I am writing this post from one of the comfortable fake Adirondack chairs on my patio. It is quite nice indeed to be enjoying the spring-like weather, complete with twittering birds and gentle breezes, but that’s not why I’m out here. The covers for my futon and throw pillows, my sheets, and my duvet cover are all in the laundry right now, so I essentially have nowhere to sit inside the house.
I decided that today would be the day I washed and vaccumed everything that had been previously infiltrated with little white dog hairs from Will’s two dogs, or with the essence of the man himself. We split up. He was cheating on me.
I have been wondering what and how much I wanted to say about it here, and I’m still not really sure. For the moment, here’s this: Over the past few months I’d gotten the sense that something wasn’t right; that he was keeping things from me. There were a lot of little deceptions that, on their own, seemed either like misunderstandings or white lies, but, taken together, made me suspicious. In the end, I managed to confirm that on several occasions (since January at least) he’d been with another woman and lied about it. He of course says “nothing happened” and he didn’t tell me the truth because he “didn’t want to raise any concerns.” Isn’t that thoughtful of him?
At any rate, I ended things quickly and cleanly once I knew the truth. I’m still really furious about it, though. I’m mad that he treated me that way, that he thought it was okay to do so, that he thought he wouldn’t get caught, that it went on for months. I’m mad that I doubted my own instincts when I wasn’t sure and that I started thinking maybe the problem was me; maybe I had trust issues. I’m also furious that he didn’t even try to come up with a decent excuse, or ask me to forgive him, or even apologize. He just sat there, staring at me, dumbfoundedly trying to form a sentence. So mad.
So that’s where I am right now. I’ve been hanging out with my girl friends, drinking a good bit of wine, listening to Ani Difranco, and engaging in some of the leisure pursuits that fell by the wayside during our relationship, such as bedtime reading and very healthy cooking.
I took a certain delight in the above meal, something I never could have tried to serve him for dinner unless I wanted to be laughed out of town. Baked tofu and quinoa on a bed of raw spinach? Yes please. I’m sure healthy living is somehow even better than revenge. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.