May 29, 2002

This is pathetic.

It’s 3:30 a.m. and I’ve been awake for about an hour. I’m usually up by this time anyway, but this is the first time I’ve had the courage to go anywhere near the computer in weeks.

Why do these things primarily happen in May? Isn’t April supposed to be the cruelest month?

Not this year - nor last, come to think of it. Signs of the miraculous abound (snow on the Victoria Day weekend, the Leafs getting this far in the playoffs), but despite the portents (or if you want me to be Catholic about it, because of them) I’m finding life a bit difficult these days.

I thought this charming little journey of self-discovery would be winding down by now. I can’t say I didn’t see it coming - but I thought I would be better prepared to meet it. I didn’t expect to find myself so inconsolable. I knew I wasn’t dealing with things last year – not in a substantive way. Because I wanted it so much, I gave it another – yet another – try but there was way too much history that we couldn’t work through. Deep down, I was always afraid there would be. Our motives were pure but we just couldn’t do it. So sad and such a waste.

As is my wont in these circumstances, I’ve gone to ground. Although I obviously have obligations, when I don’t have to be out of the house, I’m not. I’ve been pulling all-nighters working and listening to loads of loud music. I pace a lot. I freak out. I pull myself together. When I eat, it’s out of a can. I talk to myself. I cringe. I rage. I drink way too much coffee. Although I love cooking, there’s not a scrap of food in the fridge. (On the other hand, if it’s condiments you’re after, I’m your girl.)

I’m deep in the Alanis stage - a state of affairs which even I have to admit is dismaying. There’s a reason why many of the Angry Young Women hail from Canada.

This is the home office.

Between the men and the weather, we’d all have killed each other years ago but for our ability to laugh (howsoever grimly at times), a trait which may have more to do with geography and climate than national character.

Although some of us appear to have another agenda. Last week I ran into an acquaintance from law school that I haven’t seen in years. We stood together on a corner and exchanged nearly a decade’s worth of news. "That sucks", she said, upon hearing of the breakup, brushing her long blonde hair from her eyes. "But don’t let it stop you. Go out, enjoy yourself. You could easily meet someone rich and influential. Do the Anna Nicole Smith thing, you know, while you still can."

It was the only genuine belly-laugh I’ve had for weeks. Mostly because she was serious.

I suppose if you’re blond and gorgeous, life can be sweet - if you’re into this sort of thing. Feminist moral outrage aside, practically speaking I couldn’t attract a sugar daddy if my life depended on it. I’m stuck with the guys who have a thing for Angelina Jolie and/or the possibility of discipline. Bearded lefties like me too. You can see what I have to put up with.

To make matters worse, I work in the same building as a repulsive ex-boyfriend. I’ve gone out with some serious howlers in my day but this guy was also quite an accomplished asshole. Never an oil painting even in his youth, this man’s looks can now make people flinch. I wouldn’t mind that, but he’s also a real jerk. We "broke up" after I found out that while I was in hospital he was phoning me to express his undying regard from another woman’s house. (But at least he called, eh?)

Whenever I see him in the elevator he leers at me, stares intently at my breasts, licks his lips and nudges his friends, all of whom are now very senior counsel.

IT’S HIDEOUS.

Although it’s definitely gratifying to see that he’s now nearly completely bald, it’s also really hard to look at. At least when he had some hair part of his face was hidden from view. I used to think "feeling your skin crawl" was merely a phrase – I was wrong. It describes an actual physical sensation.

Any woman alive will back me up on this: there’s always (at least) one old boyfriend you meet years later and the only thing going through your head is "OH MY GOD!!!!! I CAN’T BELIEVE HE SAW ME NAKED!"

Well, this guy’s mine. (Sadly, there’s another overseas, but that’s the beauty of the One Ocean Rule. He’s staying there.) The mere thought of my office ex is sufficient to induce nausea and cringing fits over a decade later, so that’ll give you some idea. I’m relying on several things: (a) he’s married now and his wife also works in the building; (b) nobody believes him; and (c) I’m out of there in three weeks anyway.

In an uncharacteristic display of discretion, I’ve told only one person the identity of this man. She’s been around forever and knows him. But she is also a friend and I knew that the information wouldn’t go further. When I uttered his actual name, she gave me a really appalled look and said nothing. Then she gave a quick laugh and said "You’re kidding, right?"

Things haven’t been the same between us since.

Till next time,

Morrigan