Yesterday was my birthday. Happy B-day to me. I came home from a good day. I looked cute at work and got some compliments from a few work hotties. I got a good vibe from this guy I have been playing the game with. I flirted a bit with the car wash boy. I know he works at a car wash and is so young, but eh, I figured why not. I arrived home to freshen up and hopefully head out to a Japanese meal, but first, I needed to grab the mail.
I am thumbing through the junk, the bills, a birthday card from my grandmother, and I shuffle back one more item and WHAM! There it is. That familiar handwriting glaring back at me from the white envelope. There is no return address, only mine in that sloppy, strange left-handed writing that I know so well. Ex sent me a birthday card. The sensation was similar to when he told me he was in love with another woman, disbelief. Why in the Sam hill was he sending me a card.
I was horrified and strangely hopeful. What would it say on the inside? Would he send well wishes or apologize for hurting me so? Did the card smell of his familiar cologne? Would there be a mark where a single tear fell and smeared the ink? Inside the house I held the envelope in my hand and thought long on whether to even open it. I opened it. The card was the kind one might have on hand to use in a pinch. There was nothing special or beautiful about it. Curious, I unfolded it and in the same hand, simply stated, read, "Happy Birthday, [Ex]."
My heart sank. I wanted more. I wanted something. I didn't want a profession of love or guilt. I just wanted more. I became crazy and angry. Why would he send me a card? I hurt. I ache still because he left me. This card just brought up all those feelings-the lonely, the empty, the anger, the betrayal. I lost it. I began to wail and thrash. I pleaded for cessation of this suffering. I cried for an answer. I wanted to once again know why. Then as if a friend called and we talked it over (a friend did), the answer came to me. Ex didn't do it to be mean. He is not a mean person despite his stomping my heart to a pulpy puddle. I think he did it because he is an idiot. I think he did it because he thought it was a genuinely nice thing to do. The idea that getting a card from him might hurt me probably never crossed his mind. It doesn't surprise me really. He doesn't have what dey call da social skills. He was always kind of clueless and backwards when it came to interpersonal relationships. There is a chance that he may have also wanted to make himself feel just a little bit better, but chiefly it is the idiot thing.