bloody marty mix
109/365: 1990-1991
Friday, 12 September 2008.
40 Years in 40 Days [ view the entire set ]
An examination and remembrance of a life at 40.
For the 40 days leading up to my 40th birthday, I intend to use my 365 Days project to document and remember my life and lay bare what defines me. 40 years, 40 qualities, 40 days.
Year 23: 1990-1991
In December of 1990 I took my last final exam. I had no job lined up (hadn't even thought about it), so in January, I interviewed at a temp agency, and was placed at a pharmaceutical company in Skokie. I pieced together a passable business casual wardrobe and began making the daily bus commute to my soulless and mind-numbing corporate job. I kept my eye open for other opportunities, but since I'd given my post-college career absolutely no thought whatsoever, I had no idea what I wanted to do. Moreover, we were deep in a recession, and there were not a lot of job ads requesting English majors.
Family and friends began pressing for information on the upcoming wedding and I had none to give. It was becoming increasingly clear to me that I was not comfortable with the idea. Jared and I had been having problems for a long time, but we were open with each other about them, and we believed we could fix them. As the time for procrastination drew to a close, and plans simply needed to be made for the June wedding, panic set in. This was no longer an abstraction. It was really happening, and I had to acknowledge that it really shouldn't be happening. I loved Jared, but as things stood then, I did not want to marry him.
On a Tuesday evening, the week before we were to go pick out a wedding dress (we wanted to pick it out together), I called him and asked him to meet me at the student center on campus (I was still living near campus at the time). I thought it was more fair to meet at a neutral place, rather than at my apartment. It should have occurred to me that it might seem cruel to call off one's wedding in a public place, but it didn't. I found a quiet, dark table, away from prying eyes and ears, and explained to him that I loved him very much, but that I couldn't marry him, not with the way things were between us. He rapidly cycled through pleading, sad, and angry, fighting back tears. I did not want to break up with him, I explained. I just didn't want to get married right now. I handed him the ring, and he leaned back, set his jaw, and folded his arms in front of him. He no longer wanted to talk. We drove back to my apartment in silence, and he dropped me off at the door. I went upstairs, and the intercom buzzer was ringing. When I pressed the button, he yelled into the microphone, "I want my stuff back." I leaned against the wall and cried as I listened to his car pull away.
The next day, he called me, and asked if he could come over to talk. He said he realized that he didn't want to end things yet either, and that we just needed some time. We decided to take a couple of days off work and hole up together in a hotel to just be together and talk without distraction. It was glorious and peaceful. We stretched out on the king-size bed and talked about our relationship. We reiterated our love for each other, but were honest about the possibility that we might not be able to make it work. We decided that, instead of jumping into marriage, we should try living together first. We found a little one-bedroom apartment in the suburbs, and set up house there the following week.
In late March, I got a full-time job offer. I'd applied for a low-level research position back at Northwestern (the only job listing I'd seen that specifically requested liberal arts majors). On April 14, I reported for my first day of work at NU's artificial intelligence research lab, where I would be designing content for educational and training software. I was back on campus, and I was working with a team of young, eclectic, and frighteningly smart people. It was like some kind of heaven for me.
Things at home with Jared were not so heavenly. It's not that we were fighting or having any particular troubles; we were just... there. It was as if each of us had become numb to the idea of our relationship. The problems we thought we could work on while living together were not getting worked on. I realized that I had never actually wanted to get married to Jared. I had just been so emotionally needy that I wanted someone to want me enough to ask. It was an incredibly selfish impulse, and I felt deeply shamed and frustrated that I hadn't recognized it sooner. I loved Jared, but I had treated him badly, and I knew then that our relationship would not be repaired. In July, I found an apartment back in Evanston (near work), and moved out.
In the mean time, my parents filed for and finalized their divorce, and my dad checked himself into rehab. I know very little about that sequence of events, however, because I was too embroiled in my own drama to notice.
Who am I?
I am sorry.
I have left a string of broken hearts in my wake, victims of my pathological neediness, and my inability to satiate my thirst for male attention and approval. They were all dear to me, and I never meant to hurt any of them, but I did. It is a truth that is just that raw and simple.
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109/365: 1990-1991
Friday, 12 September 2008.
40 Years in 40 Days [ view the entire set ]
An examination and remembrance of a life at 40.
For the 40 days leading up to my 40th birthday, I intend to use my 365 Days project to document and remember my life and lay bare what defines me. 40 years, 40 qualities, 40 days.
Year 23: 1990-1991
In December of 1990 I took my last final exam. I had no job lined up (hadn't even thought about it), so in January, I interviewed at a temp agency, and was placed at a pharmaceutical company in Skokie. I pieced together a passable business casual wardrobe and began making the daily bus commute to my soulless and mind-numbing corporate job. I kept my eye open for other opportunities, but since I'd given my post-college career absolutely no thought whatsoever, I had no idea what I wanted to do. Moreover, we were deep in a recession, and there were not a lot of job ads requesting English majors.
Family and friends began pressing for information on the upcoming wedding and I had none to give. It was becoming increasingly clear to me that I was not comfortable with the idea. Jared and I had been having problems for a long time, but we were open with each other about them, and we believed we could fix them. As the time for procrastination drew to a close, and plans simply needed to be made for the June wedding, panic set in. This was no longer an abstraction. It was really happening, and I had to acknowledge that it really shouldn't be happening. I loved Jared, but as things stood then, I did not want to marry him.
On a Tuesday evening, the week before we were to go pick out a wedding dress (we wanted to pick it out together), I called him and asked him to meet me at the student center on campus (I was still living near campus at the time). I thought it was more fair to meet at a neutral place, rather than at my apartment. It should have occurred to me that it might seem cruel to call off one's wedding in a public place, but it didn't. I found a quiet, dark table, away from prying eyes and ears, and explained to him that I loved him very much, but that I couldn't marry him, not with the way things were between us. He rapidly cycled through pleading, sad, and angry, fighting back tears. I did not want to break up with him, I explained. I just didn't want to get married right now. I handed him the ring, and he leaned back, set his jaw, and folded his arms in front of him. He no longer wanted to talk. We drove back to my apartment in silence, and he dropped me off at the door. I went upstairs, and the intercom buzzer was ringing. When I pressed the button, he yelled into the microphone, "I want my stuff back." I leaned against the wall and cried as I listened to his car pull away.
The next day, he called me, and asked if he could come over to talk. He said he realized that he didn't want to end things yet either, and that we just needed some time. We decided to take a couple of days off work and hole up together in a hotel to just be together and talk without distraction. It was glorious and peaceful. We stretched out on the king-size bed and talked about our relationship. We reiterated our love for each other, but were honest about the possibility that we might not be able to make it work. We decided that, instead of jumping into marriage, we should try living together first. We found a little one-bedroom apartment in the suburbs, and set up house there the following week.
In late March, I got a full-time job offer. I'd applied for a low-level research position back at Northwestern (the only job listing I'd seen that specifically requested liberal arts majors). On April 14, I reported for my first day of work at NU's artificial intelligence research lab, where I would be designing content for educational and training software. I was back on campus, and I was working with a team of young, eclectic, and frighteningly smart people. It was like some kind of heaven for me.
Things at home with Jared were not so heavenly. It's not that we were fighting or having any particular troubles; we were just... there. It was as if each of us had become numb to the idea of our relationship. The problems we thought we could work on while living together were not getting worked on. I realized that I had never actually wanted to get married to Jared. I had just been so emotionally needy that I wanted someone to want me enough to ask. It was an incredibly selfish impulse, and I felt deeply shamed and frustrated that I hadn't recognized it sooner. I loved Jared, but I had treated him badly, and I knew then that our relationship would not be repaired. In July, I found an apartment back in Evanston (near work), and moved out.
In the mean time, my parents filed for and finalized their divorce, and my dad checked himself into rehab. I know very little about that sequence of events, however, because I was too embroiled in my own drama to notice.
Who am I?
I am sorry.
I have left a string of broken hearts in my wake, victims of my pathological neediness, and my inability to satiate my thirst for male attention and approval. They were all dear to me, and I never meant to hurt any of them, but I did. It is a truth that is just that raw and simple.
[ view previous | view next ]