Weather Guy, Part II

Very seldom do I bring my private life fully onto my journal.

I tend to keep things that are extremely important to me posted elsewhere in a protected site or written in good ol' pen on paper. Things I puzzle out, am hurt by.... I keep those big things hidden.

I used to mention the Weather Guy here on my bit of sandbox. He was a good friend for years, who moved into the relationship of lover with me. I freely admitted I wouldn't kiss him, and that I regretted that decision. I saw him as a man of honour, decency, kindness... someone I saw on a regular basis, that I spoke to last thing every night...who shared his life with me, once announcing he had to up his phone minutes and text messages, we communicated so much... who laughed with me, teased me, knew how I liked my coffee....we had a relationship, even if we never really kissed.

Over the last two months, a number of revelations were made to me, from his announcing on his Facebook he was in a relationship that didn't have my name on it (classy!), to his girlfriend exploring not only my journal, but, many of those who link here... seeking information on him, I was told.

Now, I am removed from his life.... blocked from all the various places we kept in touch. I've a good idea why, and regardless of that, I am hurt a great deal by these actions. I was in the dark to what was going on, still receiving emails and text messages and the occasional phone call. I was told I was thought of and missed. During this time, Adj (nickname) was flown to his new work location in Zurich, to spend a few weeks. I'm stunned, because I cannot imagine playing this kind of game. A game that involved two women, one who snooped and found out about me, and me... lost in the belief I had a friend.

It's been a very difficult two months... as soon as I'd think it was over, something would happen to bring me back into their chaos. To think my friendship was worth so little I was, as the saying goes, thrown under the bus is emotionally shattering. To be told we never had a relationship in his eyes... I thought relationships were trust, honour, friendship, concern, communication--things we had for 15 months...was a slap in my face. Especially following words to the contrary that were sent to me via emails and text and in voice... on the phone and to my face. We weren't sure what we had, but, we knew it was a 'ship' of some kind.

To spend 15 months, and be 'replaced' in six weeks via an internet relationship, with lies going on while he was in his time with me, was heartbreaking. I am trying to move beyond it, the unfairness holds me back.

I've been Googled, searched out, written by the girl... I'm not sure why. I'm told it's to 'research' him. Well, this blog alone shows his affirmation to her that we were nothing more than friends who spoke on the phone hours a day was a pretty big lie. I never went into detail, however, being around him physically one to two weekends a month plus the occasional day we could squeeze into our schedules and all the talking we did, the shared confidences, the laughter... made us more than 'friends'.

To be denied any say in this is harsh. I've been assured it's not anything about me, it's all him... that lovely phrase used when someone knows they have been deliberate in their harm of another. I was told his concern is the girlfriend (his phrase, not mine) would tell their mutual friends of his duplicity and he'd lose his standing in his filk community of being a good guy. He says, he knows I'm one of the best friends he's ever had in his life... and he'll work at keeping that.

I guess he lied there, too.

I've held this inside, speaking to a few people, puzzling it out, crying in rejection, full of pain over this man I cared about so deeply, that I believed I could trust. I treat people the way I expect to be treated, and, I suppose that is what is going on now... they are treating each other the way they expect to be treated, with suspicion and distrust. I gave him levels to rise to, of good things... I really don't know what happened. I do know I have run the full length of feelings here, from taking it all on myself, to anger, to disbelief.

I am worthy of far better than this.

Yes, I can say what many will say... the possibility of them having a real, honest, decent relationship is slim. You cannot build on a foundation of mistrust and lies. Do I wish him harm? No. Do I wish him to hurt as I have? No. Do I still call him friend? No. Do I pity him, for being so afraid he'll do anything to keep this thing he has now going? Yes.

I have contacted him, and, after his first flurry of text messages and emails and phone calls... it's silent. I am done with for him, but, I'm not...or the continual dismissal of what we had, of me, would stop. I do not believe karma is a bitch; I do believe it will take a pound of flesh from you.

I am better than this.

I am not going to allow comments on this post... I hope those of you who read me will understand. This is something I need to do, to vent, to release to the universe the pain and betrayal I feel. To try and forgive him and remind myself I did nothing but trust.

And, to remind myself not to trust again.

Three Word Wednesday~Hesitate, Jealous and Neglect.

Three prompts, five sentences, 58 words.

Who Knew?

Perhaps I had shown neglect in the past, allowing my time and attention to be taken by other, less important, matters. You didn’t hesitate to take advantage of that, slipping around into other places, other lives. No surprise that I showed no jealousy-- instead I simply left. Parenting was hard. To walk away took no effort at all.

Six Sentences-Vol 2

Truth Hurts

Without the formality of the salute, they moved into place, fencers in their final match, squaring off when he came to get his things--his portion of their life together. Engaging in conversation, words their rapiers, parrying...advance...retreat; her pain at being found wanting like a stone bruise; invisible, yet, far too tender to the touch. She feinted, saying in a low voice how confident he'd become since he'd met his lover. Flustered, flattered, preening...his defense dropped, asking why did she think so. Executing a fast riposte, serene smile in place, she struck the winning touch, "Because every time you fuck her, you boldly go where so many have gone before." He gazed dully at the closed door, his hand reaching up to stroke his face, seeking traces of blood from where his ego had been nicked.





Thus reads my accepted submission for the second volume of work by those who contribute to Six Sentences. It was.... wrapped with my own emotions.

Sunday Scribblings~I Knew Instantly

If Only Everything Was As Reliable As A Volkswagen

There was never any doubt.

Not a minute. Not a second. Not even one of those nano-seconds they talk about in science fiction movies and such. No, there was never any doubt in my mind as to what we'd have for dinner that day as my Great Aunt Idell walked the house, brow furrowed, fat folds almost covering her eyes behind the black framed glasses that caught the light from outside on this beautiful Sunday afternoon in Mississippi. It was spring, the crepe myrtle was advancing on the house with the same sense of taking it over as Grant showed when he marched through Richmond 100 years before and the air smelled of newly turned earth, honeysuckle and freshly baked blackberry cobbler.

My grandmother, tiny, thin, her lips seldom in a smile, followed Idell, muttering to herself they should never have let Uncle Burt borrow the Volkswagen . He never put the keys back in the right place, and now that they were needed by these two...well, they weren't nowhere at all.

"Found 'em!" shouted Idell, her stockinged thighs rubbing together announcing her arrival before you actually saw her entering a room. "Bonnie? I found 'em! Let's get going on this!"

Being a part time City child, I found most of the chores around this farm.ish kind of a place dull, and almost serf like in responsibility. Who on earth wanted to gather eggs or shovel manure or even, for heavens sake, pick vegetables? I didn't want to know where my food came from, I only wanted it cooked and served in the cool of the evening, after I'd read up in a tree, avoiding as much manual labour as I possibly could.

There was, however, one event...one task I loved to watch. Call me sick, call me twisted, but, make sure you called my 6 year old self when this would happen. It would start with that walk though the house, the search for the 1958 Bug keys by those two women. Once found, Idell would take her bulk out to the shed where her beloved car sat. It was eight years old and had 6000 miles on it, all of them either driving back and forth to the Baptist church on Sundays and Wednesdays.... and a few when the car was used as a weapon of destruction.

Neither woman could actually kill a chicken, you see. One was too small to do damage, one too soft hearted. But, in order to have fried chicken for Sunday Dinner, you had to, well, kill one. They finally figured out a plan, one that saved them from using an ax or wringing necks; one they felt was humane. My grandmother would kneel down on her apron, holding the chicken still with it's head on a large flat rock, and Idell would back her car slowly over the chicken's head, effectively killing the chicken and stopping that running around the yard a beheaded chicken tends to do. I'm not sure why they never had my father chop the head off, or why Great Aunt Idell never drove forward to kill the chicken... it was always the call of "Where are the car keys??" and the subsequent ritual of chicken down, car backed out, chicken dead.

So, there was never any doubt what was for dinner and I knew instantly when I heard that phrase, when I saw my Grandmother head for the coop.... fried chicken for dinner with all the Southern fixin's plus the added bonus of what passed for afternoon entertainment on the farmette was in store.

These days, it's far easier to fix chicken, I get in my VW and drive to buy prepackaged, dead, plucked, ready to cook chicken. It's far easier....

.....but, not nearly as much fun.

16 MeMe's

Golfwidow tagged me. I'm not tagging anyone back, though. If you want to pretend I tagged you and do this thing, have at it.


1. I don't like my food to touch

2. I kept my kids from knowing about santa until they were 10 or so.

3. I talk to the television.

4. I have no wrinkles on the top of my left middle finger knuckle, I've chewed/rubbed them off stimming.

5. I hate cars and driving.

6. I jump into bed so my feet won'tl be near the dark place underneath as I get in.

7. I can ride beautifully... dressage or jumping.

8. I am not usually fond of children.

9. I started reading at 4.

10. I have done acid, mesc, mushrooms and peyote when I was in high school.

11. I knit to calm myself.

12. There was a time I didn't really leave my house for almost four years.

13. I am not afraid of death.

14. I can't figure out why they advertise drugs to promote male erections, then tell you if you get one for a long time, run to the ER

15. Sports scare me.

16. I suck at budgeting.

Six of One

I don't understand people.

When you say to them, as advice, "Do not seek snakes to bite you, because you will find them every time."-- and they seek them anyway. I see the evidence the search was made, the snake was found, and I am sorrowful the person was hurt.

Yet.

If they had not gone hunting, delving into my life, if they had not been part of hurting me to begin with... they'd not have been harmed. If they had stopped after the first time, if they'd left well enough alone. Why drag me back into things I wanted no part of, then, go Googling and digging and reading here and there for information they knew would be painful to read? Hiding behind IP blockers (which do not hide other tell tale areas that divulge who you are) to dig around in my life. Things I wrote in innocence long ago, and do not feel I should have to delete?

There is not right nor wrong, but, decisions and consequences for those decisions. You can blame one but yourself for what occurs, when you are advised, and you move forward in full awareness you are looking for that snake.

In the end, who is the one wronged?

Thank You, St Joseph!

I'm awake every two hours, what a shame no one has a baby I could be feeding.

My least favourite symptom has already raised it's head... I itch, and can't stand fabric on my skin. Even my best sheets are a nightmare next to my hyper sensitive largest organ (calm down, it's the skin) so, I toss and turn and scratch.

The up side is, I sold my house! Hurrah!! We hope to close by the end of the month, and with that, I'll buy my ticket to the U of K to visit my dear Loo and the girls (which means more Neville info), upgrade my car (so long, Norma Jean), and think about where I'm going to live on a full time basis.

New York? Los Angeles? London? They all sound wonderful, and knowing I can pay a deposit, and move, and be comfortable is lovely.

If I could just stop scratching long enough to really think about my next step.