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judecorpI sleep better when you're here
My father asked me, on the phone this evening, if I still tell A. that I love him. This dialogue came about somewhere in the conversation wherein I said that I couldn't wait to be done school and be able to leave Ohio because there isn't anything keeping me here. I said no, of course. I can't remember the last time I did tell him that. July, I'm sure.
I'm wondering, still, an hour later, why I am still perpetually having this conversation. As if it isn't awkward enough to be living with my ex, I need to rehash this situation over and over and over with assorted family members. I'm sure it doesn't help that I /do/ live with the ex... I guess that gives them hope for some sort of reunion. But I mean, really, we had /just/ finished a little chat on how I couldn't wait to get the divorce stuff done. What is up with that? Ugh.
Apparently, my grandparents have decided that I'm mad at them because in the 1.5 hours I was home last weekend, I didn't stop by to visit them. Nevermind that we picked my dad up, went out to lunch, ran an errand with Dad, dropped him off, and had to leave. Nevermind that I didn't want to bring Jennifer into the Lion's Den that is Grandma's house. Nevermind that I will be home in March. Obviously I am "mad at them." Whatever. I wanted to scream, "You know, Rick was in Boston visiting Mindy for Valentine's Day and he didn't even tell anyone so he didn't have to come home!" That's not fair, though, so I didn't, although it's true. Which means he is once again attributed Golden Boy status. Why do I care?
In less than 2 weeks the day will pass that would have marked 6 years that A. and I were together. Six years. My goodness, but I haven't done /anything/ for 6 years. College was 4, and that was probably my biggest accomplishment. In some ways, it feels like 60 years, and in others, like no time at all.
How is it that these conversations with my family can make melancholia loom over me like this? I am fighting this one hardcore, though. I mean, if I stand outside of myself, I see that my family is just clueless. I tried. I told my father, "Actually, Dad, every single person I see tells me how good I look, how happy I look." He said, "I said you looked good!" I said, "No, you made fun of my hair." He said, "It's just a little... short."
But for probably the first time in my life, there isn't a single thing anyone in my family can say that can sway me. I am, arguably, totally happy with myself right now. (Unless you count end-of-the-program school angst, and Ohio angst, and not-divorced-yet angst.) I am completely and totally free at this very moment, looking like I want to look, dating who I want to date, studying what I'm passionate about, planning to move back to my home, and loving every minute of it.
I will not let 5 minutes of a chat with my father erase what I wrote just two days ago about the wonderment I lived through last weekend. I will not let yet another ignorant question about a "possible Jude and A. reconciliation" disempower me. No. I won't.
I am fanatically in love with a girl. I tell /her/ that I love her daily, several times daily, in fact. Just telling her makes my heart pound and race, makes my skin tingle, makes my fingers twitch to hold her. Sorry, Dad.
Oh, and remember in November, when you asked me if A. and I were still having sex? ..... *evil grin*
