And so, I am single once more. We had our farewell date last night where I tried to make things as good as they could be without the differences and resentment bubbling up to the surface. But how could it not? I would have to find a new place to live and she was still hurt.
We laughed and hugged. Drank beers at McGee's in Midtown (the bar that inspired McLaren's in How I Met Your Mother), drank a pint at the beer garden down on W4th, ate dinner at Red Bamboo, and went home to watch Emmet Otter's Jugband Christmas. I gave her the pearl/opal antique earrings I always wanted to get her. And we cried.
Then this morning things like rent, the money I owed her, our separate New Year's plans came up. It was real. She was back after the weeks away and we were still done. I may've been in a fair amount of denial, but I was also happy. I'd embrace this new chance at life and figure myself out. Start filming things, write my next book, set up an office to get comic work done. All the crap that comes along with a relationship would dissipate in the distance between us. Part of me, especially immediately, was glad that she'd be able to focus on her art and career, though really I was the one really breathing the sigh of relief.
Every break-up is hard, but this one is the easiest. It's not some dramatic scene, we just didn't work in a relationship. It's not the End of the World as these things usually are for a sensitive guy like myself. It's a practical, pragmatic affair, which is what I should have expected with her. I have a calm about me, a passion to do and be that I've hardly experienced in my life before. I'm going to be okay.
Fuck that. I'm going to be awesome.
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