My soul-mate married a muffin-top

This week there is a full moon inside the bell-jar…

With the exception of Wednesday night and actually being social by having Michele and Marianne over for drinks (via their suggestion), I have barely left the house, eaten, and have had little motivation to do anything other than to waste time on my pc by posting random FB bullshit, watch YouTube videos, exercise my ‘slacktivism’ by signing animal rights petitions, mope around the house, and overall feel sorry for myself. Arianna says there has been a full moon the last few days (I wouldn’t know) and everyone seems to be a few cards short of a deck. I know this  cloud is that is lingering above me will pass sooner than later, however in the meantime  – I wish I could be someone else…. somewhere else… Perhaps wearing bright red lipstick and chain-smoking while in a dark cafe  listening to Leonard Cohen songs over and over again.

I’m full of shit.

A few months ago I was like Moses on the mountain-top proclaiming via my laptop: “Yes, well… ‘Cristian’ – that chapter is finally closed.” Truth be known, I can record and replay this until rigor mortis sets in and it makes not one bit of difference, as this wagon travels on back-roads at high speeds and there are no seat-belts.

I’ll never be over him, our past, and all that unrequited, long-lost Jane Austen shit. It’s the bubblegum in my hair. I can cover it up but it’s not going anywhere.  Now that I finally got a visual and who he married it is even worse. The  guilt I feel over my shallowness of judging her is colossal. But seriously, wtf was he thinking? Cristian:  Closet adventurer, treks in the mountains, takes yoga classes, plays tennis, a (former) musician, passionate, intelligent, and nothing to shake a stick at – He marries a woman who looks as though she never gets of the sofa unless to put fish sticks in the oven and get her nails done. (And 2 months prior to his nuptials admitted it was not what he had wanted.)

This is my soul mate and he married a muffin top (picture a seal in a spandex top and tight, low-rider white jeans.) Cristian ‘The One’ that could be sharing all of the above with ME (except tennis because of my horrendous coordination), and more… trekking and sea kayaking in British Columbia, exploring The Great Wall of China, doing yoga and meditation in India, white water rafting on the Colorado River, riding camels in the desert and swimming in the Black Sea… LIVING LIFE.

In my infinite brilliance (aka. stupidity, knowing he would be too intimidated to comment) I sent him a text last night in response to some kind optimism he had written me via text a few months ago after I complained about my overall situation, including douche-bags on the make,  the fact they are the reason I can’t do massage work  here and the possibility I may leave  – He wrote:

(Roughly translated to English)

“If your life is this way you must look to change it yourself, just think like you’d see it in a wonderful film, however look to make it better. Unfortunately men are that way. These assholes that want to try it with you, tell them they have to get past me first.”

I responded:

“Remember the last text you sent me  about changing my life? ‘Like a film?’ I didn’t quite understand at first, but now perhaps I do. Do you live you life this way? (Sadly, I think not). The more I try the more confused I become, I feel disillusioned and empty. Our story was the only song for my soul.”

Of course, as I expected he never responded so off-the-hook he goes…

“If it’s best for you  – don’t listen to me,  forget everything, and all that I say. As you wish, don’t worry. I am always the same, I cannot remain closed or cease to be who I am.”

What can I say?…
It’s a full moon.
(and I wait under your window  with a bugle and a drum.)