It was ten years ago this month that Sean and I broke up. I was far more interested in partying than in a relationship with someone who was so different from myself, and who I often felt like I had to parent. Opposites only attract when they compliment each other, not clash.
I was fast asleep well into the afternoon one day having crashed after another wickedly inebriated night, and slept right on through his graduation even though he had tried to rouse me. When he got home, he exploded, and it got physical.
We, of course, decided to break up, but he let me stay in the apartment, in part knowing that I had bad credit at the time and would have trouble finding a new place. That made for a bizarre next couple of months, culminating in him meeting and dating an acquaintance of mine who was a renowned rice queen.
Flash forward to the present, and things are almost magically perfect. Yes, I am still single--perpetually so, it seems--but I live in a quaint little rent-controlled adobe downtown, make more money than I ever thought I would and am generally pretty damn happy. My credit has since improved, too, but the relationship with Sean sure hasn't. Our last communication was an email from me to him threatening to take legal action after he'd threatened to call my boss because he kept getting calls at the apartment for me.
Tifferbee moved in last weekend, and it's been just fine and dandy. She's already steam-cleaned the carpet and offered to do some household jobs, which is just ducky since I am not the handy type. I'm hoping it continues wonderfully on.
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