Honest to god: Deep into your 50s, can you not have the grace and courtesy to say, “I’m sorry you wasted 500 of your precious anytime minutes on me before we met, but I can’t do this”? I’m an adult. I can handle it, now, anyway. There was in fact a time when having something like this happen to me would have sent me into a month-long depressive spiral. With a tremendous amount of therapy and hard work (OK, and probably the medication and the ECT), I’m able to shake my head, chuckle bemusedly, and call your sorry butt out in a blog post that a few million people will see.
You, sir, were divorced after 19 years and haven’t had a relationship in almost 10 for a reason. If you are that emotionally arrested, you need a therapist, not me. I can pass along some names of good ones for ya.
As for me, I’m not discouraged from trying again — especially if I get more great stories like this out of it. I love that I’m learning (after many, many, many years and much resistance) to look at a situation from more than simply the negative side, and not necessarily to look at that one first. I love that I am becoming able to look in the mirror and think I’m kind of cute, for the first time ever, than stand there and think what a dog I am and how much I hate myself for it. I love being able to place blame where it belongs, instead of taking it all on myself no matter what. I love finally having learned how to reframe bad events to turn them into at least OK ones.
Bring on the frogs.