Exchanging of the Clothes

I'm surprised something so small (yet painful) people have so many opinions on. Apparently there is a right way and a wrong way to do it.

I almost always choose the wrong way. I wear my heart on my sleeve and my emotions on my face. I leave no cards clutched to my chest. If I have a feeling about you, you will know it.

I need some of my items back. I wanted to wear a particular dress last night but had foolishly left it behind. Today is supposed to be D Day. Every person I have spoken to has a view on the best way to retrieve my items and give last bits back to The Viking.

I should:
 - bag everything up and ask him to leave my stuff on the doorstep
 - get a friend to do the exchange
 - use this opportunity to hug and say a proper good bye
 - leave my stuff for dead and cancel the meet up
 - wait until I'm over it to ask for it back
 - do it quickly without many words or physical interaction


I don't know how to physically do any of these things. Instead, I foresee it more as going like...

I invite him in, don't let him leave. Cry. Beg for him to reconsider and end up throwing his stuff out the window.

Sounds like me. No word left unsaid or tear left unshed. I expect it to be painful and unsatisfying. Yet, we must be true to ourselves and be at peace with what we would have wanted to do.

The Key Incident

So The Viking and I got back together after the last post and had a wonderful Christmas together.


Then we broke up again a few days later...for good. Crushing.

I thought I had been coping alright (the usual black hole of sadness) until The Key Incident happened.

I met a friend to cheer me up after the break up and an illness. I knew that I would be returning to an empty, soul-sucking flat and already the anxiety was hitting next level when I reached my front door.

I put the key to the lock.
The key wouldn't go in.

I tried again, being more delicate.
The key wouldn't even wiggle in slightly.

I rammed the key in the lock.
I hurt my hand with the force.
The key refused to turn.
I wiggled the key.
I tried to ever so slightly pull the key out.
I twisted until I thought it would snap.
I cheered on the key to help it feel empowered to open the lock.

I cried.
And cried.
And cried.

I slid to the floor with my fists balled up against the door. I wailed at the key and begged and berated it to turn. Stupid, selfish fucking key! You always do this to me. You always leave me out here alone. Why won't you just be better you fucking key!

I sobbed into my coat until I had dry gasps.

Finally after much commotion and emotional turmoil, I slid the key out of the lock, straight back in, and turned it.

It opened.

I fell into my flat and laid face down in the hallway until I could muster up the strength to close the door and feel complete self-pity that I can't even open a door right.

But all-in-all I think I am coping quite well, thanks.