I Told You.

My prediction:
http://underthefreeway.blogspot.com/2016/05/a-prediction.html

My prediction has come to pass. Leif has reunited and is living with the woman he broke up with after me. I got it reversed. I predicted that she would live with him. And in an alternate universe, I'm sure that's what happened. Either and both ways, I am Nostradamus's little sister.

I commemorate it with an open letter:

Come back, I’ll be a better wife.

You avoided me for two years then moved to be with a different woman in a different state without telling me. When she dies, since she's older than we are, can I have you back?

I know it's a weird request because you weren't always nice to me and have gone out of your way since to be cruel. And maybe that's what's working so well and keeping me attached, that the void is so huge. I married you because I wanted to be with you my whole life and my soul stupidly committed to always. Maybe it will save me that I don't believe in a soul.

If you came back I might fail again. Even if Fate’s physics were different and I was given a do over, But I would try much harder this time. I would be careful not to put anything down on the counter, floor, chair or table, in case I was too tired to pick it up and put it away later. And I would spend the little time I had for me, cooking for you and doing your laundry. I would do my own laundry for a change and not let it accumulate in the bag till it pulled mightily on the hook on the door.

I would have only one dollhouse, and I would love you for assembling it which I did, like I loved you for letting me spend more to get a pink camera. I wasn't as expensive as you think though. I bought my clothes from the thrift shop with my allowance, never got a haircut, chose an engagement ring and wedding ring that combined weren't over a $1000 and kept our wedding well under $5000. And yet it was all still very gracious. I’m good at budget grace.

I bought too many dolls but they didn't break us, except for the space they took up. Come back to me? I didn't know what was on the line. I misunderstood and thought it was like when I adopted Spike from the West LA shelter, for better or worse.

I'm sorry that by living with her till we're both very old, you'll miss my hot years. They're ba-ack. I've had a second bloom to survive. I'm  a rare flower. Much prettier than the "Stinky Plant" that blooms every once in a while in Huntington Gardens. I'm hour glass again and my hair took it upon itself to start growing past where it has for years. I cover the white hair I quickly grew when we separated and you stopped talking to me. I hide it like slave traders used thumb screws rather than whips so a slave wouldn't bodily appear anything other than compliant.

And it’s worked. Men have caught my not-stinky scent and are clamoring to fall in love with me. Not necessarily the men I think I want, but nice men, all culturally and economically upper middle class. I thank my parents for making me well spoken and stacked. Couldn't they also have made me permanently thirty so that I'd always be a potential child bearer? Men my age are finally ready for children and once again girls my age have matured past them.

Please come back. It’s only because you’re long gone that I have to choose someone else. I’m running a transparent campaign for a husband. I show them the whole package (not the goods), even the lameness that you despised, like my case study ADD and inability to adequately support myself, though you said that's what determined you you had a chance with me (rather than a more functional chick?).

I guess it was obvious I needed rescue. A male friend whom I slept with long before I met you, he was at our wedding, said "You have to admit he’s improved your lifestyle." It's funny, I didn't know I was doing that badly. Just that offers had been coming in. And a man handed me five hundred dollars after dinner.

So I in fact CHOSE you, over all other men. Men I'd never even met. You were the best I ever hoped to do. And I never would have sought to do otherwise. I stared it down whenever it was offered. But then you showed buyer's remorse.

Do you know I loved going to the groomers with you? Dropping off our dog children and taking a nap, just us. I didn't know that you resented driving to and from the groomers. Or I would have born them each on the train separately, or figured out how to disguise them both at once.

I would have sat very still watching TV, never crafting and distracting you, though my mind would have sunk into the cotton of the futon in numbed boredom. It was only when I heard you laughing watching TV alone, that I realized you didn't need me to watch TV with. I spent all those hours on the job and it turned out to be the wrong job.

I tried, but not hard enough or right. I was too afraid of my capacity to feel bad and I indulged myself where ever I could, on top of your indulging me. And when you split from me it turns out my capacity to feel bad was even greater than I thought. Greater than the force of eroding currents, greater than being healthy. Because I slept for three days in the hospital in kidney failure, the illness of bed ridden senior citizens. I called you from there because I was scared and you had been the person pledged to care about me, but you had already abdicated and didn't pick up or call back.

And I can easily forgive it. It was probably my fault. It always was in childhood which is why I was defensive when you regularly confronted me with my mistakes. Because I'm so used to having done wrong and not even knowing how. To tell me how is just to reiterate. I can't listen. I have done wrong.

So wrong that you've left me for most of my life. The one I committed to you. You don't believe in vows, any more than I believe in a soul. You said you never wanted to get married and I should have believed you. But you also said you would never hate me.

But come back to me anyway. It was my fault. I can wait.