Bugging Me

Let me paint you a picture of the totally glamorous life of a one date wonder on her own. Actually, let me not paint it because that would be gross. Because the picture is of a giant beetle in my apartment.

The first time it happened (oh yes, it’s like that) I was sitting on the couch minding my own business watching TV and surfing the internet on my laptop. I had a drink on the coffee table, I was relaxed, and all was right with the world. Apparently my mistake was blinking. I blinked, and then it happened.  There was a giant beetle right in the middle of my laptop screen. Seriously. A beetle.

I did what any normal single gal would do when presented with the situation. I screamed and shoved the laptop off my lap. It hit my drink which spilled all over the coffee table, snapped shut, and fell to the ground. I had already jumped out of my seat and was doing the crazy itchy screamy bug dance over by the front door. And then I had to decide… what was more pressing? Saving my coffee table from water stains or locating and eradicating the giant life threatening beetle now trapped inside my laptop?

The water stains won. I mopped them up and then kicked the laptop into the middle of the room. Armed with a wad of paper towels the size of my head, I jerked the machine open and found…… nothing. Cue the itchy screamy bug dance and a frantic search for the beetle. I found him on the couch in the end, which caused more dancing and a final kill. Unable to deal with the buggy corpse, I took the entire wad and threw it out then went to bed with visions of beetle bugs dancing in my head.

The next morning I was puttering around the place and threw something out in the kitchen trash. My hand brushed something crunchy on the outside of the can so I picked it off without thinking anything of it. A split second later my caffeine deprived brain registered the fact that this crispy bit may actually be a giant crunchy dead beetle and I dropped it. You know what comes next. That’s right, I did the dance. Upon confirming the fact that there was now a beetle corpse on my kitchen floor, there was not a hot enough shower in all the land to calm me down. I don’t know how I finally got the courage to grab a paper towel and dispose of the body, but somehow I did. There may or may not have been screaming involved.

Don’t even get me started on the second time. I mean, unless you really want to laugh at me some more.

And in the afternoon

He asked me not to run from him anymore. He asked me to talk things over, said we could work it out. Said he wanted me to stay. He was supposed to help me stay.

Until this afternoon when he ended it.  He said I wanted more than he had to offer. And in the end, that’s probably true.

And so a year and a half almost to the day from when we met, we are over. I didn’t see that coming in the light of this morning. Didn’t see it coming at all.

It does not bother me to say, “This isn’t love…”
Cause if you don’t want to talk about it
Then, it isn’t love
And I guess I’m gonna have to live with that
But I’m sure there’s something in a shade of gray
Or something in between,
And I can always change my name, if that’s what you mean

- “Anna Begins” by Counting Crows

In the light of morning

In the light of morning, I feel like I should explain a few things. Please don’t take this to mean I am any happier or more at peace. I’m not. In fact, I feel physically ill. Still, this bears saying.

I’ve known Big for a year and a half. We have been together in various forms for that long. During that time, I’ve often been less than happy with how things were. I have rarely told him so. Early on in our past, I told him I wouldn’t try to change him. I pledged to take everything he said at face value and only try to regulate my own reactions and actions. So, for instance, last summer and fall when I so deperately wanted more from him, I never said so. Instead I worked very hard to convince myself that every sign he may have wanted more was a trick of my imagination. I told myself over and over that he’d never want me. I wrote it all here. But I never asked him, talked to him, or gave him the benefit of the doubt. Not once.

What you see, what you read, what you know… it comes from where I am.  For better or for worse, that’s the nature of this kind of writing. You know what I choose to show you. And most of what I show you is internal. So what you know of Big, it’s colored by my issues, our miscommunications, and everything I’ve bottled up for so long.

I’m trying to be better.

Last night I told Big things have to change if we’re going to make it. What I didn’t tell you is that he agreed. I said we have to spend more time together. He agreed. I said I can’t do things the way we have been and we won’t make it without that change. He said everything will be okay.

What you see here is my fundamental belief that nothing will ever truly be okay. But that’s not so much about Big as it is about me. I know it, but maybe you don’t. So I figured it bears saying out loud.  Many of you have developed very unflattering images of what Big is. But those are built on my own hurt. And that hurt hasn’t always been his fault. I am to blame too. For not speaking up when I should have. For not telling him what I need. For convincing myself he will never care enough. For telling myself it’ll never work. For doing those things instead of opening up and letting him in. I am as much to blame, if not more.

Yes, I feel like everything has been on his terms since I met him. Yes, I am resentful. No, I have never been clear about that with him. So in some ways, it’s not fair for me to get angry since I never told him it was a problem in the first place. (And yes, in some ways he simply should have known better.) My point is that he’s not a villain. He’s not perfect, but he’s also not a complete ass.

The move to a new apartment was not about me. Our time was a perk but it wasn’t the reason. And that was at my request. So the move back, it shouldn’t be about me either. He hated the apartment, hands down. It wasn’t aimed at me.

And yet, we all know it hit me. We all know how I feel. And yes, Big knows too. Today I am going to try to open up more with him. I’m going to try to tell him why I’m hurting. I am going to try to get concrete solutions to these issues. I’m going to ask for the change I need. And I’m terrified, but I’m going to do my best here. I don’t know what will happen. As always, I assume the worst. So what I really need is for you to hope for the best. Because I’m a little too broken to manage that right now.

Thanks for understanding.

Reverse

That’ll teach me to believe. He moved back. No really, you read it right. He. Moved. Back.

I told him I can’t do things the way we were before.  We need to spend more time together, and if that means he always has to be over here, so be it. It’s a dealbreaker and he’s aware. He says it’ll be ok. He says he’ll reassure me, and comfort me, and spend more time with me.

Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go cry. I knew this would happen, but that doesn’t make it any easier. And I don’t have anything to comfort me right now. And I’m scared.

Moving on up

I have been waiting for this day for over two weeks now. I carefully said nothing here. The news was so good, so anticipated, that I was afraid of it. I was afraid the moment I typed these words, the entire thing would fall through. I was afraid that by making it real here, I would jinx it. I didn’t want to have to answer questions or shed public tears if it fell through. I didn’t want to get too excited and then get hurt. I was just scared.

But today it happened. I helped Big move into a new apartment all his own. I am inside it now typing this entry. I will be spending the night tonight. We have been together since 10:30 this morning and will be together still at 10:30 tomorrow morning. For the first time in the year and a half that I’ve known him, we are in his apartment together. We will be having regular overnights together. We are doing real things together. We are together.

You can see why I waited. You can see why this was so huge. This is a new phase in what we are to each other and where we are going together. This is a new chapter for us. This has been a long time coming and we’ve been working towards it for close to a month now. But I waited until I was sure to say it here.

I’m sure. I’m sitting in Big’s living room and I’m sure. And I’m happy.

By any other name

When we were younger, we girls would proudly announce that we had a boyfriend. Chances are everyone already knew, but we’d throw the term around with abandon. Our friends would giggle and our fathers would wince every time we mentioned our boyfriend. But it was never a problem, because that’s what he was.

However, as we get older, it seems maybe it’s not such a cut and dried deal anymore. Husband is a fine thing to trot out in polite conversation, but the older we get, the odder boyfriend feels. It feels silly and juvenile. And yet, we struggle because there is no other word for us.

I tend to not use a label. I tend to just use my current flame’s name and stare people down. For example,  I would say “Ed* and I are going away for the weekend.” Then just stare. You would see them piecing together that statement and parsing out the meaning. Most of the time if you stare meaningfully enough, the next logical thing will not happen. But sometimes it does. If the person you’re talking to is not quite fast enough or perhaps has not had enough caffeine, it can happen. “Oh? Who’s Ed?”

And there you have it. Who is Ed? Is he your current, or the guy you’re dating, or some dude, or your boyfriend, or muffin, or the homeless guy you gave a dollar to this morning? How do you explain Ed?

As a woman in my 30s, I have a hard time uttering the word boyfriend.  It still reeks of high school and innocence and something I’m just not anymore. Even more horrifying, I have found myself, as a woman in my 30s, looking a man in the eye and having to say “So does this mean you’re my boyfriend?” It just seems like at our age there should be a more dignified term for this. Or… well, something.

I have noticed that out in the great world wide web, I’m not the only person struggling with this. So any suggestions are welcome. What do you think we should be calling those with whom we are in a relationship now that we are no longer 21?

*There is no Ed. This was just the random name I managed to pull from a hat this morning. Sorry to disappoint.

Unexpected

Honestly, I thought I’ve been doing pretty well since LC and I broke up. Other areas of my life are moving forward at warp speed and I’ve been content. Perhaps even happy. LC and I even managed to keep talking and being friends. We even hung out once! I am a break up model of perfection. Or so I thought.

Internally I felt like I had a handle on it too. I am comfortable with breaking up with him. When I think over what happened, I know that I made the right choice for me. Any other choice would not have served me as well. This may sound like a load of BS, but I mean it. I’m at peace with my decision.

So no one was more surprised than me when I started yelling at him in IMs a few days ago. Ooops. Apparently even though I’m at peace with my decision, I’m not at peace with him. It would seem there are some loose ends that left me kind of angry. Which I realized at the exact moment that I told him so.

LC had no idea I had ever been angry about any of the things I mentioned. Which in turn made me madder because they are all things I’ve said before.  Go ahead and snicker. You can already see how the whole thing escalated.

This, my friends, is why I like to practice DTM. With DTM I can have imaginary arguments with him in my head. With DTM I can write angry letters I never send. And with DTM I don’t have to look him in the eye, make nice, and get even angrier because he doesn’t know and doesn’t care about what hurt me. DTM gives me the space to work it out without getting any angrier.

And so it is that LC and I have stopped communicating. Is it a permanent ban on our friendship? I don’t know. But apparently it’s going to last until I’m good and done with it. Because the other way really just wasn’t working out so well.

At least I got my stuff out of his apartment before this happened.

The Truth About Online Dating

With more and more people going online to look for dates, the cries about online dating and how much it sucks are increasing. Every day I hear someone saying how disgruntled or unhappy they are with the process. Or worse yet, I hear people saying “Dating sucks!” and just flat out threatening to give up. So I thought maybe someone out there could benefit from some down to earth wisdom about dating, online dating, and what to expect.

First let’s consider the offline dating world. You walk down the street every day and see people you find attractive. You may have a nice chat with a guy in your coffee shop, and share a smile with someone in the hallways at work. The point is, it happens all the time. What doesn’t happen is an exchange of phone numbers or some serious chatting up. Most of us enjoy these little encounters but never make them into something more. Most of us also spot people every day we would never date. Maybe they are rude or simply unattractive. But in our mind, we know that just wouldn’t be happening. Mentally, you pick and choose even if you never act on it.

Online, there is less to lose. You don’t have to look someone in the eye when you ask for their phone number. You don’t have to face someone in the hallway at work after they blow you off. Your risk is considerably lower. And so the natural inhibitions that keep us from just asking out that hot single gal waiting to cross the street one morning… they don’t apply.

Now, because our inhibitions are lower, we encounter more rejections and more people we are not going to be interested in. Just like there are whole populations of people in the world you wouldn’t want to date, so are there online. It’s just that online, you are more likely to run into them asking you for a date.

So here is the truth… the truth of online dating. You will have more bad dates than good. You will have more bad emails than good. You will get rejected more often than you are accepted. It’s not because you’re fat and ugly, or stupid and undesireable. It’s not because there is something wrong with you. It’s because that’s just the way it is. And if you aren’t prepared for that you really shouldn’t play.

What fairytales don’t tell you

I feel like I have to complete a thought. A little while ago I posted about happily ever afters and what they can and should mean to all of us single folk. It was a post full of thoughts for a personal revolution. But, much like anything in life, there are two sides to every story. So today I’d like to post about the flip side of redesigning my own personal happily ever after.

It wasn’t until after my second divorce that my vision of the future changed. Up until then I still assumed there was someone out there for me and I too could ride off into the sunset with him. But when things fall apart so hard, you need something to hold onto. And so I began to think of ways to make a satisfying ending to my story alone.

That’s a positive thing. Taking control of one’s own destiny and happiness. Spitting on fate and making a life you can believe in. Taking control. It’s empowering and good and I stand behind it.

But it’s also tiring. Because for each new dream I have to make and build, an old one is buried underneath it. Each time I make the effort to revise my vision of the future, I first have to dig a grave for the old thoughts of what might be.

Many of you will find this hard to imagine, but I had those dreams of a future with someone else again. I spent my nights imagining the life we’d have and the things we’d do. I tried to picture if we’d have children or not, and if we did what they’d look like and what we’d name them. I mulled over tentative vacation plans. I even considered what kind of engagement ring I’d like if I were to get one again.

And now I have to dig a grave for that life that was becoming so clear in my mind (even though I couldn’t decide between princess cut or marquise). I have to find a way to let it go.

I’m not even angry about that crazy Facebook bitch anymore. I do forgive what happened. I don’t hate LC and I’m not angry at him. But everything that happened just seems to be too much. LC blames himself for letting that happen. He says he’s better than that and I believe him about that. But I also know it wasn’t his fault. I know I put too much stress on our relationship for it to ever be anything but broken. By straddling the line for so long, I am the one who cracked this dream. What he did wasn’t good by any means. And yes, he should have told me what was happening. But that never would have come to be if I had done the right thing in the first place. What happened and this ending are ultimately my fault. And I will have to find a way to live with that.

LC says he can’t imagine me living a life alone. He has lots to say about how intelligent and beautiful and successful I am. How people like me don’t have solitary endings. Even now he says I deserve better than this. That I deserve to be happy.

And maybe I do deserve to be happy. Maybe someday I will be. But I’m afraid that journey is going to have to be on my own. So I will box up the pretty dreams of blonde babies and European vacations. I will add the sounds of the river and pretty diamond rings. I will lay in fun getaways and sun lit strolls by the lake. I will wrap it in the security of having someone hold me every night and tell me how loved I am. It will all be in good company. And I will seal it with the knowledge that I did this thing and made it what it now is.  Then I will close that box and bury it deep, hopefully where I can’t pry it open again. Hopefully under the foundations of something new someday.

One of my favorite lines from a song is in Semisonic’s Closing Time: “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.” And this is what we don’t often tell people about making new dreams. In order to make way for something new, you have to let go of something else. And sometimes, the beginning you let go of takes a piece of you with it.

Before I shut that dream box, I will add a piece of my heart to it. Another piece that no one else may ever have. It belongs to the river, and the sun, and the vacations, and the babies, and the rings, and that love. It belongs to LC.