At this point, is there any doubt that I am the King of Melodrama? I mean, really: I am as successful as turning a molehill into a mountain as George W. Bush was at transforming Osama Bin Laden into Saddam Hussein. I am as self-aware as ever, but it's odd how the more conscious I am of this particular failing, the more powerless I feel to control my bubbling emotions. The recent trick has been to determine what is the product of the depression and what is actual, honest-to-God reality-based emotion. With a recurrence of the clinical depression I thought would remain in my past, they both feel exactly the same, and considering I am a highly feeling individual anyway, I can never quite escape this feeling that something is amiss, even when I am just playing games. Of course, the fact that I was playing Killzone didn't help, but that's a different matter entirely.
Sunday was actually somewhat of a treat, since it was Rich's niece's birthday, so of course it was another family get-together of the greatest magnitude - as these parties always are. Rich's sister Angie is a really nice girl, and her 3-year-old daughter is a trip; energetic, stubborn, and rambunctious to the nth degree. Angie's boyfriend, Kaylie's father, is in prison (!) though, so he was unable to attend the proceedings, although the fact that she had her second child by him just yesterday made me wonder if they allow conjugal visits. Most of the family don't care for the guy (surprise!), but Angie apparently loves him - Rich's theory is that it must be because he is endowed where it counts. I don't know about all that, but because the boyfriend's family was in attendance, the mix of those attending was amusing to watch. As I have mentioned before, many of Rich's kin don't hesitate to say what's on their mind, no matter how offensive, and considering Angie's boyfriend is black, the presence of his family made for interesting after-dinner conversation amongst them. The funny thing, though, was how good-natured it was. Everyone clearly had a good time, and the dynamic between the families was humorous, like watching Dennis Leary and Chris Rock telling dueling jokes.
But the drama always sneaks in when least suspected, does it not? We needed to pick up a dresser from Rich's brother's house, since it has been sitting there for years. Before moving it from the packed bedroom, Rich emptied out all the drawers to see what he wanted to pitch and what he was going to keep. Of course, I love rooting through Rich's past; looking through photo albums at the party, I discovered a few priceless shots of RIch, including one of him modeling a pair of Christmas undies that said "Ho Ho Ho" across the ass. I would have posted them here, but I worry that would break the ToS - and I know he would be absolutely mortified. Well, in one of the drawers was a rather explicit love letter Patty wrote to him many years ago, so it took me aback for a moment. I got over it quickly enough; Patty is his ex-wife, the only woman he was ever with, and the mother of his children. What I didn't get over so quickly was the fact that he refused to throw it out - he insisted he keep it. That, my friends, was another ball of wax. In my case, a drippy, messy, blubbering ball of wax.
I would offer a prize to anyone that could guess my reaction, but surely I couldn't afford it. Suffice it to say, I was none too pleased, and I proved the scientific theory that the human body is mostly water by shedding gallons of it from my tear ducts. Rich tried to console me by reassuring me that the letter was in the past. It was meaningless. It does not represent his current feelings for her, or hers for him. Of course, suggesting to me that the letter was unimportant, and yet refusing to pitch it, even in the wake of my carrying on, just made things worse. If it was meaningless, why wouldn't he just get rid of it if it made me upset? All of this ties into my latent jealousy of Patty, which has only increased since her recent weight loss. She had stomach-stapling surgery several months back, and she has lost about 75 pounds. She got her hair done, she bought new clothes; she looks fantastic. Rich sees her almost every weekday when he drops off the kids. Can anyone blame me for being a tad upset that he wants to keep a love letter from an attractive woman that he sees every day? Of course, she is a woman, and Rich has no interest in them now, but what does that matter to a possessive heart?
I got over it, as I always do. There are pieces of my past that I have held onto as well that involve men I have loved, including a lot of pictures of me and Bill, my former partner, that I am not ready to dispose of just yet. Still, I don't see Bill, and none of those things are sexually explicit - but they serve to remind me that as much of a mistake that that relationship was, there is no such thing as forgetting that your past exists. Some people's idea of "moving on" is to pretend it never happened, but that strikes me as a waste. My five years with Bill are still part of who I am today, and I shouldn't deny it, no more than Rich should pretend that ten years with Patty had no importance in his life. I guess we are more alike than I thought.
Well, I have barely scratched the surface of recent events, but this was as good a start as any. I can't deny the smile on my face, though, as I look at this photo of Rich's holiday undies. I am sure Santa never realized his face would be plastered on an ass, and I can't help but wonder if Rudolph plans on a similar marketing campaign for brassieres...