Let’s put this out there straight away, no beating around the bush.
I want to break up.
I say this after a great deal of thought. In fact the last time I uttered the words “do you think we should break up”, I found myself a single parent.
So they are not words I take lightly.
I have been pondering this on and off for a while. You remember when I asked for space in October and November?
That was like a test run.
It was tough in the first two weeks, I didn’t realise how much time we had spent together. September and August were spent joyously holidaying together. However, you are expensive to take away on vacation, and you never pick up the tab…
December, we had a few dates, but no sleepovers and I felt your hurt. I know you were disappointed when I celebrated Christmas with just the one glass, but actually woke up feeling amazing on Boxing Day without our third friend, hangover, popping in to pay his festive wishes.
In these last three months I have thought a lot, and some more, and then some more again.
I think the gods honest truth is, we make each other miserable.
Not all the time.
We have had some cracking times, holidays, refreshing pints of beer on the beach, you have calmed my nerves on many an occasion when the kids have threatened to send me over the edge.
But you won’t go anywhere without inviting hangover, and sometimes I act like a bit of a twit when I’m with you.
Plus, here’s the thing.
Sometimes it feels a bit like I need you more then you need me….
And I do like to be independent.
Remember those horrific years when the kids hopscotched from one medical catastrophe to another.
I needed you a lot then, you became my crutch, it was the only way I could forget what was a pretty miserable time.
But drinking because you are sad or stressed is never really the same as that fun cold beer at the beach….
And it would seem I am an all or nothing type of gal when it comes to most things.
And as I’ve aged, well alcohol, I don’t think I really need to block emotions anymore. Even sadness can be lived through. Because when you take away the crutch, it is still there – waiting to be lived.
Remember my 40th?
(Glad one of us does…)
It was an epic night, fantastic party. But it dawned on me by some of the (very funny) cards and gifts I received that I am seen as a bit of a drinker.
Think of Jane and think of Prosecco – this seems to be a theme.
And here’s the thing, alcohol…
I don’t want that label.
I want to be known for other stuff, an athlete, a writer, a parent clinging onto a sober sanity. Anything really, except for, the woman who loves a good drink…. (and the woman who yells at her kids – but one thing at a time, right?)
Nothing is easy when you get involved.
At 40, one good night out takes a week to recover from. My memory bank never quite captures everything, and my performance in the gym diminishes post every pub crawl.
Maybe if I was the type of person who could have one glass with dinner then we could carry on. But we both know that is an impossible dream, it would be like going out for dinner and not ordering mozzarella sticks if they are on the menu….
It is time to break up.
I reckon I am just as much fun without you, and although meeting people, dating, going out can often feel easier when you have a couple of drinks inside you – I think I can learn to be pretty charming on my own. It is testament to my all or nothing nature that is has to be this way. But aren’t you excited to see what I can become?
I am betting I will be stronger, faster, happier without you in my life. But, we can let time be the true judge.
I really want this to work, for me, not us.
So pack your corks, it time for you to go, please don’t beg – it isn’t becoming.
Am sure I will see you soon, catch you around, stay away from my lips.
Thanks for the good times,