The Ex, this past week, infuriated me with intrusive questions about Soldier Boy, and THEN further pissed me off by writing me that now – NOW – he has those feelings, and that he wants to give me marriage and family and house… to which all my compassion dissolved and a resounding, “Oh, FUCK YOU,” was heard throughout Hostivař (the part of Prague where I live.) I mean, really. REALLY? NOW you want to marry me? Funny. I feel pretty sure that if I were to go running back into his shaky arms, he suddenly lose that desire.
I’m far past wanting to deal with this bullshit. I don’t even have the desire to test that theory out anymore.
Anyway. We have 6 and a half years behind us. I’d like to think that we can be friends eventually – though I’m sure it’s too soon and now is not the time because he’s in the process of falling apart over my absence, and I’m in the process of being too annoyed to care at times. Though honestly, I do mostly care, and I hate to just LOSE over half a decade of my life. But now is not the time.
So he wrote to me today, that it’s done. He bought his flat. And I suppose he wrote this because he thinks I want to be supportive, and yay! cheers for him, but the fact is it just pissed me off AGAIN. Because this flat that he bought has been a serious point of contention between us, this past year that we’ve been doing the half together/half apart, long distance thing. The idea that he was doing this thing, this huge property-buying thing that we were supposed to do as a team, as a couple who’d been together for a very long time and had an eye towards… home. Specifically, a small house in a village outside the center. Or a Parisian-ish, spacious flat overlooking one of the parks, with thick walls, and wood floors and room for a dog.
So when I bristled everytime he mentioned looking for a flat to buy, he’d get angry or just not talk about it, or try to console me. It wasn’t a home, he said, it was just an investment, a place to hang his coat in the meantime. Didn’t matter what he said, he was a twist of the knife that he’d gracelessly stuck in my back years ago. I felt like he was moving further from me, further from us being an “us” when I guess the fact is it was me that was moving away, and clinging to these little indignities to pretend we still meant something.
It’s still rather fresh, this business of him not being the man in my life anymore, so I still feel something about this. I still feel a little insulted and a little hurt, and a little wounded in the pride area. But not so much.