Wednesday, January 13, 2010


"Breathe you out...breathe you in...
You keep coming back to tell're the one who could've been...
And in my eyes, I see it all too clear...
It was long ago and far away, but it never disappears...

...I don't want to dream about all the things that never were..."
~Britney Spears, 'Out From Under'

All my life, I have believed in signs. Typically, I only believe in signs that I feel are good, and I ignore the bad ones. I like it better that way. And from conversations that I've had with other people, I've learned that you only see "signs" if you are looking for them.

Last night, I wasn't feeling great. I took AC to her ECFE class, and in class, I started tearing up. Multiple times. My other divorced friend JC wasn't there with her kids last night. I don't really know any of the other parents. Unlike last year, there's a lot of couples who come, so it's not just a "mom's night", like it was last year. And there's a happy, cutesy couple in class who remind me of my Married Guy and his Wife. The dad has a vague physical resemblence to the Married Guy. The wife has a vague physical resemblence to the Wife. I look at their two boys, and I think of the Married Guy's kids, because he's got two boys as well. And then I just feel kind of alone.

The loneliness was so bad that I snuck two Klonopin when no one was looking. Was I nervous or stressed? Nope. Just hurting. And I've found that Klonopin can knock the edge off the hurt, and at least help me avoid gasping crying fits. I felt rather smug for sneaking my tranquilizers in class, sliding them under my tongue and swallowing unnoticed.

To add the icing on the crap cake, after ECFE class, I had to bring AC back to her baby daddy. It's kind of a bad deal for me: I pick her up from daycare, bring her home for about 45 minutes, take her to class and then return her. I do, however, get her on Wednesdays. Damn custody wars.

After I dropped AC off last night, I went home and checked my phone, only to discover like, 10 missed texts, from my friend H and her boyfriend J, telling me to "dump those ECFE losers" and come out with them, because one of J's firefighter buddies was out. Sigh...I was tired. My eyes were puffy, from sucking back tears for the past two hours. I didn't feel cute at all. I desperately need a dye job and a cut, because it's now been close to two months because my stylist had surgery. My makeup was trashed, part from the crying bit and part from AC's rough treatment of me. My plan was to throw down a couple of Ambien and go to sleep early.

I tried every excuse with H to avoid this social interaction. I insisted I had nothing to wear. She told me that "boobs and jeans would be fine". I insisted that I wanted to go to bed. She said I could manage an hour and one drink. Finally, I relented.

In the midst of socializing with J's friend--whom I would date, and not just because he's a firefighter and he hangs out with J, someone I think is one of the coolest people ever--my other friend JC texted me. She was done with work, and didn't have her girls, so I told her to stop. I took her as no real threat to my flirting. Well, c'mon! I'm cute, right?

Once JC got there, all eyes were diverted to her. Sure, she's a cute girl, but she's not me. I nean, even in just boobs and jeans with pitifully patched-together makeup, I still think I'm pretty damn attractive. But she fawns over men, especially those with uniforms, whether they are in or out of the uniforms at the time. H and I both got irritated, because her real boyfriend was paying too much attention to JC and my wanna-be boyfriend was, too. It was sheer ridiculousness, especially since I was tired and vulnerable--and so was my self-esteem. Needless to say, I was not impressed by this turn of events.

Eventually, I'd had enough. Despite the fact that I was sitting next to H, I texted her under the table that I was going to leave. We exchanged some terse messages regarding the situation and her disappointment in both J and his friend, and I decided that I'd slam back my drink so I could get out of there as quickly as possible.

As I was drink-slamming, I happened to glance up at the ceiling, and guess what the ceiling tile was? Fighter jets. A ceiling tile with a photo of fighter jets on it. Not only did I feel mortally rejected by my failed attempts at flirting, I glanced up, and there's a blatant sign of my Soul Mate pilot (another mortal rejection for me, ha ha). Are you for real? What are the odds? Of all of the times that I have been to this establishment--and even been sitting at this same table--I have never noticed the fighter jet ceiling tiles before. It was a sign if I'd ever seen one before.

So, after that, I hit the road. So did JC. She was naive enough that she did not even realize what had gone down, that she was perhaps the reason I was leaving in the first place.

Done with the day and done with the pain, I indulged in my nightly Ambien. JC texted me to say goodnight, and I lamented on how awful I was feeling. She told me she was one step away from coming over and crawling right into my bed to cuddle with me. Shortly after that, I passed out from the Ambien. I probably dreamt about signs or fighter jets or pilots that I can't have. I don't know, because I don't remember anything but the relief of blackness and being completely devoid of pain, if only for a few hours. Sometimes, it's easier that way. After all, I don't want to dream about all the things that never were...

No comments:

Post a Comment