Aaaagh I can’t blog because I have three jobs and I’m either at work or in transit from 9am to 11pm and my brain is fried. But at least I’m not thinking about HoBag or DumbFuck. Silver linings, I guess.
But I’m still here! That’s something, at least.
So another thing happened, and this is a good thing. Probably. Sort of. Maybe? Via a friend in the company, I landed a three-month contract for a part time job as a web administrator (basically pouring data into a CMS). I already knew some of my new co-workers, having met them at parties thrown by said friend, and pub quizzes and the like, so I know it’s a good working environment, and I really love webwork so yay! Am happy.
But this does postpone my officially moving in to My House until the end of the year. I mean, I’m taking the first few boxes over this weekend, and will probably haul a few boxes every other weekend until it’s done, but unless one of my sons moves in with me, it’ll be awhile before I can be reunited with my beloved Hekate. Sigh. But I really love this job already!
But it’s only temporary… OR IS IT? (dun-dun-duuuunnnnn…). A boss already asked me if I’d be interested in staying past the end of my contract and of course I said yes because I really love the work and my co-workers are cool. But it’s a helluva commute from Bavaria.
But I can’t not move. I turfed out the world’s best tenants so I could live in this house; if I change my mind now they will mad, and justifiably so. I still want to move. I think. Do I?
STOP IT STOP IT STAAAAAHP IT! Every time I start to question that, I run into Hobag or see them on the street or find out that they live a block from me or some other distressing thing. Clearly, the tenants finding a new place so quickly is a sign that I should go back to my house, and running into Hobag and Cheatobag all the time is a further sign. This awesome new job is just… a reason to be sad about going.
Oh, P.S. I also finally found a really good ballet class.
So I moved to my colleague’s office, and on my third day there, I’m in the office doorway, having just arrived, and who should come up the stairs but ol’ BitchFace McHoBag herself. Yeah. Apparently (I later found out in a very acrimonious WhatsApp with my husband, which may or may not have contained phrases like “stupid gutter whore” and “lying, cheating ass”) her advisor’s office is in the building where I work.
Her advisor. Because she needs an advisor because she is a student. I don’t know if I mentioned this at the time, but back in May or so when I asked him if he didn’t see any ethical problems with sleeping with one of his students, his response was “She won’t be a student for much longer.” AS IF THAT MAKES IT OKAY.
But I digress.
I was not brave. I was not strong. I scuttled into my office and cried for four hours. The next day I went to my therapist, who told me that Mr. Husband and Ms. McHoBag didn’t do anything wrong and are probably in love, which, from any angle, is basically exactly The Wrong Thing to Say. But I forced myself to reflect on it because it’s therapy and people keep telling me therapy isn’t supposed to be fun, and that’s how I cried myself into five days of migraine. I finally surfaced from those yesterday.
So yeah. It’s been a hell of a week. I really need to get out of Heidelberg. Like, really.
A long time ago, like more than a decade I think, I read a story (in the New York Times?) by a woman whose husband had a midlife crisis and decided to leave the marriage because he wasn’t happy enough, and she was like, Nope. She just didn’t believe him, went about her life as if his bullshit wasn’t happening, and eventually he just got over it.
(Oh look, found it on my first try, and it was almost exactly a decade: https://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/02/fashion/02love.html )
And I can’t help wondering why I didn’t remember this article back in April when he was leaving me. The story did stick with me through the years, and I thought of it – well, not often, but from time to time. But it left me when I could have used it. I wish I’d tried that. I don’t know that it would have worked, but it would probably have enabled me to show a little more dignity through a really grueling time. Even if it hadn’t worked, I might have less to regret now.
A co-worker in our old building has an empty desk in her office which she offered to me, so I’m no longer working a block from his new flat. I took a ballet class this morning and loved it – it really used all of my attention, which is such a rare thing. I really enjoy working with my students; their progress makes me feel useful. I have a plan that gets me out of here in November, with a whole house to fill with furniture and color and light and purpose. And a cat. I’m moving forward, however slowly.
It’s been five months and five days. I have better days now, and sometimes it feels like I’ve started healing, but sometimes I wonder if I’m just putting gauze over a very deep wound. And often I wonder if the wound was even necessary, if someone a little better at remembering things at the right time could have dodged that bullet entirely instead of sitting there like an idiot, weeping while it tore out her lungs.
Because of course I did. Come on, it’s only a block from my office. You know you would have too, just as I know it was a terrible, terrible idea. I knew it at the time, but I did it anyway.
Their names on the doorbell. Hyphenated as if they were already married. And oh look, here comes another tailspin.
Change of plans: Moving to Bavaria tomorrow. The tenants aren’t moved out yet, but I’ll just bring a sleeping bag. Their couch looks fairly comfy.
It has to be a coincidence, because he couldn’t have known, there is no way he could have done this on purpose, but still, the synchronicity is just way too much.
So you remember that he got a flat with the Whore in Bergheim, which is my favorite neighborhood and also the neighborhood where I work. And he didn’t tell me where it was because we both didn’t want me crying under his balcony at 4am. What I may or may not have mentioned is that ’round about June, someone figured out that there’s exposed asbestos in the building where I work, and we were moved to a different building about half a km away. And I asked him, via WhatsApp – not where he lived, just if it was anywhere near my new office because I didn’t want to have to worry about running into him, or even worse, Her.
It took him about three days to answer, and then he said “No.” That three days should have been a hint. And yesterday he “accidentally” told me his new address.
Look at it. LOOK at it.
Seminarzentrum D2 is where I work, and the red pointy-thing is where they live. A literal block away.
Now, he could not have known about the asbestos, or that they would move the Editorial Office to D2, and the Heidelberg housing market is bad enough that no one can choose where they will live with that degree of precision, so there’s no way that he can be blamed for this, but still. This should not have been allowed to happen.
Come the fuck on, Universe. Now you’re just being mean for the hell of it.
Um? It’s been a day and a half, and I’m still kerflummoxed. So remember my possible future, wherein I move back into the house in Bavaria that we bought after my mom died, and I set up as a private English tutor and teacher? It was just an idea, but I felt kinda good about it, and I emailed the tenants to say I’d be in town the last weekend of August and wanted to stop by. She wrote back immediately, a panicked oh god, are you selling the house? You’re selling it right? Oh ack the suspense!
And I mean I wasn’t selling, but while I was thinking about how to write my response she called me because she couldn’t wait any longer. So I told her the whole story, and she was all sympathy, and I told her they had a legal right to nine months’ notice but of course if they needed more time, like to finish out the school year or something, I could be flexible, and it was really just a thing I was considering because I felt a strong need to get the HELL out of Heidelberg and I really didn’t want to turf them out because they’d been the best tenants EVAR (strooth), but I didn’t know where else to go (also strooth).
And that was maybe ten days ago. So then last Tuesday she called and said they’d found a place and wanted to move in by 1 October but they hadn’t gotten it yet and they’d let me know and then yesterday they said yep, they got the place. And it’s only a km away and the younger kid won’t have to change schools and it’s really great and um.
So yeah. I was thinking how’m I gonna hold out until June, and now I could move next month if I wanted to. I’m really not sure how to process this.