Wednesday, May 11, 2011

When I fall apart

As I have vowed not to discuss my love life, or lack there of, as more than a fleeting shadow, this blog post is tricky. Its not the easiest vow to adhere to.  There are times when I'd like to gush about the wonderful, serendipitous, slightly maudlin (insert something fantastic or amazing here) that just happened. Other times I'd like a full on, internet rant to bitch about the awful, unfair, heart wrenching thing (again, insert one here) that happened.  Because I know there are actually a few folks out there reading this, and some of them may be people who I see or correspond with, I am not convinced allowing myself to do either gush or rant is a great idea.  Especially on the internet where nothing is ever really gone, ever. Just because I delete it and can't find any trace of it definitely doesn't mean that a more tech savvy twelve year old couldn't find it and exploit my one moment of stupidity in internet publishing.
Courtesy of   You won't hear more from me than this.
That being said . . . I'm going to walk the line a bit today. There will be a slight (like ephemeral fog on a sunny morning) mention of some sort of infatuation element.  I won't go into detail, but for now, it's as close as I'll get to a mention of there being a man kinda in my life-ish.

My friends here in Indonesia know all about the drama from last weekend. It was a perfect storm of the way Jakarta can louse up plans, a lack of communication, an additional lack of phone with which to communicate and lots of drinking (not on my part).  He pulled a 180 on me and I was totally over-turned by the events and they're unexpected nature. Since it's all still new and (now less than) shiny, I had only a short history for comparison and was sure it was all intentionally inflicted agony.

I was one part crying, upset woman
It was three very long days for my friends, I'm certain. There was shouting, and pouting, crying and rationalizing.  There was definitely sulking and confusion.  That was all on my part.  My friends must have been tired and thoroughly irritated for having to put up with me.  Zoë especially.  I know she must have been because I would have been.  She was at my side both Friday and Saturday nights.  Yet, she never betrayed her calm, patient exterior.  That's what a friend is.  It's someone who will let you moan about the same guy for two straight days, over dinner, through drinks, and never cut you off.  She never said I wasn't justified, that I should just suck it up, give up. Or if she did, it was with the softest sell waiting to see if I jumped on that boat.  There were a few people that did. They found out rather quickly how poorly that would go over with me in the state I was in.
and one part Calvin angry tantrum.

Zoë put up with me longer than anyone else, but she wasn't cast in the role of sole supporter.  I found myself encircled by girls who held me up and held me together all weekend. Lest the girls get all the props, there were two sweet boys who did everything possible to make me smile, and both succeeded.  Who'd have thought an American guy and a Frenchman would be the ones helping me regain my sense of humor and smile?

They joined the small flock of lovely ladies that did everything they could to simultaneously support, vindicate my logic, trash the person in question, rub my back and just let me cry. They were there in person, on blackberry messenger, and in my thoughts.  To the family I now know I have in Indonesia, thanks.  Next one is on me.



  1. I don't know what's going on in your [love] life these days, except for the updates in this blog, but I'm glad to read you had a good group of friends by your side.

    Update me?


  2. I'll try to get a message out to you today or tomorrow mi amor.