As you know, today is October 19, the Love Kryptonite of all days on the calendar.
I am well aware that the sway this day holds over me is entirely of my creation. Sure, it’s my former wedding anniversary, but I don’t have to keep thinking of it as such.
Or do I, dear diary?
When I search my Deep Thoughts on this, as Obi-Wan would advise me to do, I wonder if I like allowing this day to be a burden on my heart.
It’s almost as if I want to remind myself of the pain that unconditional love, turned conditional, turned into hatred, and finally bitter divorce, has caused me so that I will never again allow my heart to be hurt that way again.
I know that might sound ludicrous, but I am a Modern Philosopher, and not to be rude or anything, dear diary, and you are just a book.
To make matters worse, October 19 fell on a Monday this year. You know how I feel about Monday. That day could drop off the calendar, disappear for an eternity, only to pop up on milk boxes and “Have You Seen This Day?” posters all over my neighborhood, and I would not miss it or mourn its absence from my life.
How I wish I was a Muggle who excelled at Magic. I could cast a spell to forever protect my heart, or conjure up a Love Potion to solve my problems once and for all.
Alas, dear diary, I am just a dorky kid from Brooklyn, who was never good with girls, and probably still wouldn’t be able to speak to Cathy Fitzpatrick. She was my first real crush, and I never could get up the nerve to have an intelligent conversation with her, let alone ask her out.
Of course, being a loser at love, I only made things worse today by being a total jerk to the sweet Irish Lass who makes my heart dance a jig. Sure, it doesn’t help that she’s so far away, that she calls train cars “carriages”, and thinks that rugby is the greatest sport ever invented, but that was no excuse for me to be a prick this morning.
It’s as if I wanted to fulfill this twisted destiny I’ve created for myself. One where I end up all alone, surrounded by cats, and blogging to a world that has long since moved on from this medium.
Yes, dear diary, there is a part of me that resents the fact that I’m not celebrating my nineteenth wedding anniversary today with my dear wife J, while surrounded by our amazing children.
Sometimes, I do blame her for my being alone. I know that’s wrong, but I took my vows seriously. When I said “I do”, I was going all in on this love thing, and betting that the pot was going to keep me lucky in love for the rest of my life.
Boy, was I wrong.
Don’t worry, though, dear diary, I did make it up to the sweet Irish Lass.
I might be a loser at love, but I’m not a total moron. I know that someone that sweet, beautiful, smart, and amazing won’t put up with the likes of me if I keep acting like a total “arsehole” (I know it should hurt when she refers to me as such, but when she says it in her brogue, it just sounds romantic!).
So maybe I actually learned something today, dear diary.
Perhaps after eleven years of divorce, I’ve finally realized that October 19 is a day to remind myself that I’m free to find love anywhere in the world.
And that even though I’m a total loser at love, Irish eyes still somehow smile upon me and find a way to melt my frozen heart.
Thanks for listening, dear diary. It really helps to know you’re here for me…