Birds have a funny way of accompanying me lately. I went to my hometown to visit my parents last weekend, mainly because of a bird: my mother’s famous roasted pheasant. I talked to my husband about our situation in the park in front of my parents’ house and all the while birds kept flying over our heads, black spots against the cast-iron grey November sky.

Language is weird too: the same word in different languages can have opposite meanings. While in English, girls are referred to as birds, in Italian I’ve been told that bird is another word for cock, which by the by, is a bird too, and in German there’s a verb that has to do with birds that means fucking. So while in English, my constant talking about birds is a sort of oxymoron, considering the main topic here are men, in other instances it would be just a very vulgar metaphor.

The weekend was poignant. As I increasingly need to spend time with my people, those who would stick with me after a separation, I particularly enjoyed my Saturday night. It’s as if the energy I derived from love now lost needs to be redirected towards other receivers, and since they cannot be partners, that leaves friends and I more than welcome the chance to get close to them again or anew. I was particularly positively impressed by Shalma’s willingness to share her experience with me. I hadn’t seen or heard from her in over 10 years, we did go out sometimes when we were in school but we never got that close. Back then she was really very different from me; even though she is a couple of years younger than me, I felt as if she was ages older, for all the “experience” she had and the way she managed things with boys – that is she did manage some, I didn’t.

I felt profoundly grateful that she wanted to share all her experience with me, I understand how she may have wanted to confront herself and maybe relieve herself with someone in her situation, but I was also very happy to be freely given input. I need emotional interactions of any kind really, anything that may nourish my soul. Yet I was dumbfounded to find her in such a similar situation now. It was so refreshing to hear that I’m not the only one. I can’t say my friends didn’t support me 100% in this, they all have, but knowing I’m not the only bitch having such thoughts feels humanising after all. I may be part of the tiniest percentage of people who actually acts upon them, but that’s just because of my big, heavy, cumbersome balls. I’m pretty sure they are going to crush me sooner or later.

And then Sunday, after I talked to my husband, it started hurting. For the first time, it wasn’t just stress, snorting and mental mumbling, it hurt. I guess I should be happy, it might prove that I’m not a cylon after all, but I’m scared that sorrow may be walking hand in hand with doubts. Of the wrong kind. The point here is that I know that I’m not in love anymore and any other reason not to separate is a surrogate. All the what-am-I-doing frenzy is about fear more than anything; loss is scary, not the lack of what is being lost. I felt bad as I was driving to training, I felt overwhelmed and couldn’t be bothered with the additional stress of playing the game with coach. I just needed a shoulder to cry on, or even just shedding some tears alone would have released some pressure but social events as per usual don’t allow any of that. The next thing I know though is that I’m cheerful and smiling while running around in the arena. It’s amazing how easy it is just to forget the long awaited hurt.

I guess it is all a rebound after all. The guy you focus on in order to forget the void left by the loss of love. I wonder just how careful I should be with this. How much should I worry about consequences at the arena, how much should I worry about not hurting him? I know it’s a litte premature, but I feel some sort of anticipation in the air about this upcoming heaven-sent camp. And when I say in the air, I mean I kind of sense some from him as well. Just a hunch, but still. The fact that I found out it’s not going to be the whole club but little  more than a dozen people puts the whole event in another perspective. I guess I am going to have to share a room with some other girl, just to avoid any temptation. I’m gonna need so much help.

It hit me now. Just now. Yesterday it was just a second and then events dragged me away. It was something Amber said: there is going to be a mock competition in January at our arena.

Are you out of your fucking mind?!

In my city? In front of all the club? IN A MONTH? Forget everything else, forget coach, forget friends, forget flirting, forget husband, I am going to have to train every fucking day. And maybe just maybe, posters and notices are going to pop out, I don’t even want to go there. It is just so clichè but sometimes you really have to be careful what you wish for. I have spent the last 3 years of my life working toward the aim of a competition and now that I actually see one coming I am down right shitting my pants. I have no idea whatsoever what I put myself into. In the words of Dr. Leonard Hofstadter, I am “attached to another plane, wrapped helically around an axis”.

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