A couple of weeks ago, dear Ghost, I wrote the following very unkind rant about a brand new, totally unfulfilling relationship as I was debating whether I should cut him loose:

“I’ve set the bar pretty low. I mean, I spent 24 years with a man whose lack of emotional expression rivaled that of a rock. Then I woke up. That awakening has served to set my tolerance for emotionally-stunted fuckery extremely low, and believe me, there’s quite a bit of fuckery afoot right now.”

So here’s the scoopity-scoop. I’ve done it. I’ve squashed the tomfoolery that tried to insinuate its way back into my life like smoke through a keyhole, silent and insidious. I’m proud of myself for catching it, and for being vigilant enough in my vulnerability to pick up on the crimson flags waving furiously in the gale storm of indecision.

I let it go on too long, but that’s because I’m the hopeful type. I can say that I recognized the flags waaaay back in December, and I only ended this thing last week, so that’s either a credit to my optimism or a spotlight on my idiocy, but I prefer the former. I mean, last time I let this sort of thing drag on for 24 years. I’d say five months is a vast improvement.

I really still like the guy and hope we can do other things together. I didn’t lay blame when I talked with him, and tried not to let any bitterness shine through. It’s truly not his fault, nor is it mine. Incredible sex, as it turns out, is only like, 20% of the whole. I hate losing the 20%, but I think I’ll be 80% happier.

Eventually.

And, as I read in an article about rejection (because even though I was the one who ended it, he actually rejected me long before) when one door closes, another opens. I think the quote was something along the lines of “rejections open the way for new experiences.” It seemed way more profound when I first read it, maybe because I was suddenly more receptive to the message. Now I realize it’s pretty cliche, but also has the ring of truth. I mean, if you’re occupied with something that has no hope, all other hope is postponed.

Lesson learned: You can’t force the spark that might ignite something more.

I blame introspection. I blame my 12 week “resiliency reset” program. I’m finally looking inward. Not all the time, and definitely not comfortably by any stretch of the imagination, but I’m starting to feel the pieces pulling together to create a whole me again. My shattered brain is starting to pull the connections that have come loose nearer to one another. I’ve focused at work for a couple of days now. I (thankfully) have a field day tomorrow, which will let me breathe a bit, followed by a weekend in which I can regroup.