Goodbye Yesterday...

“Stayed just a little too long, now its time for me to move on…”

I’m the kind of idiot who uses words like closure and such like claptrap, I often feel the need to have everything wrapped up nice and neat.  It goes without saying that I don’t like loose ends, unfinished business drives me mad.  You’d think with such OCD type behaviour I’d be good at endings, but if you’ve been reading this blog you’ve probably picked up on the fact that I’m not.  If anything, I read like one long episode of unfinished business don’t I?  But it’s a new year, and I’m going to do things different.  First up, I need to wrap up a pending matter with Disappearing Dude.

Incidentally, the reason I specifically ask you to play the track sometimes is not because I’m assuming you haven't heard it before, it’s simply that in these particular instances, the song says more than I do, and often says it much better.  Think of it as the sugar to my tea.  With this in mind, kindly press play on the Dionne Farris track.  If you’ve never heard this song before shame on you, slap yourself.  If you don’t like this song, slap yourself, twice.  In fact, if you answered affirmative to either question, or god forbid both, just keep slapping yourself for the duration of the song. 

Disappearing dude, if you recall, is the man who clearly wasn’t feeling my ass and meanwhile I was acting a complete fool.  I stopped acting like said fool, pretty much immediately I finished writing that post, and slowly began disengaging, subconsciously I guess, because I didn’t realise it then.  I only realised I was done when I finally snapped one evening in mid December and told him off for his rude behaviour (he was acting like more of a twit than usual).  Turns out, being rude is the one thing I will not tolerate, stupid I can live with but rude is a complete no-no, who knew?  So I told him off, and then I sat back and waited for the apology, and I’m still waiting.  Ha!  To be honest, I was initially slightly bothered, make that very bothered, that he hadn’t sent me so much as a text, but after about a week it began to sink in that he wasn’t going to call.  Really.  And neither was I.  Really.  And now, having not spoken to or seen the idiot in almost two months, I figure I’m finally free and clear of that little obsession.  That means its time to wrap it up, new year and all that jazz remember?

In my experience, farewells typically go one of two ways, it can either be the bitter ‘Screw you bitch!’ complete with broken glass and character assassinations in the bar and such like, or it can be the bittersweet ‘I guess I’ll see you next lifetime’ hippie experience with flowers and promises of ‘always be friends’ and such like bullshit.  Thing is, this one doesn’t seem to be either.  Am I pissed with the man?  Not really, more disappointed than anything else to be honest, he turned out to be a spectacular idiot, surprising because he’s one of the smartest men I have ever met, and that’s saying something.  So if I’m not mad, am I sad?  Not really, I didn’t know him long enough to be grievously harmed by his demise (don’t worry, I didn’t kill him, it’s just a figure of speech), at best I’d describe the feeling as mildly melancholic.  The only thing I can say about him is I wish he was a better man.  No, that’s not it.  I wish he could take his head out from up his ass and see that he can be a better man. 

Ok.  So maybe there’s some anger, just a little.  Moving on swiftly…

My thing is I’m a fixer, I collect broken people, and then I try to fix them.  I don’t mean to, I just do, it’s a bit of an addiction.  Perhaps it’s the artist in me (I’m referring to my day job, not what I call writing, I’m not that delusional, yet…), but I’m drawn to flawed characters, I get down with the tortured souls, I live for good angst.  At least I used to.  A couple of years ago, a dysfunctional idiot like disappearing dude would have kept me busy for at least two years before I finally gave up.  This man, however, seems to have broken this camel’s back, because I can’t do it any more, I don’t want to.  As much as the man intrigues me to no end, I no longer want to be the one who ‘sees the potential’ when he is completely oblivious to mine, I have no interest in learning to accommodate his peculiar habits while casting my own aside, I have no time or patience to wait for him to come around when I’m already here.  After fixing several men, lovers and friends, I’m hanging up my fixing boots.  Life is too short and there’s not enough of me to go around any more.

Mr D, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I spent half the time we knew each other acting like an insane cow, that’s not me at all, you know that don’t you?  I’m sorry I refused to read the writing on the proverbial wall, I’m female, us girls can be thick like that sometimes.  I’m sorry I can’t stick around long enough to see you become the brilliant man you will be, once you finally get round to burying that little shit of an idiot you’re carrying around that is.  I’m sorry, but I can’t fix you, but that’s a good thing, because you don’t want me to.  I know that you’ll forgive me, because for all your foolishness, you’re still a good man, aren’t you?  

Well that was depressing.  

I think I’m killing my own buzz.  Yes, I’m drinking, aren’t you?  What?  I know its 2.00 in the afternoon, but it’s my day off, I can do whatever I want.  I’m lying, it’s not my day off, but I needed company for this conversation so I roped in my friend John (his name is Jack, but when you’ve known him as long as I have…). 

What we often forget about farewells is that they’re also beginnings.  Its taken me three months of trawling through the swamp that is my mind and the desert that is my subconscious, subjecting all of you to my scary and somewhat disturbing issues in the process, for me to get to this my brand new day, and it is a beautiful brand new day.  See for fixers like me, we need to have something to work on otherwise we’ll go mad, and in my wading through the muck I’ve found the most fabulously flawed creature I could ever have imagined, completely fucked up and totally resistant to change.  Finally, I’ve met my match, the Moriarty to my Sherlock, this crazy bitch will keep me busy for a long long time.  ‘Who is it?’ you ask.  ‘Who do you think?’ she laughs.

“They say I’m hopeless…”

Ladies and gentlemen, a toast: To fond farewells, happy beginnings and an afternoon with John…