Monday, May. 10, 2004 - 2:00 a.m.
Cost of the War in Iraq
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One year ago today
Nothing like scanning in some photos to give one focus instead of blathering and burbling.
Today is one year since I moved my ob to San Francisco. One year since the beginning of the end. We left on May 4 and drove and drove and drove in a Ryder van and arrived on May 10th, which was a Saturday. Friday night was my last night with ob to myself, not in someone else's house, surrounded by someone else's friends and dog and stuff.
I read Lynda Barry's "Cruddy" out loud, and it made us smirk. I wrote down especially good quotes. We ate bad "vegetarian" food in bad restaurants that were meant for meateaters. That was sort of fun. We had sex once or twice. We had more snow. We took photos and more photos. The ones that came back to me at Christmastime.
I was scared. I was scared we would break up cuz of the distance. Cuz it costs so much to go back and forth. But I had planned ahead, and bought tickets for returning to San Fran in June, and planned when I would go back in July and then August so that she would know I was committed to staying with her, and I would be less scared.
I had been prepared to hand her over to her Mme if she wanted. To step out of her life. Be just a friend even though that isn't what I wanted. But no, she wanted me. I was her girl.
I was still scared. I tried just to be supportive. I put my anxiety into organizing everything. Packing and labelling boxes, organizing them, packing the truck, driving, reading the road map, taking photos.
The mess began. Ob had never told me the room she was moving into was her Mme's old room.. she just said a friend had an empty room in an apartment for cheap. But it was her Mme's room, and her Mme's apartment to move into had fallen through. So the one room we were to move all of her stuff into (all of the stuff from 5 rooms) was full. A queensized bed, bookshelves, a chest of drawers, a computer and computer desk, and she was in the midst of packing boxes and boxes and suitcases. Clothes and boxes and suitcases and stuff to the rafters. We needed to unload a whole Ryder van into that room and return it. She knew we were arriving months in advance. She had invited ob. It was crazy.
I went into the bathroom and cried. It was too much.
And no, there wasn't a barking dog downstairs. Ob had neglected to say that she was going to LIVE with a barking dog. That pees on things. A tiny highpitched barking dog.
(and later the roomate would yell at me, without even being drunk. So it wasn't even downstairs neighbors... less space, no privacy, thousands of miles away, a barking peeing dog, and a yelling roomate... all in all a good thing).
Ob and I went for lunch while SOME stuff got packed up in the "empty" room. I cried. It was too much. Worrying about the logistics of the longlong distance, the worries of being so far when she had a roomate and Mme in the same city emotionally, the moving, the full room. Too much.
When we came back we helped move stuff into the Mme's car, and were supposed to follow her across town to Berkeley to unload some of her friend's stuff from the van. Driviing, and carrying, then vacuuming, then driving. Then to drop off stuff at some storage place for the Mme.. "what is the address? The telephone # in case we get lost" I asked. "I don't know... I know where it is, follow me" she replied.
Saturday afternoon at 4-5 pm in SF. Zooming in and out of traffic she lost us. We had no key to get back into the apartment ob was moving into. No idea where the mme was. We went and sat in a restaurant. I couldn't even brush my teeth cuz my bag was in the apartment.
Eventually we got back in, and carried all obs stuff into the room. Put her mattress against the wall, the boxes in a corner. Her bedstead under the bed. Crammed everything in around the queensize bed, computer and other furniture. It was crazy.
I didn't know then that I would go before any of those things. (well, the owner of the dog DID return, and the Mme asked ob to get her from the airport, but ob had to work. So the Mme asked me to get her. To drive an unknown person's car in an unknown city to pick up a complete stranger at an airport. I didn't do it. Hmmm. That is the roomate (who was also the Mme's best friend, what a coincidence) who later shouted at me that I couldn't be there, that I wasn't welcome to come back despite what ob said. I was the girlfriend of a sublet she yelled)
I think we got some sleep. The next day I would take ob on the BART to work, so she would find out if she actually had a job transfer, and when she would start.
In the morning we were woken up by the Mme coming in unannounced, using her key, to use her computer next to our bed. I had to dress in the bathroom.
My wonderful time living a week or two every month with my beloved ob was over. Done finished. That I didn't know yet. I thought in September things would get better. But they got worse. And saying there was a space for me, my house was her house, that she loved and wanted me in her life was not true. She promised different things to other people.
Sometimes I want to be alone forever. Sometimes I just don't think at all, and just am busy. Sometimes like now I am really really sad and miss her so much. It is dumb. I don't even have her as a friend. I guess I had fun and was happy for 9 months. Someone loved me. Or at least thought she did.
All photos copyright 2004 wench77
Read my other entry tonight here.
Just for good measure, here is what is wrong with me. This entry would qualify as 1) getting emotional 2) crying too easily 3) needy and dependent when I feel someone is pulling away 4) clinging to the past... well, I dunno. I guess reminiscing is not really clinging. But i am sad anyways. Time goes by too fast.
3:13 am Searching for photos i found and reread the entry I wrote on Christmas eve after she wrote me an email saying never to contact her or her friends and family. It is such a stark contrast to what I thought I had. Wow. And double Wow.
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Goodbye Michael. May your next life be kinder to you. - Thursday, Jun. 25, 2009
*inspired by Chaosdaily