the wonderfully lost with a touch of wonderful

I spent most of the summer dreaming of quick, without-a-trace ways to off myself: what point was there in going on when at 32 I was unable to bear children, broke, unemployed, single having just broken off an engagement three months prior to nuptials, homesick for my Maine friends and job, swallowed daily by a blood sucking and energy stealing cloud of who-gives-a-fuck about even breathing, and feeling guiltier than if I'd drowned a bag of kittens about leaving the fiance that maybe I shouldn't have left.

December was a little better. Mostly I still missed Fiance lots, regretted leaving, and couldn't sleep at night.

But everybody has a limit. Like my friend Harold (much more eloquently than this) says, You can only mope in your own black cloud for so long.

Christmas Eve I was very sad. Christmas morning I called to wish him a Merry... . Christmas afternoon I snuck off for quiet time away from my two engaged, younger cousins. Christmas night I was done.

December 26th I emailed that cute guy who sent an Interest to my matchmaker site on December 14th. December 30th we had our first date. February 2nd and I still feel blessed.

I did love Fiance, and his family; but a woman can take only so much inconsideration, emotional loneliness, unbrushed teeth, and two or three day old underwear before she runs screaming (with two cats, a garbage bags of clothes, one litter box, a bed pillow, a giant suitcase, and her favorite tunes) from the apartment while Mr. 'Why do I have to brush my teeth every day or clean up after myself or help you with anything and please stop whining about needing time with me' snores another day away.
(True to my own sense of right, I left the engagement ring behind.)

He wasn't cruel. He wasn't nasty. He was just enough for himself and used to it.

I was quite happy to find myself laughing with another woman on Tuesday about all the just not fun things I will never, ever miss. (like standing in the rain or freezing cold watching him sit in the drivers' seat and fiddle, hoping he unlocks the dad-blasted passenger side before I float away or catch my death; or having to ask him several times a week, Could you please take a shower today and maybe brush your teeth before bed? because your morning breath floats down to me at 6AM and let me tell you buddy that two-day old unbrushed shit would wake Rumpelstiltskin.)

(Addendum: I feel guilty and mean after typing this, as if this post were the entire truth, and the tone of it the entire me. The point of this piece is the joy I did feel to remember the reasons I left and all things about us that did not work.
I sing his praises, I trash him a little. I leave out that I also tried very, very hard.)