Column: Making it in Missoula
Spring Cleaning: Sweeping the Ex Under the Bed
By Big Sis, 4-19-07
Friday afternoon: I was stationed at my desk, valiantly attempting to write something a little more substantive/monetarily rewarding than a blog entry, doing my best not to pay attention to the Dodger-Giants game on TV. Admitting defeat and deciding the only recourse was beer, I whipped out my cell phone and hit Patella’s number on the speed dial. Engrossed in watching Barry Bonds choke at the plate, I wasn’t entirely paying attention to the conversation I’d started. It went something like this:
Patella: Hello?
Me: Hey. What’s going on?
Patella: Um, not much.
Me: Cool. Feel like a beer?
Patella: What?
Me: Wanna grab a beer at the Old Post?
Patella: No. I’m in Kansas, remember?
Suddenly I was fully in the conversation, very quickly understanding I wasn’t talking to my current beauess (it’s a word; look it up). Oh, no. I’d inadvertently called my ex; she was still on my speed dial, unchanged for nearly eight months. Talk about bush league. Thankfully, being quick on my feet, I played the hop well:
Me: Oh. Yeah.
[Silence]
Me: Just kidding?
The Ex: Right.
Me: So…how about those Royals?
It goes on.
To be fair we had a brief and mostly non-awkward “how’re things?” chat before hanging up (her Master’s thesis is coming along nicely and she’s seeing a guy from the Sociology Department). It was good to get the update, but I decided that would be the last time I made such a rookie move. And so began The Great Spring Cleaning.
It’s surprising, when you really stop and take stock, how much of your life someone else can inhabit if you let them. The castoff from a relationship can hang around for a long time, wedged into parts of your life you weren’t aware of. Love notes stuffed into forgotten drawers; books with handwritten inscriptions on your bookshelf; mix CDs still rotating in your stereo; pictures stuck in the flip-down visor in your car. It’s impressive how many places you can hide someone.
A clarification: I wasn’t so much trying to “erase” my ex, but rather to consolidate the detritus and pack away our shared past into a standard-issue cigar box. So, really, she’s not gone, she’s just under my bed. Like I said, there’re a lot of places to hide somebody.
That evening, sitting in the OPP waiting for the real Patella to arrive, I pulled out my phone for the last step: reordering the speed dial. And, as I deleted my ex out of her spot (#6), relegating her to the abyss of my Contacts, and replaced her with Patella’s number, I felt a very brief but noticeable twinge.
Dropping someone from your speed dial is a fairly heady decision; it’s like blocking their email address or de-friending them on Facebook. It may sound slightly vapid, but the meaning is clear: while you’ll hang onto their number, they’re not someone you’re interested in calling all that often. You’ve got more important people to talk to. And it’s true: I do have someone else I’d rather talk to.
Still, I felt like I owed myself and my ex one last run through. Idly watching the pre-game show for the Padres-Rockies game, I ordered a Cold Smoke and let myself swirl in the memories from the last two and a half years. I sorted out the good and bad, looked at them all closely and, when I was satisfied, put them away. For good. I felt cleansed, everything organized and in its place. Now there was room for someone else to fill up that space.
I was just draining the first pint when my phone rang. Patella was running late, but she was on her way.
To read more about life and love in the Garden City, check out www.newwest.net/makingit.
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[End of article]There are better places to stuff a love note, dude.
PS B-Doobie: Although I'd like to, I feel a comment on the "mix CDs" situation you have is far too obvious; although to my credit, it would be childish, juvenile AND derogatory.
Was "it's a word; look it up" a little love to the Simpson's?
Idon'tsayevasion,
Isayavosion
Cell phones and the built-in caller ID feature that they have make this ritual problematic ... at least in cases where one might decide never to *call* the number again, but one still wants to maintain the contact data so you know who's calling *you*. That may not be BW's specific problem in this instance, but it's still a common one, especially if the ex is a nutcase.
Friend of a friend had a clever solution: keep the number but change the contact's name to "Do Not Answer This A-hole's Call" or something like that.
My personal strategy for dealing with an ex's phone number is to delete the name completely from my phone. Unfortunately, unless it's someone I only dated for a week or two, I usually remember their number with crystal clarity. And still tend to dial it in weak moments.
The deletion of the ex from my "contacts" provides me with a momentary feeling of control, and is an extemely juvenile (but satisfying) way to say "Ok, I'm moving on." I like the symbolism of pushing the "erase" button, even though there's no way to actually erase anyone from my life (as BW points out artfully).
-BS