Those last few paragraphs really show how fundies fuck you up about self-worth.

Russ, thank you for the birdday wishes. It was a really good day, spent mostly with Greg, my GBF. I started it off with a completely free gentle yoga class at the neighborhood studio, courtesy of a recent teacher training grad, and then G took me to lunch and a matinee of THE ARTIST, which was fabulous. Like CITIZEN KANE direction meets SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN writing and acting (and dancing). The Oscar buzz is warranted. It’s an artistic delight and a fun story. Now all I need is that T-shirt you saw! Where can I get one?

Thanks for the encouraging words. Let’s all turn over the proverbial new leaf, shall we?

Yes, I’d say you did right by Sam. I know that feeling of cold comfort: the Object Of My Obsessions just had her boyfriend visit her in Los Angeles for a week, posting photos on Facebook and all. Now she says she’ll be in a deep depression until such time as they can be together again. And I just know that the only thing she even remembers about her six months here is the time she was able to spend with him. Everything else just faded away, or else is recalled with disdain. And all I can do is hope that they live happily ever after, that *some* good came of the whole situation.

At least you had quality time with Sam. As for his current devotion to whoever he’s with: I remember a t-shirt I saw, that read “I taught your boyfriend that thing you like”.

That’s some dream there. And yes, I’d say that at least in a sense, you saw yourself as at least a potential bride. Which is good: as frustrating as that may be in the context of your current situation, at least you’re allowing yourself to be thought of as marriageable. I think I know what you mean by that sense of unentitlement, that you don’t deserve to have what you want. For the most part, I’ve lived my life under the assumption that I’m worthy of a good relationship, that I deserve to get where I want to be. The last month or two, though, I think the whole mid-life thing has descended on me, and I’m left saying to myself “Who’re you kidding? Take a good look at yourself….” It can be rough going sometimes. You hang in there.

It’s time for a new year, maybe.

I had my own depressive funk for months, but at least it was a different kind of depressive funk. It was about having something really good and then losing it, rather than my usual funk about never having anything at all and thinking things were never going to get any better for me. As I put it above, Sam gave me something even he couldn’t take away.

Matador is a tremendous move. It’s hard to carve out money for such things. I’m really proud that you did it, though. I think it’s a big step towards a different life.

The step from 43 to 44 is a big one, huh? I was traumatized at turning 44 and reflected a lot on my life. But now I’m 46 going on 47 and I’m not so concerned about it. I have several friends in their 50′s and they are doing just fine, and content with their ages.

I think the thing with sam was a “corrective experience” for both of you. You both ended up better off. And of course it’s easier to write good wishes than to have them when faced with such an onslaught. I can’t say I would’ve done better; in fact, I would’ve settled into an extreme depressive funk, incurable by wine alone.

Keep your chin up. Your time will come.

I hope I don’t make you have a freakout.

Today I realized I could sum things up by saying “All of my malaise of the past several months may be ascribed to the simple fact that somebody else has married my husband.”