The Other Worldly Report
I’m not sending out Valentine’s cards this year. I’m sending Ether cards. And no, I didn’t confuse the holiday and no, I do not lisp. Read on.
I recently heard “Robyn’s writing has changed.” It has. I have. I used to write funny stories about dating and now I don’t because I don’t date anymore. Not that it wouldn’t be hilarious if I did. It was always great fodder but it’s a helluva lot of work at any age, let alone mine. The title of my old column was The Expiration Date and it still applies only now I write about myself getting old and expiring. I dropped the date part.
I had a conversation with the Big Boss Man here at Foolish Times recently and he intimated that all my stories might not be true. Yes, even the ghost stories are.
This got me thinking a lot about past romantic relationships since I don’t have a current one. I have a lot of ex-perience and it’s certainly not something to brag about, but I’m old and I’ve taken lots of very long breaks between breakups in the last few decades.
Romantic relationships used to be the focal point in my life, no matter how bad or hard or toxic they were. I was a huge part of the dysfunction having inherited some bad habits from Dad like “Say what you don’t mean and don’t say what you mean.” This happened mostly during arguments or when someone was walking out the door.
Most of the time I told the absolute truth in my life unless the trigger to be mean or protect my little heart arose as mentioned above. My word was my life. I still cannot forget telling Mom about breaking a lamp while playing with the dog, even though I should have pinned it on the poodle.
I got staying power from Mom, probably lingering in unhealthy relationships much longer than I should have and leaving some that might have been good for me. So, saying and staying were not my strong suits. I probably said “I love you” when I should have left and not said it when I should have stayed.
What served as inspiration for this article, or expiration as the case may be, is at least eight of my exes are now off-planet (those I know about). Sounds like a big number but remember, it’s a percentage. Exponentially (or expotentially) speaking, It takes 300 million sperm and only one will make it to the egg cell (talk about great cell service.) Always believed that women should have the luxury of that kind of dating pool to get it right.
I think of someone from twenty years ago and look them up online and poof, gone. It’s kind of like my support team has disappeared from the sidelines and well, like Elvis, they left the stadium. Hence, the Ether cards because that is where they are. I read a lot of obits now. Whoever made up the phrase “dropping like flies” sucked. I have yet to see flies drop. They are resilient, although perhaps a little short-lived, but they multiply and keep the species alive.
Those who remain often connect with good memories to share. Not that I recall them all, but if they do, it’s ok. One is still a very close friend (and he’s not a ghost.)
These are my (E)X-Files and I’m stickin’ to it and like Mulder, I hope you want to believe. The truth is in here.
Happy Valentine’s Day!