So I gave the money back. At least with it gone, I can’t obsess over about what to do with it any longer. Plus (more truthfully) I hope that he’ll think I’m so generous and understanding that he will realise he cannot go on without me. Some hope…
I sent this (the product of many, many botched attempts):
Subject: Should’ve gone to Specsavers
I can’t even imagine what combination of events led to that money hitting my account – to the extent that I initially thought Higher Forces must have destined me to receive it so I might as well keep it (who am I to interfere with destiny?). But then I thought if you were desperate enough to email me for its safe return, then you must really need it! It’s on its way back to you now.
Hope you’re having more fun being an [insert job title of your choice here] than I am – problems mushrooming wherever I turn. Gah.
Then I waited in breathless anticipation for a read receipt (of COURSE I have read receipts, it’s impossible to be an obsessive loser without them). 1 minute. 60 breathless seconds. Not even quite long enough to suffocate [note to self: don’t test out the veracity of this bold statment]. Then an agonizing 11 minutes (that’s 660 seconds, people) until I got a reply. Luckily I was busy, otherwise I would probably have hyper-ventilated after the first 7.
Him:
What can I say, I guess I really need to start wearing the glasses whilst using computers!!
Thanks very much, and sorry for the mistake.
[fill in blank] role is a little different – doesn’t appear to be a great deal going on to be honest, so all a little slow….also the fact that I know nothing about [insert financial product of your choice, although the word “anything” would probably do just as well] probably isn’t helping my cause.
Sorry things are blowing up, thought all your problems were getting better with your new improved team!?!?
Thanks again.
And there’s not a whole lot I can say in response, is there? So the email is now filed away, along with hundreds of others from him that one day i will take a deep breath and delete. It won’t be any day soon though.
Couple of things:
1) I KNEW he would hate his new job. I K-N-E-W I-T. I know everything! I am always right! I know we’ll get back together because we are Meant To Be! I know for sure I have to stop thinking this way…
2) I am CONVINCED he has another girlfriend/love interest. and I know everything.
3) Why doesn’t he want me back yet?????????????????????
So anyway, money was sent, email was sent, I was spent. Went for lunch and… saw him on the way back into the building. what kind of fuckery is this????? Seriously Universe, I am sick of your games. I have not seen that boy in 2 weeks or more. I have lived in daily fear of bumping into him whilst I made up my mind about What To Do, then the day (the day! the very bloody day!!) I resolve it, the Universe sends him my way. And down the wrong set of lifts! I mean SERIOUSLY. What the fuck is going on here???? For the record of COURSE he looked great although he had a red patch in the middle of his eyebrows that means a) he had a spot or b) he’s plucking his eyebrows in an attempt to woo the ladies or c) he plays Beauty Salon with his Amazing New Girlfriend on sundays now. I actually think b and c are the most likely options. have I ever mentioned that I need help? Good God. Anyway, i managed a big smile then carried on walking. He looked sheepish and said hi. Which isn’t quite the “I love you and want you to be my wife, you glorious beatific cresature” that I had in mind.
Onward and upward. Although I have an incredibly depressed and miserable post to complete all about the Futility Of It All. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand, 2 depressing things gleaned from self-help books so far this week (own worst enemy? me?):
1) there are apparently 4 stages of loss: denial, anger, despair, acceptance. We are at 11 weeks (give or take an hour or 2) and I am still firmly in denial. I get casual flashes of anger, but mainly I’m tackling this like Bill Clinton in the eye of a sex scandal and hitting Deny, Deny, Deny every time. Which means that as miserable as I am (and my god I am miserable. It’s you I feel sorry for though) I still have despair to come. Can you imagine??? And I think I won’t hit Proper Anger until I find out for sure that he’s with someone else (because then it definitely wasn’t him, it was me and what’s so wrong with meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee? repeat ad nauseam) THEN I can see despair creeping over me like a dense fog from which I may well never emerge. So much to look forward to.
2) Not only are men most likely to propose 18 months into a relationship (i.e. at the EXACT poiint that he dumped me the first time) but really, your best chance of bagging a man is to start going out with them when you’re 28 (i.e. the exact age I started going out with him). Brilliant. I was statistically at the best possible place at the best possible time and all for nothing. Throw me a bone somebody…
Gotta go. This was really just an update. Inner anguish to follow.
Btw though; on Friday i practically almost met Josh Hartnett. And I DID meet, shake hands with and talk to for approx 4 seconds his not-hot friend. So I am essentially living my life like an international pop star (copyright Paul Clarke, BB2). I bet HE was at home doing his fucking ironing. Put that in your pipe Him (I’ve really got to name him one of these days. but what name can you possibly give your Kryptonite?)
Have just realised the formatting of this post looks dreadful. My housemate will tell me off for pasting more stuff straight out of a Microsoft application (i am depressed that i even know that this is detrimental to the appearance of this blog because of some techie reason that i thankfully can’t remember). I will swear at my housemate a lot, ask him just what the bloody hell I’m supposed to do short of re-tyoing everything out then, post-rage, i’ll askhim to fix it. Fingers crossed it’ll look better shortly. If it doesn’t, you’ll know hmate imploded in a fit of geek-rage. Messy.
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