The Ladder of Love

I'm trying to think of a word; it's on the tip of my tongue. What's the word for the most pointless way of being? Something other than 'vegan'. (Sorry, vegans, but my loyalty belongs to bacon.) It's right there, lodged in my frontal lobe, just waiting to be revealed.

Why do I care that my boyfriend used to date other people? Why does it feel like he's somehow cheating on me when I hear someone's name brought up? What's the point of being angry at a PHOTO of someone I don't even know? This is the kind of behavior I'm talking about. Somehow we got on the subject of ex-partners, and all of a sudden we were like a knife-throwing circus act: him up against the wall, and me throwing daggers at his face. My outer dialogue (quiet, terse) was nothing compared to my inner dialogue (extreme panic): 'Who the--WHO? WHAT KIND OF WHORE'S NAME IS THAT? IT'S A WHORE'S NAME, THAT'S WHAT. WHAT? HE DID WHAT WITH HER? HOW MANY TIMES? JUST EXACTLY HOW THIN WAS SHE, FOR CHRISSAKE? HOW LONG DID THIS GO ON FOR? TWO WEEKS? TWO. WHOLE. WEEKS? WHY DIDN'T HE JUST FUCKING MARRY HER? WHORE.' And on and on, ad infinitum. About a girl he knew years ago, and just happened to see indirectly on Livejournal. It was a very proud moment for me.

What is it about ex-partners having ex-partners? We don't talk much about the Esq's ex-girlfriends, because he knows what kind of an insecure wildebeest he's living with; even I know better than to bring it up, because who knows what kind of crazy shit will fly from my knife-wielding hands. Why does it affect me so negatively? It's like a knee-jerk reaction. In his mind, I'm the victor: I'm the one he wants, the one he sees a future with. In my mind, those women will somehow see what they're missing out on, and try killing me in my sleep. But not if I get to them first.

This really has nothing to do with the Esq, and everything to do with me being OH THERE'S THE WORD: STUPID.

I know I'm not the only one; I talked to other women about it, and they've had similar experiences. And we all agreed: it's a pointless way of acting, being, thinking, feeling. But we all still do it. Hearing an ex-girlfriend's name--even if it's attached to the phrase 'that stuck-up, anorexic cokehead'--is like creating a human static cling: his ex-girlfriends stick to me and I just can't shake them, and then they ruin my life. Because of course they're naked and of course they're perfect AND OF COURSE THEY'RE CLINGING TO ME; that's how static cling works. It's diabolical.

Esq: Why is this bothering you? I don't care about the people you've dated.
Me: THAT'S BECAUSE THERE'S NEVER BEEN ANYBODY ELSE. HMPH.

Except for my ex-husband, my son's father, and all of the people in-between. So that's the fantasy: the Esq was just waiting for me his entire life, and lived like a monk--and a scholar--until we finally met. His life was all about attaining knowledge, self-reflection, and peace. Until I came along. If I HAVE to acknowledge the other women in his past, then I prefer to think of them as a human ladder that he had to climb in order to find me. Stepping on their pretty little heads, all the way to the top.

Photos and Convos have been updated!

[RADWORDS]: HITLER, KNIVES, CIRCUS, STATIC CLING, MEATLOAF