a bra when I have the flu...I then hit my head on a low wooden beam of Matt's carport when I got back.

I kept it together until I got inside the house and walked into Matt's bedroom for privacy (I sleep on the couch), then I opened the flood gates.  As I begin sobbing, I start taking off my clothes because they are wet from sweat, and I lie on Matt's bed naked, sweating and crying. Good, hearty crying. All the while, my head was throbbing from my infected sinuses and now the goose egg I'd just acquired in the carport. But the crying was cathartic regardless.  

But I don't wanna get sweat on Matt's bed, so I cry on the floor for a while.  Then I stand up and see myself in the mirror and cry that my boobs no longer defy gravity like they did when I was 17.

Then Hana walked in on me naked.

~

It was time for a cry what with the Mesquite/Vegas hospital retreat, moving, being broke, missing Jeremy, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera...

A release was way overdue.

And I realized the last time I cried was when I said goodbye to Awesome in Cedar.  

{I don't know if she knows that I cried.  Now she does.}

{I don't know if you guys knew that my breasts don't defy gravity anymore.  Now you do. Welcome to a woman's post breastfeeding body.}

{I don't know if Matt wanted to know that I was sweating and crying on his bed.  Now he does. Actually, I told him later that evening.  I told him the whole heinous sequence of events. When I was done, he nodded and said, "Well, yeah...I would have cried, too."}

There's a point to this.

I've been writing about The Boy for the past week and a half.  The experience of telling the story confirmed to me that I have completely purged him from my system. How lovely. How wonderful. After 20 years of juvenile, naive fantasy.

So as I was crying and sweating and sagging, I asked myself if the outburst had anything at all to do with writing about The Boy. I could honestly conclude that it did not.  Not even a teensy bit.  

What's more is when I had written only the first 3 or 4 parts, a friend from high school commented on Facebook that my story sounded like deja vu, because he apparently DOES THIS.  

It's like a thing, y'all! A thing that he does!  

He likes the idea of hopeless romance at a distance, but then when the girl is available, geographically or otherwise, i.e., divorced in my case, he shuts off!

HAHAHAHA!!!  

LORDY, LORDY! as my Mamaw would have said.

So my friend and I start corresponding back and forth about this, and she had several examples to back this up.  

Then another friend and I touched base, because she had similar sentiments and examples to share as well.  In fact, she said to me, "I am sorry you had to go through that. I wish I could have told you how many times he has done this kind of thing."

Having these exchanges were yet another confirmation that I am COM-PLETE-LY moved on. I felt nothing. Except burning curiosity.  

PRAISE! PRAISE TO THE ALMIGHTY! PRAISES WE SING UNTO THEE!

Just like the 17 minutes I spent watching Captain Eo two Christmases ago at Disneyland, I may never get those 20 years of my life back (nor would I want to), but I am so much smarter now.  Probably smarter than everyone in the world.   

Also, I know that someone, without any prompting from myself, sent him the link to my blog within the past couple of days.  

Eeeeeeeek!

And super.