The meadowlarks are singing their hearts out, the horses have fresh grass to eat, the frogs are happily calling for mates in the pond around dusk, and the Siamese barn cat had a batch of white kittens. Spring is everywhere but in my heart, I just broke up with Cowboy.
I don't think he can ever truly appreciate who I am or understand me. After he had more important things to do on his day off than spend any time with me again, I was folding his laundry, the precise way he showed me how, when I noticed the heart-filled poem I wrote him was missing from his desk. I looked in the trash first, and there it was, callously executed by the former Gulf War Army sniper...laying in a crumpled ball underneath neat opened envelopes of bills he paid. I cried out loud, and the dogs gave me some worried looks, Taddy coming over to comfort me with sad eyes and curious ears. I got a grocery bag from underneath the sink and marched into his bathroom and threw open the medicine cabinet. I started shoving my soaps and creams into the bag. I threw his laundry on his bed for him to fold, and went into the kitchen. My pans clattered as I yanked them from cabinets, I pulled down my bright colored mixing bowls and carefully took out my sharp chef knives from the silverware drawer. I took it all to my car, then got my clothes and shoes from the fifth wheel I moved in two weeks earlier in hopes that him seeing less of me would make him more affectionate again. His dogs followed me around, looking confused at what I was doing and why I was crying. I texted his friend that I needed to move somewhere else, and she said I could stay at her place for the night.
I was just about to draw a mustache on one of the five pictures of his ex-girlfriend that were around the house, this one taped to the fridge (hard to clean around them...really!), when he pulled into the driveway. He was outside talking to some guy, clueless that I was leaving, when I told his roommate what was going on. The roommate shook his head, saying something about him being an idiot. Cowboy came in with groceries, and while he was putting them away I told him I was leaving. The roommate left, and Cowboy was joking with him and smiling like nothing was going on. Cowboy didn't show any emotion at all, instead he picked up some dog hair off the floor, mumbling about having to clean if I was leaving. He talks to himself more than me, it is how I find out what he is doing and where he is going next.
I don't think I can be with someone who doesn't like my writing or photography. I've seen the disgusted look he gave a piece of my pottery too, which I love and take pride in. I don't want to have Walmart plates from China, I love the retarded plate that I made myself, with the green glaze I discovered on my own by mixing glazes. Being creative is the center of who I am, and if he hates my poem and pottery, he hates me.
I'm sad for the all the potential lost for a great relationship, just because he isn't willing to put forth any effort or compromise instead of always being selfish. I've been a blubbering mess ever since I broke up with him, but I don't even know if he cares. Probably not. I deserve to have someone who cares, and who loves my talents and me.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
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