Even Bella is not this stupid.

I should have known better. Look at our history. I bet any one of you could have predicted this. And maybe, deep down, I could have, too. But no. I had to go and learn the hard way. Again.

Having this conversation shouldn't have been so difficult. As soon as he said he wasn't up for it because he'd "had a rough week," I should have known then. I even told a friend, "this isn't a good sign." If things had been going as well as I thought, why would he have a problem talking about something that shouldn't be difficult at all?

That's when my instincts stood up and kicked me in the face and, still, I didn't acknowledge them. I don't think I ever acknowledge them. Stupid me.

Finally, Monday night, we got together. I went optimistically, in a dress I had bought with him in mind. (I regret ever buying an article of clothing with him in mind and, I swear to God, I will never buy a purple anything ever again.)

We chatted for a few minutes; I smiled and laughed thinking how good it was to just be near him. And, finally, he told me. Nothing had changed. After the last five (FIVE) months that we've been separated, three (THREE) of which were spent dating, he still wasn't sure if he wanted to be married.

Fucking. Asshole.

And by that, I mean both of us. Him for not saying anything sooner, for letting me continue to believe that the time we spent together was helping, that it was mending our relationship... and me for letting him do it again. For not asking sooner. For assuming. For doing the same fucking thing I've done every time we've "broken up." For the clothes I bought just to impress him, for the hours I spent in bars I hate just because I knew he liked them, for wasting my time and money flying to San Antonio. For everything. For every kiss, every hug, every intimate moment we shared. That fucking "I love you."

God, I have so many regrets. I do. I admit it. I'm trying not to, but they're there, weighing heavily on my mind and on my heart. How could I have let this happen again? With everything that's happened before and everything I knew and everything I suspected... how could I make all the same mistakes? How could I just roll over and give him another chance to hurt me?

I'm frustrated, angry, hurt. Yeah, nothing new. The only difference this time? I think I've finally, finally, gotten to a point where I want absolutely nothing to do with him. (Although, knowing me, I'll give him another seventeen chances.) ('Cause I'm a sucker.)

If I were to look on the bright side, I'd say at least I'm already packed. At least my things are already moved and in storage. I'm already comfortably established in my mother's home. And The Paperwork to get this done and behind me is practically complete. Now it's just a matter of finally letting go and moving on. Once and for all.

Everything I should say. Or would if I were a mature adult.

Dear Jon,

I've said before that if I could go back and do it all over again, I wouldn't marry you. I know that must sound terrible, but I was too young. I didn't know anything; nothing of the person I would turn into as I grew up. I assumed that had I waited, had we met each other now instead of when I was all of eighteen, we'd have realized our differences and we wouldn't have gotten so serious about each other.

But, surprise surprise, I seem to be falling in love with you all over again. I hate my cell phone, yet I keep it close just in case you call. And when you do? I drop everything. I hate last-minute plans, yet when you asked me to the Angels game just twenty-five minutes before you picked me up, I did a happy dance all the way to the quickest shower of my life.

Then, last week, when I unexpectedly found myself in Utah for a night, my sister asked me the eight million dollar question. "How are things going with Jon?" I hear this question a lot and I've gotten pretty good at coming up with very interesting and eloquent responses, such as:

Good.

Fine.

Okay.

Or sometimes I just say "um," scrunch up my face like I'm constipated, and shrug my shoulders. To people who have asked me more than once, I say (in my best six-year-old whiny voice), "Please! Stop asking! I don't knoooow-uhh!"

If we had only recently met and started dating, I'd tell people that, oh my God, I've met the love of my life! But, been there and done that. We're married, remember? And we have been for almost seven years. So, I find the fact that we're "dating" a wee bit pathetic.

It's all well and good to take things slow, enjoy this "new" relationship between us and just "see how things go," but the fact is... I AM NOT OKAY WITH THIS. Period. End of story. And, as lame as it might sound, I have to be true to myself. I have to do what makes me happy, what makes me comfortable. And dating my husband isn't it.

We have no plans, no goals. It's making me crazy! We don't talk about our issues or try to resolve them which means that if we ever actually make an adult decision to, I don't know, work things out, we will eventually run into the same effing problems. The very same ones that we've been dealing with since THE DAWN OF TIME.

For a minute I thought that maybe our dating was the way to a new, healthier, more successful relationship. We've been spending a lot of time together, having fun. Sometimes it feels just like it used to when our relationship was at its best. When we were at the bar watching the All Star Game, before I went and offended David Price, you were touching me just like you used to. It wasn't sexual, just affectionate. You were touching my hair, rubbing my back... and for reasons as simple as you wanted to and could.

Now I worry that in between our dates you're busy building a new life of your own, one I'm not sure how I'd fit into. Right now, you spend your weekend mornings taking long, intense bike rides. Not at all like the kind of bike rides I'd be interested in. (You know, the ones that conclude at Starbucks before leisurely riding home and taking a nap.)

I'd rather spend any Saturday or Sunday I'm lucky enough to get off in bed, sleeping in, waking up to bad television shows and eventually falling asleep again with the cats curled against me.

I understand that we are two very different people. You're social and outgoing. I hate everyone. You love sports and I wouldn't know the difference between football and hockey if it weren't for you. You're spontaneous; I need two weeks notice or else I'm a mass of trembling nerves and pouting lips. You want kids, like, yesterday and I can't help but think what's the rush?

So, here's my eight million dollar question for you. Are you willing to compromise? Are you willing to spend a Saturday here and there lazing about in bed till noon just to make me happy? Or have you finally reached a point where you're only concerned with your own happiness? Because, sometimes, I really do fear that's the case, that you have lost all interest in spending any energy on others. Like me.

It's time for us to have this conversation, to finally make some decisions. Like adults. I will forever hold myself in limbo until we do. But, for the life of me, I can't figure out how to say "we need to talk" because one, I hate those words with a passion rivaling that of chocolate and two, I don't want to be Debbie Downer. I want to have fun. I want things between us to be good. I don't want to fight or argue or cry or, worse, realize that this relationship really isn't going to work.

And, the longer this goes on, this uncertain and unpredictable relationship, the more afraid I am that that really is the case. And, if it is, I need to get away from you once and for all and start dealing with it like, you guessed it, an adult.

And maybe then the dreams will finally stop. Yes, I still dream of you. Most recently we won twenty million in the lottery. It was the first dream that didn't involve you texting, e-mailing, or stopping by to throw yourself on my mercy. Now, if only my dreams would start coming true. (Or start revolving around Edward.) (Sorry.)

Love,
Stephanie

Looking on the bright side.

1. On Friday, I rear-ended a little red Ford Focus on the 5 freeway. Several pieces of my poor, brave Toyota have shifted so that I can't open my driver's side door. It's going to cost me a pretty penny getting not just my repairs done, but hers as well. But things could have been worse.

The damages to her car were minor.

If anything, she gained some brown paint.

Neither of us were injured.

She was super sweet.

She hardly laughed at all when she realized my door was stuck shut.

I have good insurance.

And I didn't even cry!

(I really wanted to cry.)

2. On Saturday, I drank too much. (A word of advice: do not play drinking games with two guys who each have 100+ pounds on you. They will win.) Then I had a breakdown and sobbed all over The Husband while we were fooling around. (Yes, we were fooling around. Let's move on.) I had been afraid this might happen and was terribly embarrassed. But things could have been worse.

We could have had a terrible time with our friends.

The burgers we enjoyed could have been made with bad meat.

And we all could have suffered food poisoning.

There could have been a black-out.

And we'd have been unable to watch the fights.

I could have puked on him.

In hindsight, crying doesn't seem so bad.

3. On Sunday, while riding bikes with friends and enjoying the madness that is the Fourth of July in downtown Newport and Huntington Beach, I fell. Like, my feet got tangled in the peddles and I took a tumble into the dirt. In front of everyone. And, as blood oozed from my knee down to my toes and all over my ruined pedicure, I had to get back up and ride home. But things could have been worse.

At least I got back up!

I landed in the dirt, not on the concrete.

Or, I don't know, IN FRONT OF A MOVING VEHICLE.

I scraped my knee and three of my toes and have cuts and bruises all over both legs, but my head is fine!

(I think.)

4. On Monday morning, sometime between two a.m. and three a.m. while we RODE OUR BIKES BACK HOME, sometime after stopping at 7-Eleven for much needed water, I lost my debit card. And if you've ever lost your debit card, you know what a huge pain in the ass this is. I had to bum ten bucks off my dad tonight to buy gummy bears and pain relieving antiseptic spray. But things could have been worse!

My dad could have said no.

And going without gummy bears would have been devastating.

Someone could have used the card to buy themselves, well, not much of anything.

'Cause I'm broke.

I could have not lost it.

And spent even more money.

And been even more broke.

5. Today I had to attend a service training class, one we're required to attend every year. (Somehow, I've managed to go without for several.) I... how shall I put it? ...detest these classes with every fiber of my being. You are forced to role play. ROLE PLAY. Hello! I hate having any kind of attention. HATE IT. I was sore all over, miserable over my knee and my car, and thought I might be coming down with a cold on top of everything else. I almost called in sick to the class. And then it occurred to me that if I didn't just go and get it over with, I'd regret it. So, I went. I role played. It was not that bad awful. But things could have been worse.

There could have not been coffee.

Or bagels.

Or grilled chicken and provolone sandwiches.

Or, later, root beer floats.

Oh, and Peanut Butter M&Ms.

Um.

Other than the food, it pretty much sucked.

Okay, peeps, it's your turn. ('Cause, let's face it, I've bitched and moaned enough for several upon hundreds of posts.) Your assignment: name one unpleasant thing you've had to deal with recently. Then tell me the bright side.

(P.S. Do you hate it when people say, "look on the bright side?" I do.)

This wasn't in the budget.

There were so many other things I wanted to tell you about. Unfortunately, trumping all of those is my little traffic accident while stuck in bumper-to-bumper on the 5 freeway this afternoon. I know I should count my blessings, things could have been so much worse, blah blah blah... Can't I have just a brief moment of "why me?" This totally sucks and I'm mad. Really good and mad. I mean, haven't I dealt with enough this year? Do I really deserve this on top of everything else? Is this what I get for feeling down today? Is this what I get for indulging in a little pity party, for feeling down on my current living situation? For contemplating the idea of renting a room somewhere? Don't I deserve a room with, you know, a real, live door? Oh, didn't I mention that? There is NO DOOR on my bedroom. Here's where I let it all out in the open, 'cause I'm (eventually) honest about everything. My room at my mother's has NO DOOR. I'm grateful to have a room! I am! And it's rent-free! Awesome! And hundreds of other exclamation points for good reasons! Like my health! And my family! And their health! And a three-day holiday weekend! It's all wonderful and awesome! Exclamation point! But, you know what? I could have done without my front bumper making friends with the little red Ford Focus in front of me. I would have been grateful for the use of my driver's side door, which is now stuck shut. I would have been happy to keepthe $1,000+ that it'll cost me after all is said and done. And, damn it, I don't think I'm a terrible person for wanting a room with a DOOR. The end.