The End Of An Era

Though, I feel very emotional about leaving South Beach in June, I’m also really looking forward to getting out of here.

In June, it will be 16 years since my ex and I pulled up in front of our hotel on Ocean Drive. We had driven all the way from Utah. He was staying, and I was going back to Utah until fall.

I arrived, for good, on October 1, 1993. I was heartbroken about leaving Utah, and scared to death of Miami. My beloved boyfriend forced me to make the most of it. We spent the next few years exploring south Florida with a vengeance. It was like being on a vacation where you actually had time to see everything.

The boyfriend and I split up in 1998, and he moved away in 1999. Today, in 2009, he is still my dearest friend, and this afternoon he is arriving in South Beach to spend five days with me. This will probably be the last time we will be together in the place we called home, together, for 5 beautiful years.

I came here for him. We were so young when we arrived. We grew together, and would not be who we are today, without having had this experience, in Miami, together.

I was briefly explaining our relationship today, and started getting choked up. Four years ago, this week, I entered rehab for my alcoholism and drug addiction. Scared to death, sitting in the hospital parking lot waiting to go in, I called him. His words to me were, “you have to do this, because I need my friend back.”. He will never know what an impact his words had on me.

He gave me the strength to move to Miami, and stay. He gave me the strength to get sober. I’m hoping now he will also give me the strength I need to return home. Back to Utah.

More Time Required, I Suppose

It’s been almost seven months since I found out my boyfriend had a little ‘chippy’ on the side.

It’s been almost six months since we ended our relationship, and he moved his saggy, sorry ass out.

I spent about a month and a half, walking around dazed, confused, scared and hurt.

The next month and a half was full of anger and rage.

My therapist called this the mourning process.

Sometime in November, I woke up one morning and I felt great. I really did. I rarely thought about him, and felt like I was finally able to move on. I felt happier than I had in years. I still do.

I haven’t seen or heard from him in months. I hope to keep it this way. Actually, forever would be nice.

Over the last few days, I have heard stories about him from well meaning acquaintances. They say not so nice things about him (and his chippy). I try not to feed into it, but unfortunately I have. The other day, I had a dream in which I said something awful to him. When I woke up, I felt horrible.

Again, I’m feeling the anger creep up. I’m hoping that he has a truly miserable life, and eventually rots in hell. I can say this on the blog, because this was, and has been, my therapeutic tool which helped me immensely during the break-up.

I know these feelings will go away, and I also know just how damaging they are to me. I really just needed to get this off my chest, so I can let it go.

In June, I’ll be gone. The worry of running into him and seeing him will also be gone. That’s a really comforting feeling.

As always, thanks for listening.

Ch, Ch, Changes…….

The last six moths of my life has consisted of MAJOR changes, that a year ago, I never would have imagined. As of now, I have the attitude (and hope to retain it) that it’s all good.

The latest change occurred last week. Due to downsizing at my beloved newspaper, I am being laid off. I will work until the end of April, then I’m done. After that, I hope to take about 6 weeks or so, to wrap everything up in Miami, maybe do a wee bit of traveling, then head back to Utah.

Yes, I said it……It looks like I’m going to be moving back to Utah. I will miss Miami in many ways, but am happy to be getting out just in the nick of time. Besides the horrendous summer weather, the economic situation down here is brutal. I know it’s bad everywhere, but this town has been hit really hard.

The job is what brought me to Miami, and has kept me here for 15 years. I never meant to stay here as long as I did. And, the thought of growing old here depresses the hell out of me. As far as Utah goes, I don’t feel like I’m running home. I feel like I’m returning, after 15 plus years, as a grown-up. I still have 3 living grandparents, and have missed my niece and nephew’s entire lives. Now that I’m sober, clear and present, I finally feel like I have a lot to contribute as far as being a member of my family. For this I am grateful. Returning to Utah is something that I once would have scoffed at. Today, it seems like the right thing to do.

In July, I’ll be turning 40. Recently, I have taken to saying that I will be spending my 40th birthday, unemployed, living in my parents basement. I get a huge kick out of saying this. Things could be so much worse. I don’t know what my future holds, but I’m excited to find out.

To be continued…….

My Ass Isn’t Worth A Dollar

I live in a town full of people who live on the streets and are constantly asking for money. Sadly, I’ve become very accustomed to it, and no longer even bat an eye. Some days, I barely make it outside of my building, before I’m approached. If I have some change, I’ll give it. More often that not, I don’t give.

Last time I gave money to someone who asked, I was very sorry. As I was digging for change in my purse, the woman farted, loudly . By the time I reached the change, I was gagging from the noxious fumes that emitted from her ass. It was not a pleasant experience. Actually it was pretty fucking gross.

The other night, I was coming out of the drug store. As I walked out, a crackhead very aggressively got in my face, and demanded that I give him a dollar. His approach startled me, so I shouted, “NO” at him. As I was walking away, he yelled, “Fine, but you still have a nice ass.” He still didn’t get a dollar, but I almost got hit by a car, crossing the street, because I was laughing so hard.

I really do love my shady little town. That said, I’m leaving for Utah tomorrow, where I more than likely will not be approached by any crackheads. In Utah, I always seemed to be accosted by small children with snotty noses and sticky hands, who never even mention my ass.