Can I please catch a break?

I have a problem. With staying vertical. Now I know what many of you will say... "Heh-heh, yeah. You like the horizontal tango!!" Well, yes I do. But this problem is associated with cycling. I've posted many times before about my problems with staying upright on my bike (I've wiped out no less than three times in the past year) and my problems with avoiding inanimate objects (I ran into a dumpster at one point). No, I'm not counting getting hit by a car as a problem I've had cuz, well... he ran the light and hit me.

Anyway, I've been doing very well with staying vertical lately. I learned a few tricks from my SBF on how to recover when it seems like you're about to lay down your bike and how to improve the traction of your tires when the roads are slippery. However, I guess I really am the clutz that I never wanted to admit that I am.

I was riding to a bike shop the other day (ironic, isn't it) and just as I'm cycling up to the front door my front tire slips into a crack between the parking lot and the sidewalk in front of the shop. And gets stuck. While I was trying to turn the handlebars to head to one of the bike racks. So, I'm trying to move the bike in one direction and the bike is basically telling me that this is not physically possible given the current situation of the tires. And then gravity enters the conversation and tells me that I'm needed in a meeting on the ground. I try in vain to catch my footing on the pavement before I completely keel over, but it was really a vain attempt.

I went down. Right in front of the automatic doors that slid open as I fell. Which revealed my stumble to several cycslists all done up in their riding gear and sparklingly pretty bikes as they were heading out for a ride.

Once... just once... I'd like for my falls to not be witnessed by half of Austin so I could try to salvage a little bit of my dignity.

The Letter

It was really only a matter of time. I didn't do anything to keep my previous postings about the end of my relationship with Brit Boy private, so it really was only a matter of time before he read them. As I have said many times to many different situations, the story of Brit Boy and I has three sides. His side. My side. And the truth. Each of our recollections of how things went down are influenced by each of our pasts, the way we process information, the way we were feeling at the time we heard the statements of the other, etc. As such, he responded to my posts with a rather lengthy explanation of his side of things. A lengthy explanation that provided me with a great deal more insight into things than the conversations we had in the desert of Spain.

I will simply say this. Umm... Well... You see...

*sigh*

I have no words. And herein lies my problem. Am I expected to respond? Do I just let it go and cast it off? And of course, a number of friends have offered their advice on the situation.

"Oh honey, just hit delete and be done with the whole thing."

"Let me guess, you've been drafting your response since you received it and you've been editing and reworking it for the past couple of days. Step away!!"

"Baby, all you need to do is reply with one word, "received." That's it. Done!!" (At this point, this friend literally wiped his hands).

Taking a page from Dorothy Zpornak I think I may start this out as an exercise in catharsis. Start writing something to purge the thoughts from my head. WIth no intention of sending it. I've said before that I can't really envision being able to talk to him anytime soon, so perhaps this will help with the healing I so terribly need.

Must be something about the fresh produce...

As is to be expected, things haven't been all that hunky-dory since I've returned from Europe to Austin. I've been rather reclusive, ignoring requests to venture out into the world, focusing on what little routine I feel comfortable engaging in, diverting any excess energy to my workout regimen, etc. Part of this I've been able to blame on the Texas heat. I mean, when you're cycling home when its 105 F outside, when you get home you don't really want to do anything but sit around and cool off.

However, I haven't been able to besmirch the necessity of going to the grocery store. Since one of the gyms I frequent is next to a grocery store, I tend to dash in for a few items after a workout or when I teach class. However, each time I do my eyes start to well up with tears and I have to quickly complete my purchases and jump on my bike before I actually lose all composure and start balling in the middle of the yogurt section.

Seriously! What is it about a grocery store that makes me think about Brit Boy, the breakup, and everything else?

Workout: FAIL!!

Twelve years. That's how long I've been focusing, on a consistent basis, on my physical health and working out in the gym. I had worked out while in high school and college, but was always a little intimidated by the weight room and always let it slide from my schedule if I didn't have someone to "hold my hand," so to speak. For most of these 12 years, I've had a workout partner. Someone to chat with, hold me to my workouts, push me for that last little bit of effort, etc.

As of late, however, I've been on my own. My workout partner, who also happens to be my SBF, has been out of town on a cycling tour of the Western United States. Albuquerque, N.M. to Portland, Ore. Personally I think he's a bit crazy, but I hear cycling over the Rocky Mountains is something magnificent to experience. I'll take his word for it.

Since I've been on my own I've been reticent to push myself too hard for fear of injuring myself without someone to help me out if I were to find myself in trouble. However, after a few weeks of working out on my own I've started to gain some newfound confidence in this arena. Pushing myself to lift more weight. Having the confidence that even though I am tired, I can actually finish that last set.

Last night I was at the gym and was really putting myself through the paces. It always help to have a goal - I leave for Burning Man in less than a month and I still have yet to recover, in my physical fitness, from this past session. Also, how am I supposed to attract a new beau if my body is in its current state? Remember... the neurosis of my vanity is very severe and well-documented.

So, there I was, finishing up a rather challenging upper-body workout and I was winding things up with a set on the flat bench. First set... no problem. Tired, but I got through it. Second set... a little challenging near the end. A little wobbly and I definitely struggled on the last two reps. At this point, it would have been wise to ask someone else in the weight area for a spot for the third set. I know rather well that if you struggle on the last few reps of a set, on the next set things are gonna be a bit more challenging.

Did I ask for a spot from the cute guy that was working out next to me? No. Of course not. "I can do this... no problem," I said to myself. And in fact, things went quite well for the first 4 reps of the set. On number 5, things got a bit wobbly and strained, but I did it. As I was lying on the bench, arms extended and holding the bar I took several deep breaths as I contemplated the next rep. "Do you have one more in you? At least one more?" I asked myself. "Yeah... just one though... I can make it through one more."

I slowly lowered the bar. I popped it off my chest and started to push. About half-way up, my chest burning, my triceps screaming, I knew it wasn't gonna happen. I took in a deep breath and tried to push it up a little bit further. I tried to get the bar up to the "emergency" or "secondary" brackets on the bench frame. Those brackets that are there for this express purpose. When you can't quite get the bar all the way up. (Isn't there a prescription for this problem?) Nope. Couldn't make it.

The bar dropped back down onto my chest. I just stayed there, pinned to the bench for a second and contemplated what to do. In vain, for I knew there was no way I could do it, I tried once more to push the bar up but I was done. Luckily, as soon as I resigned myself to the fact that I needed help and lifted my head, some guy walked by and litterally did a triple take at me pinned to the bench. Apparently this was not a typical sight to be seen.

"Can I get a little help?" I asked, trying to joke about it. "Seems my triceps decided I'm done."

"Oh my god, of course," he replied. "Couldn't quite get that last one finished, huh?"

And with that he freed me from my bench press prison. I thanked him and started to nurse my aching triceps. Worn out are not the words I would choose for what I was feeling.

It is now official

Part of the plans that Brit Boy and I had put into place for us to be together was for me to apply to grad school in the UK. It was a wonderful plan cuz I've been wanting to pursue my masters degree for some time but hadn't really found a program that interested me here in the states. In the UK, however, there were a number of programmes about which I was very intrigued.

As I've stated before, I applied to two universities and, again as I've stated before, while I was visiting the UK, I had interviews at both universities to see which programme was going to be the best fit. I was accepted to both programmes, even receiving a personal letter from the head of the programme at the University of Westminster stating that he was very looking forward to me joining their programme and working with me this upcoming academic year.

Well, now that Brit Boy and I are no longer together, I have decided that it's best to not attend grad school this fall. Part of it is financial - Brit Boy and I had agreed that I would support him with living expenses while he was here and not able to work and he would support me with living expenses in the UK while I was in school. Now that everything is over, I basically cannot afford London for the duration of the programme right now. Another part of the reason is that I'm still a space cadet from such a huge shock to my life that I don't think it'd be wise for me to head off to a new place with no safety net to speak of. Basically, I need to be home with my family of friends.

However, I am so absolutely ecstatic about the programmes that I am definitely going to make this happen. So, I have now officially requested deferred admissions for the 2010-2011 academic year. Here's hoping they like me enough to let me push this back by a year.

Houston, we have a problem

Y'all know that I have a serious substance abuse issue. I do love me some shoes. This problem has been identified and well-documented in the past. Since returning from Europe, things have taken a turn for the worse. Well, I guess it did start while in Europe, technically. In the month of July , I succumbed to tempation and acquired four additional pairs of shoes. I've even had to add more shelving to my closet in order to hold all of the shoes I own. (Actually, that's not even true. I have five pairs of shoes at the office for when I cycle to work and I left three pairs in London for my then-planned move to London to be with Brit Boy and they are supposedly on their way back to me.)

The shoes you see to the left are just my latest acquisition. They're these fabulous Adidas track shoes that come with cleats. They're super comfy and I got a lot of compliments when I took them out for their maiden voyage (sans cleats) the other night. However, I've decided that I might be interested in wearing them with the cleats. That way, if someone pisses me off, I can simply stomp on their foot with the cleats and give them their due.

Hey! Don't judge!! I'm a bundle of emotions these days. You never know what might just set me off!!!

Clarification

I've received a few notes from some of y'all, some in the comments on my postings, and some in IM chats or emails asking if I thought or simply stating that this was all very malicious of him. Having me come over to England, travel through France to Spain only to break up with me. Let me take this opportunity to make this clear: As angry, bitter, depressed, saddened, shocked, numb, and completely shattered as I am about this, I do not feel that this was a secret plan of his.

As I stated, our reconnection in England seemed to be going swimmingly. Plans were being finalized. Conversations were happening. Things were falling into place. That, and I don't really think that he could have faked the smile on his face when I emerged from customs at the airport. That embrace. The feel of his arms around me. Perhaps I'm projecting, but I don't think so. I think it was genuine.

However, I think he was having a great deal of trouble reconciling the plans needed to put his self-realizations into action while also making the plans of me going to grad school in either London or Leeds come to fruition. I also got the sense that, even though he never said this, with the university in London being my top choice, he became a bit resentful of me. For he's been wanting to get out of London for some time. In our final discussion, after he told me about the university with which he was "in conversations" he made it very clear that he was sick and tired of things always coming up to keep him in London. Did he mean it the way it came out? Has my shocked and numb mind taken that as a statement he didn't intend? I don't know.

What I do know is that I don't think this was all planned. I think with us both being in such states after our months of stressful times, with that divide that seemed to have grown between us... I guess he just didn't see any other way to make everything happen. Personally, I see it as a bit of a cop-out, but to each their own. With all the difficulties we've faced up until now, I can't see a way that we wouldn't have been able to overcome whatever obstacles were in our path.

A very, very dear friend of mine, one which actually encouraged me to pursue this connection with Brit Boy over two years ago, stated that it seemed like ours was a relationship of difficulties and that perhaps they finally became too much. He also asked if this truly was the end. A few others of y'all have asked the same thing. And I don't know. I know that I have a philosophy of "You only get to break up with me once," but I don't really feel like I understand everything. Brit Boy said a lot of things, but I have yet to be able to reconcile those issues with the commitments we had made to one another and the plans we had made together.

Oh well, perhaps I will never know. Being several time zones away and with me not wanting any kind of communication from him at all right now (He sent out an email to a listserve to which I had yet to unsubscribe... I started crying at just seeing his name in my inbox), it doesn't really look like we'll be having many more conversations.

The Adventure

You can imagine that I didn't stay on the event site for very long after this all went down. I wanted to leave immediately, but both Senor Mas Fuerte and Shay Butter Boy convinced me to sleep and see if I wanted to have some more conversations with Brit Boy the next day. So, I did the deed of the dutiful divorcee and moved out of our tent and slept in a Shay Butter Boy's tent, curled up in my faux fur coats for warmth and comfort.

The next day, before we had our final discussions, Brit Boy stated that he was trying to help out and coordinate a way for me to get off site the next day with some friends of his. I looked at him and said, "I'm catching a train in roughly two hours and will make my own way home. The time for you to be concerned about my travel arrangements is now over." I know he was trying to be helpful, but no. His participation was longer necessary.

Senor Mas Fuerte and Shay Butter Boy drove me to the train station (before which we stopped in the town of Seriňena and had a few nice cold beers and some lovely tapas) and saw me off. I was headed to Zaragoza for the night. What was I gonna do? Where was I gonna stay? No clue. I just knew that I had to get away from the place where Brit Boy was.

As luck would have it, I met someone from Austin on the train to Zaragoza. He and his travel partner were staying in a rather nice, they claimed, hostel and invited me to come along. I did and I really enjoyed hanging with them. After we got to the hostel, which was rather nice I must say, we ventured out for more cold beer, some food, and to just see what the nightlife of Zaragoza consisted of.

Well, it doesn't consist of much. At least not close to where we were staying. We found a nice sidewalk cafe, got some mediocre food (I finally got my paella, as disappointing as it was), and had a grand time revelling in the surliness of our waitress. When we asked for some mustard ("Tienes mostaza?") she felt it necessary to correct our accent, for since we were Americans we did not have the correct accent for Spain. "Mothtaaaaaaaza," she repeated back to us. "Mosthtaaza," we repeated. "No!! Mothtaaaaaaaaaaaaaaza," she said, more loudly and more slowly. Content that she had "learned us good" she turned and ventured off to get the mothtaaaaaaaaaza.

The next day, we did a little bit of sight-seeing before I boarded another train to Barcelona. I have to say, I was impressed with my ability to communicate with the Spanish, even though I didn't have the correct accent. I speak Tex-Mex Spanish, not Casitilian Spanish, so it was a little challenging, but I made it work. I'm sure I sounded like the tourists to America that ask questions like, "Do you have the knowledge of how I can obtain the information of how to get to the station of the train?" Well, they understood what I wanted and we were able to communicate. However, I do remember that in one shop I was looking for some tea and the lady kept asking if I wanted coffee. I know very well that I was asking properly. Perhaps she just couldn't imagine anyone not wanting coffee.

It was in Barcelona that I caught a plane to London so that I could catch my return flight home. I must say that I was a little disappointed that I couldn't spend more time in Barcelona, as it was absolutely beautiful and so intriguing. When I did get into the city, I quickly went to the airport, got a flight, checked in my bags, and then buggered off back into the city for what little bit of sight-seeing I could squeeze in. This turned out to be a 90-minute whirlwind of a retail therapy shopping spree (ahem.... global economic stimulation trip) in the shops surrounding the Plaza del Catalunya.

It was FABULOUS. Beautiful people, beautiful architecture, wonderful foods to sample. It was grand. As I was finishing up my spree and heading back to catch the bus back to the airport I saw it. Something I hadn't seen before, and I really have no idea how I missed it. H&M. In Barcelona. "Do I have time squeeze in ONE more shop?" I was thinking to myself. "It is H&M. In Barcelona. When will you get this chance again?"

I darted in... ran up three flights of stairs (completely ignoring the pain in my left ankle from falling into the ditch two days prior) and started shopping frenetically. In and out in a total of 15 minutes. I simply saw cute things, checked the size, and grabbed. "Hey, if they don't fit me, I have lots of friends that I can gift these to!" (Umm... they all pretty much fit. So I'm good)

As I was almost speed-walking across the plaza to the bus stop (I saw the bus rounding one corner of the plaza as soon as I stepped out of H&M) this cute Spaniard and I make eye contact as we're walking toward one another. We hold eye contact. He smiles. I smile. We turn our heads to maintain eye contact as we pass one another. After a couple of steps I stop and turn around. He has done the same, then cocks his head to one side, and deepens his smile. I look at him. I turn and look over my shoulder to see my bus arriving. I look back at him, shrug my shoulders, and tap my fingers on my wrist to say, "I have no time." He nods, continues to smile, and we turn away from one another.

I catch my bus, catch my flight, and head back to London to catch my flight home the next day.

Sally Field I am not

Right after he uttered the words, I stood up and left his company. I walked toward the edge of our camp and stared off into the night. Tears streaming down my face. My breath coming in gasps. Brit Boy walked up behind me and tried to put his arm around me. I don't remember what he started to say but I told him to "just leave." He did.

Shortly thereafter two friends came up to me and put their arms around me. These two are new characters here so let's call them Senor Mas Fuerte (don't ask) and Shay Butter Boy (again... really... don't ask). I can only assume that Brit Boy told them what he had done and had them come check on me. I was very glad for their company, but I have to feel slightly sorry for them. Really, what are you supposed to say that isn't trite and cliche? Senor Mas Fuerte repeatedly asked "what the hell are you boys doing" as he knew how much love and commitment Brit Boy and I once had for one another. How much, even now, I still have for him.

Anyway, my tears and gasping took a turn to the dramatic pretty quickly. As I was explaining to my friends what had just happened and the reasons Brit Boy had given I just felt something welling up inside of me. Not anger. Not frustration. Not sadness. Or perhaps it was each of these. In some sort of weird combination. But it just grew inside me until I knew I had to let it out.

"I just wanna scream!!!" I said with great conviction. "I just wanna hit something... someone!!! I just wanna make someone understand how I feel!!!" (Gee, I wonder where I got those lines) And with that I broke free from my two friends that still had their arms around me and ran off into the distance. Screaming. Loudly. I screamed for some time as I ran, but I stopped rather suddenly when I tripped. (Remember that this was at night) And fell... well, flew into a ditch. A two meter deep ditch. A two meter deep ditch filled with thorny weeds and brush.

Did I mention that all I was wearing at this point was a sarong and chanclas? Well, I lost the chanclas at some point along my run, but I was still only wearing a sarong. So here I was lying face-first in a deep ditch filled with thorny weeds and brush, with a sarong on that had not exactly stayed put while I was flying through the air with the greatest of ease. Let's just say that thorns went places you never want thorns to go.

My friends got me out of the ditch and checked me out to make sure that I was physically ok. Lucky for me Shay Butter Boy is a physician so he was able to really give me the once over. Now that I think about it, I should have had him spend a bit more time helping me with the thorns. ;-)

The Unravelling

After it was all said and done, I stated that I was in a state of denial. A state of shock. Brit Boy commented that he was surprised that I didn't see it coming. That it was really the only answer that he saw.

See, during those 4 1/2 months that he and I were apart, as I've said before, I was massive crazy busy with the legislative session. And while Brit Boy wasn't really having a grand time back in the UK, he was doing a lot of soul searching. He hadn't been happy in his career for quite some time before he came over here, and wasn't all that excited about going back into it, even though he knew it was the best possibility to find a job in the current economy. This soul searching produced some pretty radical self-realizations for him. Some self-realizations about which he was extremely happy and excited. Even though it meant he was gonna have to go back to school.

I was so excited for him. He had been struggling with this issue for so long and now he had found a path that he was excited about. So, we worked out a plan. I was already applying to grad school programs in the UK so that we could be together. Well, I want/need my masters for my career, and going to a program in the UK was really just a nice bit of icing on the cake cuz it allowed us to be together. The plan we had agreed upon was for me to spend the year in my program while he worked and took some courses for his new adventure part-time, and then once I was finished, he would go full-time.

During "the discussion" he stated that he thought me coming over so quickly after the stressful legislative session from which I had yet to really recover and starting a stressful grad school program was not an ideal situation. He was concerned that it would affect me in such a negative way that I would start down a destructive path due to the high amount of stress. He stated that he had seen some signs of what he considered self-destructive behavior and was afraid that it would get worse. And, he said, this was something he wasn't sure, due to his love for me, he could witness. For the record, I completely disagree that school would have such a negative, stressful affect on me. Sure, when I'm in school I'm really, really focused, but in a completely different manner from the work schedule I had recently experienced and which had affected me so negatively. Additionally, my recent workload had prevented me from engaging in my normal stress management activity - yoga. So, I really saw this as a non-issue.

The next day, during a follow-up discussion, I found out what I feel is the real reason he was dumping me. Not a concern for me or my well-being. Not a concern that life was going to be too stressful for me or that I would self-destruct in a manner he couldn't bear to witness. Not some uncrossable communication barrier or divide. I found out that Brit Boy had actually departed from our agreed upon plan. He departed from the plan without communicating with me. It was like he had been hiding it from me until the very end. Not only was he in discussions with universities in London to take some courses part-time, but also with another university, not in London or Leeds (the two cities in which I was applying to university) to take courses. Either part-time or full-time. Apparently he felt the need to move with some urgency on his radical self-realizations. "Here I am 35 years old and I have several years of education and training ahead of me before I can make this an actuality," he stated. "I need to get going on this." The end result was that the future he saw before him, the vision of his future he was moving toward, no longer included me.

"I'm not trying to control what you do and all, but this is what I need to do for me," he said. Of course!! How could I argue with that? Self-realization. Pursuit of self-realization. Even though it went against the plans we, together, had made for our future. The plans we had discussed together and decided upon. Pursuit of his goals in a manner he decided independent of any input from me. How could I possibly argue with that?

Actually, that's the only thing that irks me. His keeping his looking at universities outside of London or Leeds from me. Him not communicating that with me. Cuz that's really what it boils down to. Cut through all the crap of him being concerned for my well-being... cut through our challenges communicating while in the desert... and I'm left with him keeping something from me as we were supposed to be getting ready to put our plan into action. Something that completely shatters that plan. And leaves me... listening to Joni Mitchell on repeat.