HOLIDAZE

FREEDOM

I let go of Highland Park. For good. I hope.

It has taken me almost nine months, but I finally cut the chord.

I will NOT be going to their Christmas Party this weekend.

I think I will stick with people I know, and who I know, love me.

Best Christmas present to myself EVER.

My polyamorous experiment is officially OVER.

Now, what to do with the rest of my life???

Cry.

Apparently.

I can’t stop. I spent Christmas driving to my real father’s house in St. George, Utah with my four-year-old daughter, Pony, and my older brother, Strider. It was supposed to be with my husband and me and Pony. But with the divorce and all, we still wanted to honor my commitment to seeing my Dad. Pops, as he likes to be called since he didn’t come into my life until I was thirty years old, I think he doesn’t feel he deserves, “Dad.” I don’t blame him.

The drive out there is brutal. Seven hours and my brother is in a dubious “sober” state, so I end up doing all the driving.

I am not super comfortable around my father and his wife, yet. I may never be. To be honest, I am not that comfortable around any of my family. Hell, many people. Maybe I am simply an uncomfortable person?

But for the first Christmas without my ex-husband, we chose to be in a strange place, and that was a brutal choice to make. We should have stayed at home. We ‘ve been through enough lately – we needed what we knew, not the unknown. I knew it the second we pulled into their driveway. How I wish I had the balls to turn around and drive back home.

I made the best of it. I can endure like a champ.

While my brother slept 20 hours a day, my father watched TV in a semi-comatose state, while my step-mother drank herself silly.

I had little or no help with my daughter. She missed her Dad. I missed her Dad. Or the idea of him, more like it.

I cut our trip short by one day.

I will say this, though; these grandparents are nothing if not generous to my daughter. That is one lucky little girl.

Then came New Years.

I took my daughter and one of her little friends to a lovely romantic dinner in town, where I drank a glass of wine, then dropped her friend off, having a glass with the parents, before driving home.

On the way home I had the brilliant idea of picking up a bottle of champagne and calling the most depressed person I knew to see if he wanted to hang out and drink champagne with me once my daughter was asleep.

He did. He had no plans or friends either.

I asked him to bring his Adderall. Second BIG mistake.

He showed up pathetic and lonely. But so was I. So it was okay. I told him to crush up the Adderall so we could snort it. He did and then we did.

Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.

We made it till about 3 am – playing our favorite songs to each other, getting drunk and high- before he made a move and tried to kiss me.

Oh boy.

I vaguely remember his feeble yet fervent attempt at making out. I told him to calm down and relax. His tongue was darting aggressively in and out and it made me feel violated. He had no rhythm. It was incredibly disappointing but looking back, consistent with his demeanor. He had no game. I checked out after that and asked him to leave. The waiting time for the Uber was excruciatingly slow. Talk about being uncomfortable. Fuck me.

He had been my movie buddy. A guy I met on OkCupid that I knew, immediately, would have no chemistry with, and didn’t even particularly like hanging out with, but needed someone to talk to and feel like a part of the human race. So he was it.

We had tickets to see Star Wars in 3D at the Imax the next night.

I should not have gone. But I did. Where are my boundaries?? Do I even have ANY?

I made it through the movie. We never spoke about the kiss. He kept saying how hungry he was so we ate together afterward although everything in my body was screaming at me to drop him off and GO HOME. He didn’t even have a car. He was living in a shithole above Skid Row. His prospects were dismal. But he had been through a divorce, and although almost seven years younger than me, had a five-year-old little girl, so there was some commonality.

At dinner, he told me how he was bullied when he was young and went into detail about how the top of his left ear was cut off when he was mugged and repeatedly stabbed last year, downtown. How he almost died.

Oh boy.

I mean, it was hard not to feel bad for the guy. But he spoke so softly that I had to work so hard to hear him that I started to get angry at him just for that.

I dropped him off at his home and never saw him again.

In 2016 I no longer need to endure people that do not lift me up.

No longer.

Online dating is the stupidest thing on the planet.

And the grief carries on, and on, and on….

When does it get better????

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