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no more
Monday, July 31 2000
Today my online journal effort turns four years old. Happy birthday to it! Happy birthday, no shit! In celebration, I broke up with my girlfriend, Kimberly, aka Kamala, aka Bathtubgirl. Actually, I would have been perfectly happy to stay with her (especially given how well we got along yesterday), but when I discovered that she'd been reading my personal emails while I lay sleeping last night, that was the final straw. So I made it official, and there's no going back. She'll be moving out, and I'll be taking out a second mortgage to pay her off for what she put into the house. Then I will be free. Happily, she was never on the title, contrary to what she told her mom.
And yes, it's true.
No more having to explain jokes.
No more having to make up an excuse when my co-workers invite me out for a beer.
No more having to delete my emails from my home machine.
No more miserable baths.
No more inflated restaurant tabs.
No more carwashes.
No more smarmed-out definitions of words like "creativity."
No more yonis & lingums.
No more sleeping beside a head of hair with the fragrance of a chemistry lab.
No more chakras, tantra and other assorted mumbo jumbo.
No more totalitarian oppression.
No more...
No more Sophie the Miniature Schnauzer (my, that's sad).
It couldn't have been a better day for a breakup. It turned out that tonight was the night that I had to stay late testing and fixing odds and ends related to my employer's release of the message boards system I've developed. I ended up staying at work until midnight (a complete impossibility under the Kim regime). But this is not to imply that all I did was work during this time. Towards the end there, my boss Linda went out and bought beer and burritos. Then she and I and two other guys hung out drinking, etc., and shooting the shit about just anything that came to our increasingly addled minds. It was great fun to be socializing with such a fun collection of intelligent people without the interference of a controlling girlfriend. I haven't been allowed such freedom for the past two years.
But this is not to say I'm not suffering from symptoms of withdrawal. When I finally came home to my house, it was completely empty and silent. No Sophie, no Kim, just a big cold empty bed. I lay down and felt something that must be similar to loneliness, the feeling that there's no one out there who really worries about me anymore. I'm on my own, and this time (and here's the scary part) I'm a long way from home. There was nothing in my imagination that could comfort me; all those things had been systematically leveled by the work of Kim's psychological backhoe.
It's incredibly difficult to just abandon two years of your life and strike off into the uncertain future. I felt that if Kim called and begged for reconciliation, I would be unable to resist. Eventually she did call, and, as she made a request of a strictly impersonal nature, she demonstrated a halting uncertainty to her voice that seemed to interrogate me, was I serious? Was this the end? I didn't pursue these questions. I was matter-of-fact and emotionless. And so the conversation ended.
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