The End of the EX

I came home to my condo, walked in the living room, and soaked up the space. Kind of like a CSI actress, but one that makes considerably less money. The living room hadn't been this empty since I first moved in almost two years ago. It seemed bigger now. I could almost see the air pass through the newly created vacancies, reclaiming it. So I just stood there and stared at all the dog hair covered carpet I'd forgotten was there for 10 months. Ugh, I would need to vacuum soon.

Gone was the goliath of sectionals that allowed only a foot and a half walk space around it. The 60 inch TV, thick and tall, no longer dominated the entire room. No more scarred coffee table with crap loaded all over it or baseball themed end tables. This living room now contained only an ancient wood entertainment center, empty except for dust, a love seat that had seen better days and indentations in the carpet where real furniture used to exist.

I absorbed all this, walked around the kitchen and to the bedroom. It looked pretty much the same. The right closet door stood open revealing its emptiness. The curtains bellowed out where the one white dresser had been so I moved the old wrought iron bench in front of the window. That bench had been there before. Some things are consistent. I'd had that bench longer than anything else in the condo. I gave it a little pat. Good bench.

I plopped down on the bed, kicked my shoes off and proceeded to get undressed from normal people clothes into my sweat pants. Less than 5 seconds later I was heading out the sliding glass doors to my patio with a cold beer and what would hopefully turn out to be a good book. After all, it was a pleasant enough distraction before the EX moved out.

That's the beginning of my story. My boyfriend of seven years, off and on, moved out. Quickly. He ran away, really. And I was ok with it. Well, as ok as anyone can be after fighting for eight months, gaining 20 pounds and having forgotten what it's like to have sex with an actual person.

I just went on with my life as if nothing had changed, because the only real thing actually changed was the condo had been cleared out. At least he took the tension, too.

Now, I must say that my entire relationship with the EX cannot be looked at badly. He was a great guy who just happened to piss me off to no end when we were romantically involved. We must have broken up at least ten times over the years, but we always got back together. Why? Because it was like going home. No matter how crappy we were to each other, in the end we knew we cared. And we had been young and immature when we met at age nineteen.

But something broke wide apart when we moved in together. I had been working my ass off at 4 different jobs: Cleaning offices on the weekends, teaching dance for kids a few nights a week, dancing for a company, and climbing the corporate ladder into sales at my main job. All of this to pay the bills. I said I needed help. The EX said he wanted us to live together because I could only see him once a week. It took longer for us to move in together than the living arrangement lasted.

And the most ironic part... By the time he moved in I was making more money than I ever thought possible after a sudden promotion. I no longer needed him to move in with me to share bills. In fact, I was paying my rent a couple months in advance just to get rid of some of that cash. Months before when I had been crying about not being able to afford a new mattress the EX was unwilling to pitch in. I was now buying new bedroom furniture and book shelves galore. He paid for the white dresser and made sure he took it with him when he left.

After months of yelling, silent treatments, crying and a lot of beer, our relationship hit the fan and disintegrated into nothing. He moved out. I bought a new red couch and a much classier, streamlined version of his TV. It was over and there would never be another repeat performance. The EX had left the building.

My friends, at least the ones starting to develop at work, were amazed I acted no differently after such a life altering change. Ummm.. People go through this shit all the time and live normally. It wasn't an actual divorce or anything. No custody hearing. The EX was told to fuck off when he asked about visitation for the dog. MY dog. I politely said no. I offered him the cat. He rolled his eyes. So all in all this was a no nonsense, easy break up.

Then why did I have no desire to ever date again?