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Anxiety and whether he deserves a swift kick to the groin

Anxiety is the crazed hour between waking up to discover you have missed your flight and the time the delightful ticket agent re-books you at no cost.

Anxiety is the feeling you get when an old friend leaves a message or sends a text saying “hey, I really need to talk to you, call me as soon as you get this.”

Anxiety is stomach-wrenching feeling that usually occurs when you notice a police car following you, regardless of whether you have broken the law or not.

Anxiety is the hand-wringing involved when you are shopping the J. Crew sale, hoping beyond hope that the adorable cardigan/skirt/sweater does not sell out in your size and color choice in the time it takes to locate said item, add to shopping cart, and jab in credit card number.

Anxiety is when it’s twenty degrees outside and you are away from home and your car won’t start.  And it won’t jump.  And you have inexplicably left your cell phone at home.

Anxiety is when before 9am on a Sunday you have received a text message, a voicemail, and an email from your [redacted adjective] X-husband saying that he really wants to meet up over the holiday, go to lunch, catch-up, chit-chat…..

That’s right.  It happened again.

Let me just give you a minute to let that sink in.

Did you get that?  Yes, it’s as bad as it initially sounded.  I was/am pissed.  Not in a “shucky darn” kind of way, but in a “move out of the way I need to smash something” kind of way.  (Luckily, no persons, animals, or home furnishings were harmed during this episode.  The chocolate orange, however, was splintered prior to unwrapping.)

There is this huge part of me that would like to think that I am fine and it doesn’t affect me and the whole thing just isn’t that big of a deal.  I would like to think that this rising tide of massive anxiety has nothing to do with the fact that my psycho X can call, email or text me anytime he wants; that it has nothing to do with the knowledge that a few well-chosen Google searches can pull up this little blog and, subsequently, my entire life (which is why I have a strict No Last Name policy–if you link to this blog with my last name and my X happens to find me that way, I will place a pox on you, your family, your pets, your shoes…you should know better than that).

You know what it is?  It’s some freakish signal that has been let loose in the Universe, “heidikins is happy!  let’s go muck everything up again!”  I thought Karma and I were friends for heaven’s sake!  I do nice things for people and donate time, money, and other items to various charities. I don’t hurt animals, I recycle, I make wishes on evening stars and I give people* second chances (*It goes without saying that X doesn’t count as “people”, and also he already had his chance and his second (and 8th, and 23rd) chance).

Now I have an incredibly tricky choice I must make.  Do I completely ignore any contact from X and pretend like he never existed (also included in this scenario is a single response that he must have the wrong number).  Or do I agree to meet up with him and inflict all sorts of bodily harm on him when he least suspects it–I’m thinking I’d start with pepper spray, a swift kick (or 30) to the groin wearing as spiky a shoe as I can find, followed by a solid karate-chop on his jugular and then write horribly degrading things on his face with Sharpie.  Cleary, I have my priorities in order.  (It should be noted: I would not be alone during the second scenario…luckily The-Boy-Who-Has-Yet -To-Be-Named can be kind of a badass and he has volunteered to be my back-up in case my 30 kicks to the groin don’t quite render X completely incapacitated.  And, dear Internet, he’s one of those Good Guys who hates Bad Guys…it would be epic.)

Ok, so here’s your choices again:

A) Ignore and/or Lie regarding contact information

B) Beat him to a bloody messy pulp and then spit in his eyeball.

C) Eat more chocolate, drink more eggnog, and hope it all goes away.

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