I should not be blogging. Deadlines are rushing by, and writing time is scarce. I should be writing.
I am trying to sort through my life. Again.
Last Friday we went to our favorite pub – three ladies out after a long day. As we drank cocktail after cocktail, we were talking and having fun.
What is the worst thing you ever did?
The Muslim doctor, “When I was little, my brothers and I would throw mud at the people coming to the mosque in their white robes on Friday.”
Me, “As a kid I scratched our landlord’s car because he was an asshole.”
My friend and colleague, “I slept with your ex. Before he became your ex.”
I laughed, too surprised to be angry. She seemed contrite. Said it was the thing she regretted most in the world. I told her that I could not promise I would not get angry later.
The next day, when I was supposed to go grocery shopping, I took our car for a highway tour. Driving is one of the most comforting things in the world for me. I was one hour later for everything the rest of the day, but I felt better.
I messaged my ex, with whom I was still friends, and told him he was an asshole. Then I blocked him on all chanels. We are not friends any longer.
Everyone of my friends has three strikes, so to speak. I don’t think I hold my surroundings to high standards (some people claim that is not true), and I know that everyone messes up sometimes. As long as we all do our best, it’s okay.
My friend says it was soon after he and I started dating, and she did not think the thing we had going was serious.
It was serious for me. You don’t get a say in other people’s relationships, even though you are entitled to your opinion.
I don’t believe in “sisters unite” – the idea that random women have to hold together against all men – and I would not hold it against any of my friends if she started dating an ex. One of Richard’s ex girlfriends works with me, and we get along well. After that guy and I split up, I never minded when said friend told me about their sheenanigans, or when he talked about other women he was dating. Exes are entitled to lives, and friends are entitled to fun.
During her graduation party, her then-boyfriend made a pass at me. Everyone was drunk. I kept him at a distance and told her later.
She said that back then we had not known each other for long, only about a year, and it seemed like a good opportunity. Just a casual encounter. Nothing special.
Last March we celebrated our ten-year friendship anniversary. Had she told me right after it happened, the past nine years would not have taken place.
If said ex dropped in front of me, bleeding, I would step over him carefully as to not get his blood on my shoes. I want to hit someone. I want to yell. I want to wrap everything up and move far away so I won’t have to try and remain polite during office hours. We share a room with two other women, so there are no secrets. I am vindictive by nature and not beyond petty revenge, but I try to be better than that.
When her boyfriend attacked her in their home, she stayed at our place for a weekend. And when, a few weeks later, he kicked in her apartment door, I stepped between them to help avoid the worst. We called the police. Richard came over to talk to the guy and calm him down.
Faced with an unexpected situation, I always need some time to find out how I feel about it. Those who are close to me know that. I always try to find out whether anger etc. are just quick-tempered overreactions or whether they are valid. Occasionally with some time and reason I find out I was wrong at first. It happens to the best of us. I am also not sure whether maybe I am writing this as part of a subconscious revenge plot. So far I have not told anyone but Richard because I don’t want others to look at her. We share too many friends for me to talk about the whole thing comfortably.
A few months back she complained that I would value the opinion of random men higher than hers. We fought. I told her that I trusted men even less because I had been abused as a child. The next day, she tried to manipulate me with that knowledge. That was the closest I ever came to hitting someone in the face. It took me months to sort through everything and come out the other side.
RIchard has never made it a secret that he does not trust this friend. In the past I kept defending her. I trust my friends. When I told him this story, he did not say anything negative about her.
Every one of my friends has three strikes.
And now I’ll grab my stuff and head to the office, to try and wrap everything up before a long weekend.