Things I Never Heard

OK, so first - why did I remove that one interview answer from Scotty's interview with me?

Simple answer is: I had two different conversations at work in one day, nothing to do with blogging, which made me realize that that particular entry crossed over a line I can no longer risk crossing - a line of propriety. Blech. That sucks. But I took it down.

Funny, though, I'm not so worried about my older sexual-ish posts (see sidebar).

Anyway, that's the reason - short version.

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Things I Never Heard

So John is not the name of the guy I was partners with for 10 years. I talked a bit about some of the good and bad here. Well, in review he's broken up with me now - got a new bf for the past couple months. It's been tough but not tragic, really. Most of the time. I can even still go out and laugh and drink and drink and laugh. Although, there's still a bit of crying going on.

Anyway.

Remember when I mentioned how I met John (who got a new boyfriend at the new year) after his longtime partner has recently broken up with him and gone off to France?

And remember, I never got to talk to Phil when he returned to the States?
Certainly not after he became sick. But even before.

One of the reasons, from all reports, was that from the day Phil returned to Boston, he was freaked out at my presence as John's new boyfriend.

Like I said, it made some sense – sometimes it takes people years to get over someone – maybe sometimes even if they are the one that ended the relationship.
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After Phil died, a number of Phil’s close friends were furious with John, but I never understood why.
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Some years later, another friend, admittedly sketchy at times himself, brought up the topic of when I first met John. I remember saying “Phil had already broken up with John. When I met John, Phil was already in Paris.”

And I remember this guy just shaking his head,

“Man, what John told you, that’s not what happened.”
“What do you mean?
“He wasn’t being honest with you…”

See, if he had just blurted out what he meant without the preamble, I would know.
But for reasons maybe I understand now, I said,

“stop.”

And he shook his head, but he changed the subject.
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I think about that now.

Because in my flashes of anger with John, which are surprisingly rare with all this dumping me shit, I have occasionally wondered,

“Had he told this other guy, the one he’s been seeing these past few months, that we were not yet ‘broken up’? Did this other guy think I was still in the picture. If so then, man! What a fucking asswipe! Both of them!"

Like I’ve said, I’ve gotten used to the concept of a little sex on the side. But falling in love on the side… no. And I’d feel like dirt causing that kind of breakup to happen.

The alternative was that John hasn’t told him I exist yet. So it must be weird to that guy that that he’s not seen John for various stretches of time for the past few months.

See, John only got to “get away” on certain nights – cause for various reasons, on other nights there were responsibilities that needed dealing with. And that schedule was, in part, because of me.

And even after he finally told me about this guy, what I asked John to do was while I’m physically living or sleeping in the house, please don’t torture me by going out with him – while I’m out of town or at a friend's, I’ll just assume he with the guy.

So, geez! What excuses is he giving the guy if he doesn’t know that I exist?

But then I thought of another alternative.

What if he was told from the outset that I had broken up with him, but hadn’t found a place to live yet and it was a real uncomfortable situation and, even though I already dumped him, I still am completely freaked out that he’s dating someone else?

Wouldn’t that be fucked up?

And - flash - what if that’s exactly what happened 10 years ago – with me as the other guy?

Fucking too perfect a mirror image, huh?!?

Yeah... too perfect. That's why I don't really buy it.

It requires me to fill in a lot of the blanks. And I could fill them alot of ways. Only one way leads to believing that John behaved in such a shitty way.

See, it’s this kind of paranoia-fueled anger (or anger-fueled paranoia) that proves why I have to move out – which I am doing by the end of this weekend.

And then I can start to move on.

Cause I sure as fuck don't need any more of this shit.
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