The imminent threat of the dissolution of one of my favourite fictional relationships - my beloved Scotty and Kevin - led me to thinking, breakups are never all that simple, are they? After all, there's always bound to be a certain amount of repressed emotion and baggage just waiting to erupt under the seemingly placid surface especially after the end of a committed relationship.
Certainly no Oprah-wannabe expert in budding relationships but I've had my small share of breakups - or maybe I shouldn't mention that in plural since I only had the one. No doubt there was a moving suspenseful scene at the first realization of betrayal but what followed couldn't have been more sweetly cordial than a civilized English afternoon tea with the ladies who lunch - since for me, the subtle chill factor rises the angrier I get.
One of my friends used to tell me that a relationship should always end, not with a whimper, but with a bang. Apparently judging from what she said ( hope she didn't mean a bang with a pistol or a farewell fuck ) - and the various breathtaking histrionics portrayed by desperate afternoon serials, I should have been a little more wild and hotblooded like the typical big-haired ( amongst other bountiful assets ) Venezuelan soap opera ingenue. Perhaps rattled off a screaming vulgar tirade at the top of my lungs while doing my best to shatter his mother's precious Limoges. Sometimes I actually wish I'd had a dramatic breakup tossing his skimpy CKs out the window, wailing away unreservedly at the balcony while calling him filthy names, brazenly showing up at his workplace and dealing him impassioned backhanded slaps followed by the prerequisite humiliating splash of water ....but fortunately for my ex, I was much too timid, way too reserved and sadly much too adult for such frivolous diva-like antics.
And certainly too proud.
But not foolish enough to see what I'd be losing if I really had gone through the scripted tragicomedy farce. Engage in a literal War of the Roses that could effectively traumatize the simple friendship that we once had? One of my closest allies since childhood? Someone I'd cared for deeply?
Seriously, does love actually go out the door during a breakup? One unusual though outdated term I learned recently is the conservation of energy which states that the total amount of energy in an isolated system remains constant. All that love that was once there couldn't have just disappeared in that potent tempest of anger, treachery and broken china. Surely - if not purely driven by blind stupid lust and those ever persistent, pesky hormones - surely there has to be some residual feeling left behind even after the foulest of betrayals. Certainly something wonderful worth falling for in that special someone.
Or are we all fools who are doomed to blindness when it comes to love?