Independence Day

It was a year ago--February 11, 2007, that I walked out on D. and ended our relationship.

I know that I'm better off without him--there has been exactly one time in the past year--and that after another superlow point--that I thought otherwise, so don't get me wrong. But there are times in which I have to say, if this counts as better, than our relationship was pretty bad. Which, in many ways, it was.

I feel like I should mark the day in some way. Not, of course, by making the formal announcement at the other blog--that would be too easy, and besides, I already pulled that one when I shut down my LiveJournal on February 12.

I do have to say I don't feel the power that I usually do at this time of the year. (I broke up with R., my first college boyfriend, on February 12, 2000, for instance, and of course I met my ex on Feburary 10, 2002.) It could just be an off-year or, equally probable, I have nearly refined my personal life out of existence. Sad but true. There are two big dangers here. One is getting fat. The other is getting bored enough to do something stupid. The former I can be a bit proactive with, in terms of forcing myself to the gym at the college where I teach whenever I'm there and making a point of going at least one or two other times in the week. (Like tomorrow.) The second? Well, nothing can really happy until I get rid of my latest "more or less innocuous but still more or less kinda gross and embarrassing" problem that keeps me going back to Planned Parenthood (seriously, I see the people there more than I see most of my friends, but my friends are not quite as intimate with my cervix--whoops? TMI? And even before the blog-warming party I'm planning to throw myself. Um, anyway.), but once that's solved...well, as long as I keep on that beaten path between my home, teaching college, and school, I should be okay. Well, unless I get really bored and decide to do something with the dude in my program who's over 50 and bears more than a passing resemblance to Brad Leland, the actor who plays Buddy Garrity on Friday Night Lights (which I am totally obsessed with now, thanks to hulu.com--the girl who plays his daughter, Lyla, is pretty amazing in being able to pull off perfection and absolute soullessness and self-loathing), except that he's a poet and a socialist. But, um, yeah. I know I don't need to go there.

And yet. The Lawyer isn't particularly following through on his promise to find me a friend of his to meet. I see K (who merits his own blog post one of these days) in the library at least three times a week (I'm there more often; he isn't) and tonight I asked him if he knew any *single* guys (we note the emphasis, yes we do) and he said he would have to think about someone who would be both "worthy" of me and "not afraid of" me. I asked him if he was afraid of me, and he said yes. I think we're going to have to have the conversation soon about why I remain not totally his friend. I also miss The Lawyer because he wasn't afraid of me.

It's clear I am getting no more Wordsworth notes transcribed tonight. I should stop drinking wine and go to bed. I would like to get up early so I can have time to work and edit the talk on Wilde that I am giving at noon tomorrow and also think about the discussion I have to lead at 4. I have a feeling I may end up being the only person reading PMLA in the gym at teaching college tomorrow.

I want to believe that I will write more interestingly here than I did there. But bear with me. I'm repressing a lot right now--the shit in Kirkwood, knowing what day it is and all, starting to stress about certain professional commitments, and a general lonliness / solitude that makes me just enervated enough to not use my time wisely and blog stuff like this. So now I'm going to bed while the wind beats against my windows. Last night it was about 40 outside and 125 in here.