I AM that girl

2010-04-15T17:02:00.000-07:00

Yes. Yes I am. The girl in every guy's nightmares about breakups...the one who won't (or in my case can't) go away. The girl who calls and texts and sends emails and expects her ex to spend time with her when all he really wants is for her to leave. To Just. Go. AWAY.
Okay, now before the readers in the blogosphere think I'm crazy and obsessive, I'll give you the story. I'm going to air out all of the dirty laundry...OK not ALL of the unmentionables, but the ones that matter.
A little background...Steve (not his real name) and I had been dating for awhile...15 months awhile. I met Steve approximately three weeks after moved from the big city out west to the little city out east (I will tell you how that happened sometime soon). We were smitten with each other from the word go. Four months later, Steve and I were looking for houses together to rent and planning on moving in together, with his two kids, and living in co-habital bliss. And we did...until 4 weeks ago.
On that fateful Monday (doesn't everyone just hate Mondays on principle?), I was home sick when I hear Steve come in the door. Steve is not happy and didn't think I would be home. Steve is grumpy so I leave him alone, as I am also grumpy...from lack of sleep and throwing up most of the early morning hours. I come down and overhear Steve telling his ex-wife that he's getting ready to move out of our house, because that's what she wants and that's what will let him keep the boys. BAM! AWESOME! Steve is telling his ex-wife he's breaking up with me before he tells me.
I think it's yet another one of their fights (which were a monthly ritual at our house) and he's gonna get over it. Except this time he doesn't. He sits down and says, he's not happy and hasn't been for the last few weeks and he's done. I've upset his ex-wife and she's threatening to take the kids away from him (again...read monthly ritual) and he's done. He doesn't want to try anymore. He's leaving. Moving back in with his parents.
I am devastated. I'm crushed. My heart has just been ripped out of my chest. Steve tells me he still loves me, he's just not "in love" with me anymore; that he's not good enough for me and I deserve better than him; that "it's just easier" for him to be single. I go to the next room and pull down the family calendar (I'd made one of those calendars that has each of our names written in it with a daily schedule for everyone...me, him, and each of the boys). I look at the date and ask, "How long will it take for you to move out?"
It's my place after all. My name is on the lease... I pay the bills (ANOTHER STORY), I own 90% of the things in the house. He gives me a date two weeks down the road. I walk upstairs and make plane reservations. I want to, no NEED TO, escape. I can't live in this house in the other room while he slowly walks himself out of my life day by day. I want to come back and for all the traces of him to be gone. I come down and tell him I'm leaving.
For some reason, he's surprised. I fully believe he expected me to take this and say..."Awesome bear! Let me help you pack and we'll get this done together. I know it's hard to be in a relationship and you are sooo right!" Well, dumb-ass, You were wrong.
Now you think that with my fervent desire to escape and be rid of him, I wouldn't be "that girl". Well, even the best laid plans fail sometime. I was all set to move on and move up, when the well-meaning and wonderful friend driving me to the airport mentions "well at least you weren't knocked up."
OH. SHIT.
That sinking feeling came over me... How long had it been since I'd had that little monthly gift? A quick mental calculation told me that, yes, I was already 5 days late. Suddenly, the sick feeling I had on Monday morning that I thought was from some bad bar food the night before makes sense. It's all I could do to keep the conversation flowing while the panic set in. It's all I could do to not open the car door and throw myself onto the Massachusetts freeway.
I swallow the panic until I get home. Back to my parent's house in my little home town in the little town in the midwest, to the room I've had since childhood. I go to the local store and pick up one of those tests. You know the ones...the ones you pee on and wait for what seems an eternity until either that little plus or minus sign shows up. I stand in the bathroom hoping, nay, praying that I would get the little minus sign. I wait and when the time comes, I creep up on the little stick, thinking that surprising it will somehow change the result.
No such luck. That damn little plus sign stares back at me; laughing. Taunting me and telling me that the clean break I wanted wasn't going to happen. My life changed in that instant. I want this child, I want this baby. And now I have to tell Steve.
Let's just say that did not go well. Steve hates me. Steve's life is ending. He's angry, he wants me to die. He accuses me of doing this purposefully somehow. Great. Now am I not only knocked up, but I'm knocked up by a man who went from loving me more than anything one day to hating me the next (OK. It was 3 days, but you get the point).
And now I've become THAT GIRL. I call him or text him daily. Sure some days I call because he still has all of his mail coming to my house (because he doesn't want to pay the state income taxes he would if he changed his address to his parent's house), or I find another thing he's left behind (two days after I got back to the house he needed to stop by the house and take and ENTIRE CAR LOAD of things he'd forgotten with him), but some days it's me telling him about pre-natal appointments, or the nights I'm up throwing up, or the times I need him to do something like move my furniture for me. I meet up with him, telling him that as much as he doesn't want to be around me, he has no choice. We made a baby, and we are going to be connected together for the rest of our lives. The sooner we get over that fact and get back to being friends, the better we will be in the long run.
So stay tuned, folks. I will be writing about the ups and downs of this process along with the little insights I've gained from my career. Just like in my professional life, my personal life has never been something I planned. And it's another example of how I am just stumbling through.

Stumbling Through

2008-02-19T10:11:00.001-08:00

" I don't really have a plan for my life. I'm pretty much just stumbling through."

Did I really just say that??? Yes. Yes I did. That was the thought that ran through my mind the second after the words escaped. In a candid conversation with a co-worker awhile back, I blurted this out. My secret was out. Now everyone was going to know I am not as well-put together and ambitious as I seem. It was all a ruse, one that had been crafted carefully during my first few months at a new job.

While this moment was mortifying, the statement was completely true. You know when interviewers ask THAT question? You know the one. The question dreaded the most, the question about where you see yourself in the next five years? I lie. I make it up. Every single time. I understand where the interviewer is going with this question, and since I've done my homework before the interview, I give them an answer I know they will like. Because of this, I've created some interesting opportunities with my life and career thus far. Even with the success I've experienced, I wouldn't recommend this tactic to anyone. You may end up like me, wading your way through the murky waters of professional life and wandering your way through your career, never really reaching a concrete goal (Not that I think concrete goals are all that great, but that's another post).

So why, reader, should you spend valuable time reading this? Because, in the short span of my professional career, this bumbling and lack of a plan has taught me some really great lessons. I want to share these lessons with you. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the show while I keep stumbling through.