I've been awful. I haven't written. It's been over a year - maybe two. My bad. I've just been coasting, coasting from the Southern hemisphere to the Northern hemisphere. I've been putting together pieces, and building solid foundations (I hope!) Getting employed so I can pay off the colossal student debt I accumulated in the land down under. So just what has happened? Why the long pause in my online chronicle of heartaches?
I guess mostly it has to do with the fact that my heart doesn't ache. It's no longer under attack. I'm peril-free (at least when it comes to love). I've fallen into a blissful, happy and (dare I say) healthy relationship full of mutual respect, love and devotion. We even shacked up. We have a cat. We are situated in a swanky neighbourhood in the city - just east of the downtown core. To me, our life is beautiful. We are part of a food co-op where we get local organic food. We watch movies, nature documentaries and catch up with friends (or wallow away our weekly "trials and tribulations" over drinks at our local pub). We sit on the roof top of our building contemplating equality, human rights, the Middle East, what to have for dinner - all while taking in the breathtaking Toronto cityscape. We argue about the implications of wearing a headscarf in the taxi cab on the way home from our friends wedding.
Yes, there have been hard times to get here. Many months of separation, many moments of doubt (mostly mine), much longing and countless tearful telephone farewells (with a sprinkle of some airport partings). It wasn't easy. It was hard work to get here. And it took a lot. More trust than I knew I had in me, and definitely more patience. It was so worth it. For all my hopeless dreaming (and scheming) to make "true love" a part of my life - for so long it even seemed like my reason d'etre, so passionately consuming - I never realized how easy it can be to have, well, everything I ever wanted in a partner.
Yes, I am intoxicated with love. Which is a good reason why "Heart Attack! The Perils of Dating" is a horrible title for this blog, if I am to continue on writing it. I'm not entirely sure what I am going to do with this blog. Maybe I should consult my partner-in-crime, my confidante, my sweet love - my kiwi
Saturday
Wednesday
the reschedule revolving door
I've been away. I've been in love. But at home it seems like everything I've been running away from has been nipping at my heels, trying to catch up with me. Even if I try to live life in this paradise mind frame with my new "no worries" attitude, every time I look over my shoulder, my vices, and my exes, are gaining on me.
It's strange how so much of you can change when your away, but everything else stands so still, nagging at you the moment you arrive, testing the endurance of your new found enlightened self. For me, those tests came in several varieties, most recent of which, was the obligatory "catch up" with my London Boy.
I had been dreading (and secretly anticipating) this reunion before my return as messages of the facebook and text message variety flooded my various inboxes. And although my heart is spoken for, my curiosity was not. Had he changed? Was he still in love with me? As he was ever the dramatist, I couldn't help what beyond romantic escapade awaited me, even if for propriety sake, it needed to be declined.
I found myself swept up in a wind whirl of engagements as soon as I got home, but when my London Boy finally called to set up a day I was outwardly torn (is it proper to go?) and inwardly ecstatic (finally I'll know what he's been thinking!). The day came and went without acknowledgment (on his end) until a few days later, when a phone call with a profuse apology followed, "Can we please reschedule?"
Ever the optimist, I rescheduled. But to enrage my fury, the next set day came and went without pause. A few days later, "I guess we both forgot," his text message swooned. (I did not though I did mark it in pencil), "Can we please reschedule for next Tuesday, no more rain cheques." I begrudgingly agreed. I was starting to lose my curiousness and instead start measuring up this behaviour to the kiwi who has my heart and never missed a date or a long distance phone call.
Tuesday, at 5pm, I get a text message, "I have some classic bad news. I'm afraid I have to abort our plans. I'm sorry. [enter lame excuse about work] I've been looking forward to this for some time. Can we please reschedule?" Here we are in the same area code and the boy can't keep a date if his life depended on it, meanwhile, my kiwi always finds a way to tell me he loves me, despite the 5,000 Km and useless cellphone carriers that keep us under lock and contract. My curiosity abated, I step out of the useless reschedule revolving door with my reply, "It's okay. We don't have to, it never seems to be the right time."
It's strange how so much of you can change when your away, but everything else stands so still, nagging at you the moment you arrive, testing the endurance of your new found enlightened self. For me, those tests came in several varieties, most recent of which, was the obligatory "catch up" with my London Boy.
I had been dreading (and secretly anticipating) this reunion before my return as messages of the facebook and text message variety flooded my various inboxes. And although my heart is spoken for, my curiosity was not. Had he changed? Was he still in love with me? As he was ever the dramatist, I couldn't help what beyond romantic escapade awaited me, even if for propriety sake, it needed to be declined.
I found myself swept up in a wind whirl of engagements as soon as I got home, but when my London Boy finally called to set up a day I was outwardly torn (is it proper to go?) and inwardly ecstatic (finally I'll know what he's been thinking!). The day came and went without acknowledgment (on his end) until a few days later, when a phone call with a profuse apology followed, "Can we please reschedule?"
Ever the optimist, I rescheduled. But to enrage my fury, the next set day came and went without pause. A few days later, "I guess we both forgot," his text message swooned. (I did not though I did mark it in pencil), "Can we please reschedule for next Tuesday, no more rain cheques." I begrudgingly agreed. I was starting to lose my curiousness and instead start measuring up this behaviour to the kiwi who has my heart and never missed a date or a long distance phone call.
Tuesday, at 5pm, I get a text message, "I have some classic bad news. I'm afraid I have to abort our plans. I'm sorry. [enter lame excuse about work] I've been looking forward to this for some time. Can we please reschedule?" Here we are in the same area code and the boy can't keep a date if his life depended on it, meanwhile, my kiwi always finds a way to tell me he loves me, despite the 5,000 Km and useless cellphone carriers that keep us under lock and contract. My curiosity abated, I step out of the useless reschedule revolving door with my reply, "It's okay. We don't have to, it never seems to be the right time."
april showers may bring sydney lovers
My wonderful boyfriend is thinking. He's thinking of ways that he can keep seeing me. He's thinking he has to go to London, that it's something he MUST do, for himself. He's thinking he might go to the USA next year for a road trip. He's thinking he might end the trip in Canada in April to live and work.
I'm thinking, I have such a wonderful boyfriend. I hope he does come to Canada in April so that we can continue this beautiful affair. I'm thinking it's going to be hard to be away, but I know if it's meant to be, he'll come back to me.
I'm thinking, I have such a wonderful boyfriend. I hope he does come to Canada in April so that we can continue this beautiful affair. I'm thinking it's going to be hard to be away, but I know if it's meant to be, he'll come back to me.
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