reimpacting by surprise

reimpacting (a surprise) and further clarity

spent the past two days at a regional conference. it happens every year. when i took my current assignment, i attended one. it sucked. spent more time in transit than in actual conference sessions, and the sessions were mostly crap, and the ones that weren't covered stuff i already knew, and in some cases even stuff that i originated in past programs that i've managed. (stayed actually in the same place where you, 2+ years later, planned to meet your married lover while in town to attend a show. i wonder if you stayed in the same room that i did, when i was there, doing what i said i was doing, not cheating. missing you, even. all i remember was that the room i stayed in smelled like pipe tobacco and had some luminary's name on a plaque outside the door. you went to the concert, but i ruined your fuck plans.)

i've blown off this conference the past two years. for a couple of reasons: the last one i went to sucked (was a waste of time and limited resources); i know most of this shit already, and have grown tired of listening to people present things as if they're breaking new ground when they're not doing anything more than i've ever done and -- as i said above -- a lot of it is stuff that *i* broke ground on (if there were royalties in this business, or if intellectual property could be reasonably patented, i'd be a rich fuck); i've lost my patience with the high number of absolute hacks in my field who do nothing but embarrass me with how disproportionate their actual knowledge is to their titles; and i didn't want to see the fucker who you had an affair with.

you "met" him through a fucking professional email discussion list back before we even moved out here. attracted, as you are, to men in positions of authority. that's the only reason you were initially attracted to me, too. now i know. not that i've ever considered my job to be anything more than that. a job. authority? god. can't even keep your fucking pants on online. what's funny is that it bothers me as much that you actually on some level considered him to have as much so-called "authority" as me. i've known him longer than you, and he's a fucking a hack. fake-assed poser. how many of *my* ideas, which you internalized so well that i was proud of you, did you pass on to him, doll? you threw away more than yourself -- you threw away my hard work, too. (i even remember once, during dinner, commenting on him, and his bullshit, and remember being surprised when your response indicated that you thought he was "ok." uh-huh.)

so, i remember another similar, bigger, annual conference in chicago. thought it would be cool to come with me. spend some time together. get out of town. share costs for the room and maybe even learn a few things. i remember, after a day of sessions, turning to see you smiling at this asshole, and him smiling at you, your hands attached in what appeared to my innocent, blind eyes at the time to be a simple professional handshake. a greeting between colleagues who had corresponded on the discussion list. i remember too, afterwards, us returning to our room to chill. there was an hour or so before evening social activities. i remember us lying together on the bed, i remember wanting to make love with you, wanting you, trying to seduce you, showing my desire. and you telling me that you had a headache. maybe you did, but you also had guilt, i know now, because you didn't come to chicago with me because you wanted to be with me, or because you wanted to go to the conference. you went because you wanted to see this person. you fucking freeloaded on me to flirt with some asshole. who i knew, through the grapevine. married. 5 kids. what the fuck.

and i remember the next morning. you asking me if i would mind if you met some people for breakfast. of course i didn't mind. why would i mind? now, of course, i also remember how, that morning, you were up and ready way before me. because you wanted to increase the odds that you could go to breakfast without me, could escape, because i wouldn't be ready when you said you were going to meet your colleagues. you asked me if i would mind, because you had no intention of inviting me to join you. they were my colleagues, too. but, you weren't meeting colleagues. now i understand. you were meeting him. or did you just go off on your own, and write your little letter to him? letting him know how much you wanted to spend time with him, getting to know him, how you envisioned spending time with him. bitch. or did you have breakfast with him? did you have each other for breakfast, honey? did you kiss him, honey? did you blow him, honey? whatever you did, fuck you, honey.

so, that's what happened in chicago. then, the next time you and this asshole were at a conference together (did he even plan to go to the cherry valley conference for professional reasons? or was it all a scheme to have your disgusting little tryst?) you were expected to go, and he would meet you there. fuckers. both of you. him married, and you wearing my ring, the diamond i put on your finger the christmas before. did you even take it off your finger while you fucked him, honey?

i remember another time. you'd heard from someone, somewhere, about some possibility to take a job. would involve a lot of time on the road. but you were frustrated with what you were doing, and you thought it sounded like an opportunity. told me about it. took me by surprise, because you couldn't ever stand to be away from me for a second. you are needy that way, dependent. remember what i told you? that if that's what you wanted to do, of course i'd support you -- but i wanted you to really think it through, and not be impulsive about it, because it would mean that we'd be apart a lot of the time, and that was something that made you unhappy. it always had up to that point, anyway. now i get it -- what you wanted was to be able to have a job so that you could have ready reasons to be away from me, to be out of town, so you could pursue your little fuck fantasies. and keep me both in the dark and in your life. fuck you, honey. so, why'd you end up dropping that plan? maybe you thought, shit -- he'll get sick of this real quick, and break up with me. maybe i would have. who knows. we'll never know. but i do know that we are different that way. because, if i didn't think things could work out, as i know now, or if i wanted something else, as i do now, or if i were just tired of us, or sick of you, which i never was -- yes, i would have broken up with you. unlike you who, for whatever twisted reason, changed the rules, changed the reality, broke promises and commitments, and still waited for me to kick you out of my life. fuck you for that, baby. get a spine.

how hard it was for me to comprehend the extent of your deception, your betrayal -- now i get it. you've become so good at lying to yourself that lying to everyone else is second nature. now i understand why, despite how fucking outraged you could be at the world, your family (your father, your brother, your sister), your friends (all of them -- well, wait, besides me, you only really have one), your coworkers (everywhere you worked), me, my son -- everyone -- despite that, you couldn't handle anyone's anger when it was directed at you. how that double-standard drove me crazy. remembering that helps me not miss you.

you can't handle anyone being angry with you because everything you fucking do is an act. nothing's real. it's all conjured up to create some scene you've got playing in your head. it's control freak shit. when those scenes that you so carefully composed didn't work out exactly the way you envisioned, and your behavior actually pissed someone off -- because the rest of us ARE living in the real world, honeybitch -- you couldn't comprehend it. how could anyone be angry at you? because you KNEW that it was all bullshit, all an act, all a lie. and your intention wasn't always to piss people off, because you knew you didn't like that feeling. that sense of being under a dark cloud. the same sense so many of us -- your family, your friends, the people who really care about you -- could feel, the burden of your pain that was tangible when you were feeling it. it leaked, poured out of you. you subjected us all to it. because the only way you know how to connect with people when you're angry is to make them to feel the same shit as you.

pretty republican of you, actually. give everyone what they want -- tell them anything to get them on your side, to win them over, get what you want from them, and then screw them over in the end. you really oughtta think about switching parties. you'd fit right in.

it's all a game for you, babe. everything is made up. your personality, your life, your face. it's all fucking fake. that's why you douse yourself in baby powder every morning. you're afraid of your own scent. i hated that. i love how women smell. they don't smell like babies. you're 29 for chrissakes. take it from me (i've had other lovers before you, baby -- remember?) -- the baby powder? it's not sexy. nothing sexy about having to get through a thin coating of baby powder every time i went down on you, before i could actually lick you, taste you.

all i wanted was you. the real you. the you i thought i knew. the you i was in love with. the you i gave my heart to. maybe she existed. once. but she's gone now. and because of her, you're fading.

so i went to the conference this year. i went because i could, because i felt like it. because i called the asshole-who-you-had-an-affair-with's wife, and told her the whole deal. sent her all of your fucking fantasy love emails. all those words. still seared in my memory. just fucking think about this: how would you feel if you had no clue and then had to read the words you wrote to him? if you found me writing to someone the words you wrote to him? "i want this man -- physically, spiritually, passionately, completely -- i want all of him. i want to be your wife, kevin." you wrote that shit, honeybitch. not to me. yet you lived under my roof, slept in my bed -- i thought it was ours. now i know. it was just mine. you were never really here. it was my home, but it was just your stage.

so i went to the conference. i wondered if he'd be there, after the confessional. wondered how i'd deal with it, with him. i still wonder. would i attack him? would i ignore him? would he try to confront me? would he steer clear? i still want to strangle him and break his balls, yes. i'm ok with him knowing that. knowing even that i'd enjoy it. but it's different now. it's all different now. so i went to the conference. and you didn't.

but it's clear now, at least. so clear that you lied to me and lied to me and lied to me. now i understand. a few things. distance does give clarity, and time does all the formatting. in the end, the story becomes clear, and the presentation is perfect.