"Placid and Bland"

I follow the personal blog of someone I may never have met. He recently posted a list of his favorite break-up songs, and I went digging for some of mine. I began listening to them, but the sentiments are so distant from me now. I have not felt that burning anger that is the flip-side of romance for such a long time that I had to blow the dust off my emotions to read the labels.

The last two times I have broken off a relationship with a man my feelings were cold and controlled. I felt no urge for violence, I simply no longer wished to associate with them, and so I cut them out of my relationship diet. It worked well the first time because he was too poor to own a computer (and the relationship was largely head-games anyway). I just deleted his number from my phone.

This latest ablution, though, has been a bit more troublesome. He still occasional sends an e-mail inquiry. I don't think I ever told him why I no longer wanted to be his friend. I don't think I will. I'm not angry at him, and I don't hate him. I'm not suffering from some imagined insult - on the contrary, he was always very tolerant of me, and generous. But I despise him while I admire him, much in the way you would despise and admire a particularly determined insect. I admire insects, for in the abstract they are superior to me in many ways, but I would rather inflict bodily harm on myself than touch one.

That is what it came down to, really. I could either inflict emotional pain on myself (by understanding that I had caused him the brief irritation of separation from me) or I could suffer his obtuse and impotent friendship. I do not suffer fools. My growing dislike does neither of us any good, but because we are no longer friends my bitterness won't injure him, and can only hurt me. That is always to be preferred.

In the light of this rending I do not like myself. I appear cold and haughty. I feel arrogant.
We were friends, perhaps, briefly. He thought I was funny, and I invited him over to play cards with a few other friends.
When he kept laughing at everything I said I realized that he didn't understand half of it and would never understand me. He stopped inviting other people over to my house when he invited himself, likely assuming that his company sufficed. It did not. He could not hold up his end of the conversation and had little more than junk food and congeniality to contribute to our evenings. I began refusing his invitations, but instead of showing interest or concern he simply tried to bully me into crashing the parties of people I didn't know, as if all I waited for were his clumsy attentions.
If he had asked, perhaps I would have told him then. Or perhaps not. Perhaps I was too afraid for his delicate ego to be honest.

Somewhere the adversary had found my Achilles Heel. Inside me, or into my ear, buzzed the vilest of thoughts: "What if he is the one you should marry?" "You know that pride is evil; be humble and accept his attentions; he's a good man." The more those thoughts intruded the more I hated him. I hardened my heart against the idea, rather than opening my heart to the understanding of God's plan, His absolute dedication to human agency, and His perfect love.

No, an angry break-up song does not fit this trennung. I need the healing of the atonement and more confidence in my own instincts.