Saturday, February 11, 2012

G is for Google

I used to Google his name all of the time. I would search in and out of quotation marks, with or without Ex’s first name – which he didn’t use, except for business matters – and even Google his standard user name. You would be amazed at how much you can learn about someone’s life just by searching for their email address.
I’m not proud. Not only did I over-use Google, but I used to drive by his house in the middle of the night, too. I wanted to be sure Ex would be home and asleep. I didn’t want to get caught stalking him, you know. If he wasn’t asleep, he may be looking out the window and see my car, which I had before I even met him. If Ex wasn’t home, I would freak out. What if he came driving down the street and saw me? Worse, where was he in the middle of the night? At some girl’s house?
The one stalker-ish thing I managed not to do was call him. I didn’t really want to talk to Ex. I didn’t want to hear his voice. I didn’t want to deal with that. Okay, those are all lies. The only reason I didn’t call him is because he would know I was calling him. Even if I used a pay phone and was completely silent, Ex knows me well enough to know that hang-ups are something I would do. He is my hang-up.
Stalking is now a thing of my past. I still want to. I still want to drive by, still want to Google his name, still want to know where he is and what he is doing and who he is doing it with. Ex and I haven’t been together for twenty-three months. We have been divorced for seventeen months. It still hurts, but, shockingly, the pain is lessening. I never thought it would.

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Don't make me talk to myself, yo.

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