Last Friday, Valerie and I had a brief but loud fight over the phone; she had emailed me that morning to tell me she was coming by train that evening, so pick her up. Later that day, after I had bought concert tickets and this and that for us, she emailed me again to tell me she had accepted a temp job at Nordstroms for the duration of the weekend, so sorry Jonny, see you later. That's when I called her, and that's when the shouting happened, and that's when she kept hanging up on me, and that's when I kept pressing redial over and over; until finally she picked up the phone and said, Fuck you, Jonathan, I don't want a relationship with you, get the fuck out of my life. Ah, okay, I said to the dialtone.
She subsequently emailed me a breakup letter, which I reproduce here for any extraterrestial paleoarchaeologists sifting through the bazillions of web-archived correspondence millennia for us, and also for anyone else who may give a flying shit.
From: Valerie Rosenberg Sent: Monday, June 09, 2003 5:02 PM To: Jonathan Subject: our problems
Jonathan,
I don't like being yelled at on the phone, for something that wasn't my fault. I don't see why accepting jobs from a temp agency is crazy. I didn't want to talk to you when you were being verbally abusive, and making me feel worse than I already did. Do you think I wanted to spend my weekend at Nordstroms instead of going to San Diego? I had already packed and was really looking forward to seeing you and being at the birthday party. I actually was crying on Saturday, right before I was supposed to be ready to work.
I love you, but I might not be strong enough to handle you and your anger. I'm going through a delicate phase. I have to be handled with care and understanding. When I worry about money, that's not crazy, that's an attempt to be mature and responsible adult, a resident of a state that I can't even really afford to be living in.
There was a piano player at Nordstrom, but her playing was bland, boring and not as good as you. She did a version of ABBA's "The winner takes it all", and some other song that I recognized but had never liked in the first place. I thought her song choices
were uninspired.
I think we should not see each other anymore, your drama is too stressful and upsetting for me. I need someone who I can count on, and who is willing to discuss future plans, and willing to discuss financial issues. I shouldn't expect you to change your ways for me, anyway.
I'm at the library, it's 5 pm and my time is up.
Love, Valerie
I immediately wrote back,
I maintain calm, and respond thus:
1. Sometimes, we yell at each other. It happens. Sometimes you may find yourself yelling at other people, because they've upset you. Usually I only do this with people who actually affect me; otherwise, I don't waste the effort, useless as it is.
On Friday, I was just disproportionately upset that you abandoned the plans for us together once again; part of it was that I was disproportionately happy at your earlier email, when you said you were coming at 7 pm. It's no excuse for any of my behaviour, just as I don't think your behaviour is excusable. It's just what happened, and this separation is the result.
2. I'm not strong enough to handle your violent changes of mind, nor your bewildering onslaught of worry, worry, worry. Actually I am strong enough for the worry, but only when you make it worthwhile. All I mean is that the things of life which stress you so, like debt and employment and living spaces and such, all those seemingly insurmountable problems can actually be surmounted: handled, solved. All you have to do is decide to face them, instead of eternally equivocating and ultimately running away.
3. I still haven't heard Nordstrom's legendary piano players, so cannot give an opinion about their inspiration or lack thereof.
4. If we see one another or not is all the same to me. My drama is my own, and for a little while I thought that I could share it with you, even if sometimes it may be intense. That's what drama sometimes is, you know, "dramatic." I hope that if you stop and think about it, the time we spent in one another's company didn't in fact consist entirely of shouting and throwing things at one another and the like. But finally, it doesn't matter, though, if you do think this or not.
5. "I need someone who... I need someone who..." Well, good luck with finding that someone. Perhaps you can put another personal ad in the paper: "I need someone whom I can discuss financial plans with. I need someone with whom I can talk about the future." What strikes me is that I don't seem to have these qualities which I am looking for in a relationship, and then go out and find that relationship; rather, I have relationships with people, and then find qualities in that person that I discover and become infatuated with.
That's what happened with you.
Good luck with the job search, the financial-future-someone search, all your searches,
Jonathan
And I thought that was it, yay. There were so many things in her email that outraged me -- where the hell did all the stuff about finances come from? Other stupid shit. Ah well, I was done, I was done. But she wrote me back this afternoon.
From: Valerie Rosenberg Sent: Tuesday, June 10, 2003 12:45 PM To: Jonathan
Jonathan,
I know that our time together was much better than just fighting, and now I'm barely successful at holding back the tears, at a computer in a library. My time at your place in San Diego was making me happy in ways I wasn't even aware of at the time. Now I teeter on the verge of tears, when I think about the happy times I lost by leaving. I loved you, I loved your family, I loved San Diego. But I made my move and I have to seek work here, and will have to be willing to work weekends, until I have an office job.
Maybe you can find someone else who doesn't have the worries that I have, and I don't want to hold you back in any way.
Love, Valerie
I don't know why; I don't know why; this email irritated me beyond measure. I just would vastly prefer to be left alone. Valerie seems to be both crying out for help and hissing at whomever (well, me) who tries to help her.
I made my response short and sweet.
Silly girl, I don't want someone else. And I never felt you held me back; I just swam in being held by you.
Goodbye, Jonathan
Now, though, I wonder if I give the impression that I'm interested in relating with her still. I'm not. But to email her that clarification seems... I dunno, overextending. Ugh.
Images are taken without permission from the fine and trusting folks at Folk Arts of Poland; please purchase something from them. Background music stolen without permission from Epitonic, Basta Music, and just about everywhere else my unscrupulous hands could grab something. No rights reserved.
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