Forgetting Something

School starts on Monday, but I'm already exhausted.  Last night, after watching a movie and putzing around the house for a couple of hours, I finally laid down on the couch at 8pm and gave up.  Two hours later, I woke, only to brush my teeth and wash my face before lying back down again, this time in my bed.

It is now 8:23am.  I woke up about ten minutes ago.

For those who have talked to me recently, you may know that that's an incredible relief.  For the last week or two, I've gone to bed at a reasonable time, woke up at least once an hour throughout the night, and finally rose to the sound of my alarm in the morning, bleary-eyed.

"You look beat," one of the custodians at school said to me the other day.
"Thanks?"

At first, I thought maybe something was off about my sleep routine or setup.  Maybe I was looking at my phone or computer too much before bed.  Maybe it was too warm in the room.  Maybe too cold.  Maybe there was too much light coming in.  Maybe the outside sounds were waking me up.  Maybe the mattress needed to be turned.  Maybe the clutter was subconsciously interfering with my sleep.

So on Tuesday, I cleared my bed, washed the sheets, turned down the AC, put up a blackout curtain, downloaded a white noise app, reduced my pre-bedtime screen time, turned the mattress, and did everything I could think of to make the space more sleep-friendly.

And then I woke up every hour that night and rose that morning to the sound of my alarm, as though I'd never gone to sleep at all.

At this point, I abandoned my focus on feng shui and honed in on the one thing that was probably to blame:

STRESS.

To be clear, I don't feel that stressed.  I don't feel as relaxed as I did this summer, but I also don't feel as though the world is collapsing in around me.

On the other hand, it wouldn't be the first time I'd been haplessly unaware of my own anxiety.  Remember that time I had my toenail removed (gross, sorry), and they turned my toe into a pin cushion with an anesthetic needle?  Halfway in, I was surprised by how well I was taking it, breathing and everything.  And then when the doctor was finished, I looked at my toe, said "I don't feel so good," and proceeded to pass out.

In my defense, there is a lot to be maybe-stressed about at work.  Since August, my start time as a teacher has changed twice, and the start time for kids has changed twice as well.  When I first went back, we were told that we had four days (not school days, just straight up days) to get our rooms in order before the kids came.  They didn't have to be perfect, but the kids were coming.  Then there was an issue with the construction, and students' return date got pushed back a week.  So I spent a week prepping and prepping and prepping, to the point that I have my classroom in order, my first week planned and copied, and paperwork done that I wouldn't have had time to even think about yet.  There's never been enough time in the past.

So, instead of the normal gotta get it done stress, I'm stuck probing my subconscious: what am I missing?  I know I'm forgetting something, but what is it?

If I were wise and easy-going and good at dissociating my self-image from my career, I would slough it off and allow myself to be okay with the possibility of being underprepared for something--it's inevitable, to a certain extent.  Instead, I harp and harp and harp.

The night before I returned to work, I had a series of nightmares, all of which involved someone trying to break into my house in some way or another.  In one, my bedroom door was locked, and the intruder couldn't get in.  I could hear him outside my bedroom, so I looked under the door to check it out.  There, I saw stocking feet and the hem of nice, khaki-colored slacks appearing from above, as though the intruder had been climbing the door and was coming back down.

Why is a well-dressed businessman breaking into my house and scaling my walls?  I already had a guess as to what it could mean, but I looked up the dream interpretation of it online, anyway.  Here's what I found:

To dream of a break in, especially if it’s your own home, signifies a sense of loss of identity or an invasion of some part of your being. Do you feel like there’s an invasion of privacy or an invasion on your self-assuredness in your real life? Do you feel like you’re losing control of your space or, for that matter, of your fate? Alternatively, a dream about a break-in could potentially be hinting at some aspects of your personality or your life that you’re in denial about. A house, in a dream, signifies the innermost part of yourself.

If you have a dream about a break-in, ask yourself this: What in your life is making you uncomfortable at the moment? Is it your job, your relationship, something to do with your kids, something about another family member? Now, for the tough part: Pin down what exactly it is that makes you uncomfortable or that invades your space and figure out how to resolve the issue.

So I thought about it, and decided that what makes me really uncomfortable is the suggestion that teaching has somehow become an intruder in my life.  Loss of identity?  Invasion of some part of my being?

I will admit, for the first time in a while, going back to work was particularly painful.  Mourning the freedom and relaxation of summer is normal, but this felt different.  Yes, I was excited to see my work friends.  Yes, I was excited to get back into a routine.  But the actual act of teaching?  Eh, I'm not there yet.  I have a feeling it'll kick in on Monday when the kids come in, and I get back into my groove.  I hope so, anyway.  The paperwork and BS has never been my favorite part, so maybe the pre-student feelings aren't all that surprising.  It's always been about the kids.

Still, it might be time to start considering alternative career paths.

On top of the stress of returning, I've also added to my shoulders the responsibility of being team leader, the hardest part of which is the uncertainty of what the job actually entails.  I'm not very good about reading my emails carefully or remembering lots of things at once (or walking with gum in my mouth, to be honest), so the idea that the fate of my team rests on me is pretty tough.  And as I said, I'm not really sure what's required of me.  To my knowledge, no leadership meetings have been scheduled.  No directives have been given.  My only saving grace is my team, a group of wonderfully competent and contributing members who are willing to share the load and responsibility for getting things done.  Also, perhaps just as important, they are my friends.

All this to say, the last couple of weeks have been a struggle on top of a struggle.  Sadness and stress.  Maybe there's consonance with those two words for a reason.

Similar to my stress ignorance, I'd mistakenly thought that I'd finally kicked the heavy sadness.  You know, moved on and whatever.  Sure, my dating life was falling off, but I was okay with it.  It was a choice.  I was giving myself time.  I needed time.

And then I watched a romantic comedy about a guy who lets a girl go and then immediately regrets it, and I found myself sobbing at the happiest moment in the movie (not happy crying, mind you), and I knew that I needed even more time than I'd thought.

I finally let down the guy I'd had a drink with the weekend before work started (we'll call him Mickey because he had a surprisingly good Mickey Mouse impression).  We'd been texting back and forth for a week or so--him with excitement, me barely responding--and with the waterworks, I knew I had to let him down easy.  I thought maybe he'd get bored and move on already, but it seemed honesty was required to give my phone some peace.

Me: Mickey, I'm really sorry, but I'm going to have to bow out for a while.  I was in a relationship not that long ago, and I got on Tinder because it had been weeks and I thought I was over it.  But then I unexpectedly broke into tears during a romantic comedy Saturday night, so I'm going to guess that I'm not actually over it.  And I'm pretty bad at the whole Fake It Till You Make It thing.  So, I don't want to waste your time or lead you on or anything like that.  I think I need some more time on my own before I'm ready to start dating again.  You are really wonderful, and I really enjoyed our drink last weekend, and as such, I think you deserve to spend time with someone whose heart is in it.  Please forgive me.

Maybe a little over-dramatic, but it did the trick.

Him: That kind of sucks.  I was actually looking forward to seeing you again.  Ha, it's no big deal, no need to be sorry.  You can't help how you feel.  If you change your mind, let me know, even if you want to hang out as a distraction.  Ha.

And then there was one.

Actually, technically, it's probably not even fair to say that one man remains in my dating sphere.  He should probably only count as half, since we've never met.  He invited me to get a snowball with him last Sunday afternoon, and then texted me that he was sick.  I wished him well, and then when he didn't text for a few days, I wrote him off, assuming that he wasn't actually sick, but instead, trying to get out of it.  I mean, who gets sick in August?  But then, out of the blue, he texted me on Thursday, asking how my week was going.  So I said "Okay," and then came out with it:

Me: I'm not gonna lie, I was pretty convinced that you made up an illness because you had second thoughts about this snowball.

Him: I don't have second thoughts, Rebekah.

Well, shit.

I had nothing to say in response.  Had the comment been made in person, I think I would've just stared at him awkwardly for a few seconds, jaw ajar, just like they do in cartoons.  Needless to say, it was a bold statement, and I was not a little uncomfortable with my slow response and lack of witty retort.  Minutes later, I finally just texted him something dumb like Haha, wow.  Because what to do you say to that?

Despite his apparent lack of regret, he has yet to ask me out again, and I foresee this conversation going one of two ways: (1) He gets bored and stops texting, (2) I get bored and write a long, drawn out note about my current situation that doesn't actually reflect the fact that I'm just not that into him.  I mean, in this particular case, I'm fairly intrigued.  But intrigue only lasts so long.

And so, I will begin the school year in the way that I have begun almost every school year in the past: single and nervous.

But as sad as that sounds, I'm making a conscious effort to look on the bright side of things these days (as it doesn't come naturally when I'm stressed), to see things for the blessings that they are.

For example, Sunday evening, I got into my car after volleyball training and drove a quarter of a mile before horrendous metal-grinding sounds started near the front passenger side.  I was stranded in an ever-darkening neighborhood in a fairly distant suburb in sweaty clothing, waiting for a tow truck to show up and take me back to my neck of the woods.  The next day, the auto shop we dropped it off at called to say that they looked over the whole car and drove it around for a while, and they didn't hear a thing.  Apparently, it had fixed itself.

That whole venture cost me about a hundred bucks.  And multiple hours of time.  But I keep trying to tell myself: it could've been so much worse.  I could've been stuck without a book in the car.  It could have been the first day of school the next day.  I could be dishing out thousands of dollars right now.  Instead, I got away with a $110 check and a quality hour of reading on a non-school night.

The worst part of the whole thing was that just before the sounds started, I was listening to something on the radio about Katrina.  And thinking about how I learned to drive my car (stick shift) in the wasteland that was Gentilly in 2006.  And then thinking about how that means that I've had my car for almost nine years.  And then thinking about how well it still drives.

I should've gotten wood interior, so I'd have something to knock on.

This morning, I woke up content: I'd just gotten twelve hours of solid sleep, and I had no plans for the day other than volleyball with my friends.  I had no boyfriend to consider, no relationship troubles to grapple with.  In that moment, I was happy to be single.  Sure, I'm nervous it'll last, or that I'll end up finding the right guy past my childbearing years, but as I opened my eyes and checked the clock, I surprised myself by how grateful I was to be on my own.  To make my own choices, to use my time however I want.  This is the bright side of being single, right?  Also, the flirting with three guys at once in a bar when you're a couple of Makers deep, knowing your friends will drive you home (thanks, last Saturday night).  But mostly the independence.

And so, I embark on the day, well-rested and ready for a little romp in the sun.  Something to get my blood pumping.  Something to ease my mind.  Something to start the day right.

Any Day Now

The date Friday didn't go so great.  Not to say that it wasn't enjoyable.  It was.  It was just enjoyable in the way that spending time with your brother is enjoyable.  We got drinks to-go and walked up and down Magazine street, talking about comedians and psychology.  Lots of laughs, unstilted conversation, no chemistry.

I went on another date this past Monday with a different guy.  He was tall and in pretty good shape.  He made me laugh.  He knew about interesting things, and we had no trouble talking.  But as lovely as he was, and as much as he liked me, and as good of a time as I had, I just couldn't get into it.  We still text, but I have to force myself to participate.

Tonight, I "broke up" with a Tinder pen pal, a guy that I've been talking to over text for the better part of the last week.  He's clever.  And funny.  Ambitious.  All things that I like.  But I found myself annoyed by him, by small and significant things alike.  The arguments he made ("it's hard to get ahead as a white male") and the words he chose to use (jokingly calling me "sweetheart" once) and the frequent use of the abbreviation "lol" (he can't possibly laugh out loud that much).  Upon his semi-serious suggestion that we wouldn't like each other in person anyway, I told him that we should probably just stop talking and save ourselves the effort, then.  Hours of conversation, and not the slightest hesitation at getting him out of my hair.  If I didn't like him, why'd I invest at all?

I suppose all of this points to the grand likelihood that I'm just not ready to date again, not yet.

It's kind of a shame.  After J and I broke up, jumping back into dating was fun and exciting.  I was ready to meet new people and find someone that I really liked.

These days, I just miss B, and I take it out on all the guys I meet.

It's not fair, really.  To anybody.  But that's the way it is.

On the bright side, I returned to work this week, and as such, I have renewed purpose and things to keep me busy.  And wonderful colleagues that make working a significantly more palatable experience.

It's been exhausting, though.  After two months of laying on my living room floor reading books, my body is having trouble adjusting to 8-10 hour work days.    I came home yesterday completely beat, to the point that I nearly fell into bed and gave up on the night.  I worked ten hours today, mostly walking around and moving things, and the feeling is approximately the same as I sit here and type.  I was supposed to get a snowball with a guy tonight, but it fell through, and it's probably for the best (see prior note about current bitchiness toward men).

Somehow, despite the short time before school officially begins (approx. 4 days), I have been surprisingly calm.  I mean, there's stress.  Don't get me wrong.  There's always stress.  But considering the fact that we changed discipline plans yesterday, and that I walked into my room this morning to find everything in one large heap against a wall, I'd say that I'm doing alright.  I've still got a crazy large amount to do, but my classroom setup is nearly finished, and I've got a general plan for the first week of school.  Maybe the eighth year of teaching is when I finally know what I'm doing?  Maybe I won't have to work on Saturday?

Don't worry, I'm not getting my hopes up.


Sorry to keep the post short tonight, but the bed is calling my name, and I need a few minutes to relax away from a computer screen before I attempt to relinquish consciousness.  Tomorrow brings plenty of things to do, a night of fun with co-workers, and the prospect of a couple of days that nearly resemble a weekend.  Bring it on.

Where It All Started

A year and a half ago (exactly actually, in February 2014), I gave up on the men I'd been meeting at kickball, volleyball, improv, church group (you get the idea), and I signed up for an online dating site...with grand hesitation and a not-insignificant dose of shame.  I recognize that, in theory, there's nothing to be ashamed about, but I'd always assumed that online dating was a last-ditch effort, and I wasn't quite sure I was ready to admit to myself that I was at last-ditch.  Or to admit to the rest of the world that I was there.  I'm still a little hesitant about it.

Technically, I signed up for two sites: Match and EHarmony.  I didn't really know much about either of them, but I'd seen advertisements and knew people who used them.  Signing up for both turned out to be an intricate and studied affair.  What information do I divulge?  What do I wait to share later?  What the hell am I supposed to write in that tiny "in your own words" box?  (Why am I paying to be so confused?)

EHarmony turned out to be a bust.  It was far too directed for my taste.  You got something like three matches a day.  Or maybe a week?  I can't remember.  And then you could send them questions, and they'd send you questions, and on and on until you could finally actually talk to each other.  (Well, via email.)

But I don't think I ever emailed a single person on EHarmony.  Most of the men were not attractive to me.  The others were far too conservative/liberal for me.  The others didn't reply to my questions.  I still see some of these people on the street during Mardi Gras and festivals, and it's SUPER weird.  I usually pretend to be highly engaged in something on my phone, just in case they recognize me, too.  No matter that phones don't actually work during Mardi Gras.

Match.com is a different story.  While you also get periodic matches, email is the first step.  You also have the possibility of doing your own search of men in the area.  I don't know how to describe the self-search to you...it's like one day you're stuck in a drought, and then the next day there's a flood.  At first, you're so incredibly excited that there's rain.  You won't have a dirt patch for a yard anymore!  Long luxurious showers are in your future!  But then it keeps raining and raining and raining, and now you have a mud pit for a yard, and the government says you should still keep your showers to five minutes.

The punch line of that metaphor is that while there were lots and lots of men signed up for match, it didn't amount to much.  There were very few men interested in talking to me and vice versa.  It turns out that dating websites like these bring out the most judgmental and picky in you.

Oh no, he's in the "security" business...

He works part-time?  At the age of 32?

Star Trek quote?  No thanks.

Anyway, the point is, within all of this hubbub, I found myself having trouble initiating and sustaining email conversations, and then translating them into real-life interaction.  I think I went on a total of something like 3 first dates despite being on Match for multiple months, and of those dates, only one led to a second date.

At the time, I was writing a small blog about it.  The blog only ended up having a few posts despite the four months it went on, but as I said, I was kind of shy about my online dating ventures, so I only shared it with a small group of friends.  There's something to be said for having a larger audience, though, so please know that the old blog post that I'm going to share with you here has been slightly edited.  Because my writing in that old blog was pretty bleh, and I'm not big on sharing things I'm not proud of with people I don't know extraordinarily well.  Well, in terms of quality of writing.  You know what I mean.

This particular post is from March 2014, after I'd been on Match for about a month, and it's about the plight of the Match-subscriber's inbox.  Enjoy.



_________________________________________________

Unrequited Email

I’m not a great flirt.  I tend to over-think situations and people, and my fight or flight response tends to result in flight on most occasions.

“You mean, guys don’t just try to come up and kiss you?” a friend of mine asked once, after an interesting New Year’s Eve party across the lake.

No, in fact, they don’t.  I would imagine that most women probably don’t have that problem.  I can’t help but notice, though, that even with a healthy dose of alcohol, how often my flirting goes unrecognized.

I was reading a Thought Catalog article online this morning called “Six Things Every Extrovert Secretly Has To Deal With,” a response to all the “being an introvert is hard” articles that have circulated the world wide web over the last few months.  The first thing on this woman’s list was “People will often assume that you’re flirting.”

Except that they don’t.  At least not in my case.

I don’t think anyone has ever had a normal conversation with me and thought, “I think she’s flirting with me!” when I wasn’t.  Sometimes I myself question if I’m actually flirting.  When I offered the guy at the Mardi Gras parade a few Cheetos, did he get that I was trying to talk to him?

This lack of smooth-tongued charm unfortunately shows up in my online dating emails, too.  When I first joined, I signed up for two different websites, so I could compare them and then get a refund on whichever one I liked least.  One of the things I liked/was overwhelmed by about match was the expanse of profiles to read and choose from.  One of the things I liked about eHarmony was the fact that there was a standard question-response procedure that you followed before actually freestyling it via email.  In other words, I could delay exposing my ineptitude at flirtatious banter for at least a week.

I use the term freestyle because I feel very much the same way starting a Match email as I would standing on a stage with a microphone in my hand, trying to come up with rhyming lines that make sense.

Hey, my name is such-and-such.

Do you prefer to pay or go Dutch?

Yeah, it’s that bad.

Some people have a knack for these kind of emails.  I received one a couple of weeks ago that I was so impressed with, I used it as a model to write an email to someone else.

“Hi, 

I am not entirely sure what the first step is because this is my first day on match, but I wanted to say hello and introduce myself, and maybe ask a few questions like: What's your name? What made you become a teacher and what do you teach? And what do you like most about New Orleans? 

Aside from the fact that you were on the first page of my first search, I really like your smile (that's definitely something I really appreciate), and I am a native North Carolinian so the Wright brothers reference was noted and appreciated. 

Hope you had a good weekend!”

Of course, I never got a response to the email I sent out based on this one, so maybe it wasn't so great after all.

If you’re wondering what the Wright brothers reference was, there’s a spot on a match.com profile where you’re supposed to write a quick something with less than 140 characters that sums up who you are or what you’re looking for.  You’re not allowed to leave it blank, or it just says “hi,” which mine did for a while until I tried to find something that made me sound less boring and lazy.  I sat in front of my computer for a long time, brainstorming, writing and deleting, trying desperately to think of something witty I could put into the box that would express my personality clearly and accurately.

After about 20 minutes of nothing, I finally thought I’d go the funny route and use a pick up line.  I googled “clean pick up lines” and scrolled through to find something I thought was just the right balance of cheesy and clever.  I settled on:

“Did you invent the airplane?  Because you seem Wright for me.”

I eventually took down the pick up line because I realized that (a) it makes me sound pathetic and (b) it’s really not that funny.  Instead, I replaced it with something I actually believe in that doesn’t leave me feeling embarrassed or unsatisfied:

“Most things are better shared.”

I imagine this was the inspiration for the email I received last night.  The email in its entirety said:

“happiness is the only thing that doubles when it is shared 0_O”

While I appreciated the sweet notion of sharing happiness, I’m not sure what this guy was trying to accomplish by sending it.  I mean, what am I supposed to say to that?

My reaction was probably the opposite of what he was intending.  I immediately felt challenged to come up with as many things that multiply when shared as I could: candle light, tax deductions, awkward silence.  See, not just happiness.

This is probably why I’m single.

So, I've compiled for you a list of things that I believe to be better shared.  It is not in any way comprehensive, but simply a small representation of myself and the things I like to share.

TELEVISION

There are only two things I will consistently watch on television by myself: Saints games and Hallmark movies.  Everything else loses my interest at some point.  Even my favorite show of all time, The Office.  They all end up unwatched because TV just loses its flavor when I’m on my own.

ICE CREAM

I don’t eat ice cream by myself.  I’m not even sure I like ice cream that much.  But it tastes pretty good with others around.

CROSSWORD PUZZLES

I have tried for years to get into the habit and skill of doing a daily crossword puzzle, but I only ever end up doing them on Sunday with my mom.  (Also, I'm not good enough to complete them on my own.)

COMPUTER OR VIDEO GAMES

I should preface this particular entry to the list with the confession that I am terrible at video and computer games.  Even when playing with other people, I have a tendency to forget which character in the game I am, and then accidentally run off the side of a floating island because I thought I was the girl in pink not the green giant.  Still, that's more fun to me than playing Oregon Trail by myself.

ROAD TRIPS

As I’ve said before, I really like traveling alone.  And in the case of road trips, that works out well because like my father, I tend to drive until I run out of gas, at which point I use the restroom and grab a snack and then drive some more.

Driving with someone, though, especially someone you’re close with, means someone to play car games and sing at the top of your lungs with.  Time passes more quickly when there’s someone else there.

ALCOHOL

Why get a Daiquiri for ten bucks when you can get an ICEE for only two?  Because there’s someone else next to you who will also walk a little less straight and talk a little too loud when they finish it.

TAXES

Like I said before, the IRS rewards you for being married.  Maybe I should include that on my profile.  It is almost April, after all.

Despite all of the musings the email prompted, Mr Happiness-doubles is still unlikely to get a response.  Mostly because I’m not interested in a 47 year old man in Mississippi, but also because even if I was interested, I wouldn’t know how to respond.  Um, yes, thank you?

Feeling a little put out by the email situation, I decided to try my wares in real time for a change, at a Mardi Gras parade near my house this past weekend.  There were multiple men nearby that I noticed or that took notice of me, so I gave them my best flirt.

GUY #1: 'You Didn’t Look Like This When I Lived Here'

He lives out of town but he used to live in New Orleans and be part of our friend group.  He apologized more than once for not recognizing me.  “You look different, though” he says.  I still can't figure out whether or not to take this as a compliment.

This particular brand of man is excellent at persistence, but not so good at knowing what should and should not be shared.  The first time I met him, at a party a few years ago, I showed some interest.  That is, until he told me that he set fire to his room once when he threw away a lit joint.

At the parade, he laid it on thick, and I was having a hard time finding a civil escape route from the conversation.  I eventually claimed to need to call someone (which was true) and stepped away to do so.  Post-call, I stepped back into a different part of the crowd, avoided eye contact, and immediately struck up a conversation with someone else.

GUY #2: I Have No Gay-dar

He offered to lift up his shirt when the floats passed, so I could get beads without losing any dignity.  We would make a great team, he says.  I thought, Surely this is what flirting is.  Then my gay friend started chatting him up and comparing notes on gay bars in the Quarter.  I give up.

GUYS #3 and 4: Looking to Get Some

They showed up in our area when the parade started.  I’m pretty sure one of them started the conversation with me, but they were at least moderately attractive, and at this point, I was just hoping to get attention from someone who was straight and didn’t set fires while stoned.  We talked for a while about work, college, and our neighborhood.  At one point, Guy #3 caught a Saints hat, which I professed jealousy over.  He put it sideways on my head and Guy #4 pulled out a strand of hair from my forehead to hang outside the cap.  “There,” he said, “now you look like a 90s kid.”  We discussed being born in 1985 and how that was the best year (but really, was it?).  At the end of the parade, they asked me if I was planning on going downtown later.

“Nope, I’m planning to go to bed after this.”

This is definitely why I'm single.

I don’t like not returning attention given to me.  It actually makes me feel really uncomfortable to put up a wall when someone’s talking to me or leave all of those emails in my match.com inbox unanswered.  Not so much because I have trouble saying no.  I just know that it really sucks to put yourself out there and get rejected, or worse, get ignored.

Aziz Ansari talks about this on a Jimmy Fallon Late Night clip I saw recently when trying out “YouTubing” the other day (not my thing).

“Aziz:

[Technology] I think has changed everything.  Like, take your most basic problem as a single person, right.  You like someone, they don’t like you back.  Or the reverse, someone likes you, you don’t like them back.  At one point, that’d be kind of an awkward situation.  You’d have a conversation.  It’s weird, you know.  Now what do you do?  Someone likes you, you don’t like them back, you just pretend to be busy...forever.  Why risk hurting someone’s feeling when you can create an alternative reality where scheduling is the problem?

But I don’t think that’s coming from a bad place or anything.  I think you don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings.  I don’t know what the answer is.  The other option is just to like be honest with people.  Like, I talked to a girl, and she was like, ‘Oh, I’m just honest with people.’  I was like, ‘Alright, I’m a guy asking you out to dinner, you don’t want to go, what would you say?’  She said, ‘I would say, “I’m not interested in getting dinner with you.”’  And on one hand, that’s no games, you know where you stand.  But could you imagine actually getting a text like that?

Hey, you want to get dinner sometime?

I’m not interested in getting dinner with you.

Damn, what are you, a demon?  That’s the meanest, cruelest thing anyone’s ever said.  Why don’t you pretend to be busy, you piece of sh**?  I’m just a fellow human being.

Silence is another option.  Silence, I think, might be the meanest one.  I don’t do silence ‘cause, I don’t know, we’ve all been silenced before in some fashion.  That’s the worst one, especially when you’re really excited about someone.  You’re like, ‘Oh man, this is on.  They felt that, I felt that.  This is done.’  Send the first text all confident.  ‘It’s done, forget about it.  It’s done.’  Three hours later, no response.  ‘F****************ck!  I put too many exclamation points in the text!  What was I thinking?  Noooooooo!’  And then three hours earlier, you were looking up vacation packages on Orbitz.”

I love this segment.  My problem is, compassionate or not, I can’t pull the “I’m busy” card because I’m on an online dating site.  And people can see the last time I logged in.

On the flip side, silence is what I have received in response to every single initiating email I’ve sent on match.  I should temper that statement with the admission that I have only actually sent out four or five emails, and that I sent two of those today.

Today's Email 1:

“I think the thing I appreciated most about your profile was your honesty about getting onto match.  I was (am) pretty hesitant myself, and it’s nice to know I’m not the only one unsure about the whole venture.  I meet a lot of really great people on a regular basis who turn out to be great friends but not great romantic potential.  When did dating get to be so hard?

You seem like a fun and fairly down to Earth kind of guy, which is a lot harder to think than you might think.  What’s one thing you wish you could do, but can’t?

ps. Personally, I wish I could do a split.  Or juggle abnormally-shaped objects, like Martini glasses (wouldn’t that be an awesome party trick?).  Or break dance.”

Yep...I wrote “harder to think than you might think."  What is wrong with me?  Maybe if I’d actually proofread my email instead of wondering whether using words like “abnormal” and “venture” would put him off or impress him, I might have a better shot at a response.

Today's Email 2:

“Hi,

It’s nice to find people who are also interested in trying new things and meeting new people.  Summer travel is usually my outlet for exploring new places and making new connections across the globe, but it’s amazing the new people and places I find right here in New Orleans.

If you don’t mind me asking, what’s one place in the world you’ve really loved visiting (here in the States or abroad)?”

And it’s at these moments when Aziz’s message resonates most deeply with me.  There aren’t a lot of guys that I find attractive on this website.  There aren’t a lot of people that I don’t immediately count out for whatever reason.  So, when I find someone stunning handsome, stable, and interesting (like bachelor #2), I find myself desperately trying not to get my hopes up that he’ll respond positively.  Because he might not.  Because chances are that every other girl on this website is emailing him, and they’ve probably figured out how to sound both intelligent and exciting in a brief email, unlike me.  Because I still can’t find a way to make my profile sound remotely as interesting as I am.

Yesterday, someone asked me, “You play the piano, too?  You're really pretty, why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

If I knew the answer to that one, this would be a totally different kind of blog.

__________________________________________________




I really wish that I could find the email that I received at one point, in which the man wrote that he wanted us to be like that John Legend song, "All of Me."  The man was seventy.  And that is a terrible song.

I apologize for the length of this post--a little longer than I usually give--but I like reading over it and thinking about the differences between myself then and now.  I'm a lot more confident now.  I'm a lot more willing to initiate now.  I'm slightly better at flirting now.  I like to think that my writing has gotten better, too.  Practice makes perfect and all that.

Also, perhaps with the aid of a far more palatable dating app, I'm a lot better about getting responses. For example, I have a date on Friday.  I'm not putting a lot of stock into it (okay, I'm lying, he's really attractive), but I'm looking forward to getting back into the game.  I'll let you know how it goes.

Me, Not B, and Tennessee

Last week was rough.  There is no way to get around it.  There is no overwhelming "bright side" to those 7 days.  They sucked, and I felt it.

B broke up with me on Saturday.  To be honest, it still doesn't make sense.  He sent me kissy faces one day and let me go the next.

On Sunday, I sobbed in front of strangers.

On Tuesday, after losing a volleyball game, I sobbed in front of a different set of strangers.  Who must've thought I took the game really hard.  I couldn't have cared less about it.

Thursday morning, I snoozed twice and then dropped my phone at just the right angle so that the screen cracked despite being in its (albeit broken) case.  I spent hours researching how to fix it.  I found out it would cost almost as much as what I originally paid for the phone.  My screen is still cracked.

Thursday night, I managed to do something wicked to my body that resulted in me not being able to lift or turn my right arm without enduring a biting pain in my shoulder.  This pain just stopped yesterday.

Friday was meant to be the beginning of something different.  Better.  I could feel it.  I desperately wanted things to be better.

I figured I'd head off potential problems before they happened.  That's a good idea, right?  So with an eight hour car ride ahead, I stopped by the dealership to have them double-check my AC, which had gone out earlier this summer, as well as anything else that might cause a problem.  They didn't even bother taking it into the shop.  "I can tell you right now that the AC is fine," the guy said.  "I don't want to charge you $99 to tell you that in an hour."  Don't argue with a professional, I thought.

So I picked up my friend J and we started our grand adventure, making it all the way to Picayune, Mississippi (about an hour) before the car starting shaking.  "Is that the car next to us or our car?" I asked J, who doesn't drive and therefore didn't have any idea.  I pulled over to the side of the road and got out to find that my back left tire had blown out.  And not just leaking air.  Completely dead.  Because of course.

I changed the tire, and then drove to the nearest Walmart, where I parked to have a technician look at it.  There, he explained to me the concept of dry rot and preceded to tell me how old all of my tires are before breaking the bad news.  I needed four new tires.

[I feel at this point that I should clarify that I am not a neglectful car owner.  My oldest tire--the one that blew out--was from 2007.  I bought my car in December 2006.  I have brought my car to the dealership at least once every two years for maintenance and upkeep.  At no point has someone told me that I needed all new tires, and being wholly unfamiliar with auto repair and maintenance, I never worried about it.  This being said, you can understand why I will likely never take my car to the regular dealership ever again.]

The technician told me the cost.  I cringed.  And somewhere in the course of our conversation, I told him about my week of mishaps.

"You know," he said, "they say misfortune comes in threes."

I thought about it for a second.  Boyfriend.  Phone.  Shoulder.  Tires (4 of them).  It seemed like I was already up to somewhere between 4 and 7 strikes by this point.

Naturally, J and I turned this into a game.  We kept a running count of strikes from the week, allowing for deductions if something very good happened.

Strike 1. Boyfriend defects

Strike 2. Phone screen breaks

Strike 3. Right shoulder does not function properly.  Makes driving stick for 8 hours very hard.

Strike 4. Tire blows out.  Takes longer to replace it than necessary because bottle jack purchased for such an occasion is 0.25 inches too tall to fit under the car.  Nasty stuff on my hands.  J takes a picture of this momentously unfortunate occasion and sends it to our friend.  Misery loves company.

Strike 5. Must replace all four tires.

Strike 6. Must spend an hour inside of Walmart carrying a heavy bag of perishable food and an iPad while trying to entertain self and J with various merchandise we will not actually purchase.  (Card aisle was especially helpful in passing the time.)  Will arrive at destination at least an hour later than expected.

-1 [Strike 5]. After getting back on the road, rain falls briefly and then a rainbow appears in the distance.  Later, another rainbow appears to our right side in a full arc.  A second rainbow then appears beside it ("DOUBLE RAINBOW!!!!").  A third rainbow appears on the interstate median while several rainbows appear in the mist following the cars ahead of us.  There are rainbows everywhere.  We get really excited about the rainbows and shout a lot.

Strike 6. Run into traffic.  Google Maps says this traffic will add an hour and sixteen minutes to our commute.

-1 [Strike 5].  Google is wrong.  Traffic lasts only 5 minutes.  Never been so glad for Google to be wrong.

Strike 6.  Google Maps says "25 more minutes."  The clock says "8: 13."  Google Maps says "You will arrive at your destination at 9:38pm."  Forgotten time zone change ruins previously happy moment.

-1 [Strike 5].  Hotel is awesome.  Room has a kitchenette, living room, bedroom with double beds, and a bathroom.  All nice, clean, and unexpectedly spacious.

-1 [Strike 4].  Front desk person suggests a nearby burger place called Urban Stack.  Google reviews gives it more than 4 stars.  Restaurant is only 4 blocks away.  Burgers are AMAZING.  We ask if they will open one in New Orleans.


After our burgers, we stopped counting strikes.  There was no point--we would've ended up in the negatives.  It was great to see my friends who lived in Chattanooga and their families and their beautiful one-month-old baby.  It was fun to drive up and down mountains. even if J almost had a heart attack every time we did.  It was neat to ride a rented bike to church Sunday morning, even if the priest spoke more like a Shakespearean actor than a real person.  It was exciting to hike the side of Lookout Mountain, even though it was midday, I forgot my hiking shoes in the car, and we accidentally climbed hundreds of rock steps to a parking lot that wasn't the one I parked in.  It was relaxing to eat and chat with friends on a deck outside a mountain cabin, and to take long naps between meals.  Walking across the river on a pedestrian bridge, eating ice cream, following the riverfront trail, basking in the 60-degree weather of Ruby Falls' cave.  It was all exactly what I needed.

I won't lie to you.  I thought about B.  I thought mostly about how much he would've loved the trip and the city.  So many things to do outdoors.  So many good burgers and barbecue and ice cream.  Midday naps.  Mountains.  Rivers.  Caves.  I could see him living there.

I felt sorry for him, that he paid for the experience but missed it.  And I felt sorry for us, for the shared experiences we missed.

The drive back was harder.  J and I were tired and had trouble finding things to talk about.  We both just wanted to be out of the car.  And I didn't realize until later, but as much as I wanted to be out of the car, I didn't want to be home.  Home is where B lives.  Home is where I'm sad.

When I got home, I let myself read old text messages between us and wonder if he was reading them, too.  I wondered how long before I'd be normal and dating again.  I wondered, if he showed up at my door, what I'd say.  I wondered how long it'd take to fix what was broken, if there was any way to fix it.  I fell asleep at 9:30, so I would stop wondering.

This morning, I slept late, waking up only for the locksmith (oh yeah, strike number whatever: my handle lock hasn't worked for at least a week) and to order a large pepperoni pizza for myself.  The kind that B and I used to get.

Work starts a week from tomorrow.  I'm trying not to think about it.  As much as I love my job, it comes with plenty of stress and responsibility and frustration.  Things I'd been relieved of for most of the summer.

On the bright side, I've got one last trip planned: beach with the family.  There'll be airbnb people at my house (so don't bother, robbers who somehow got my blog password).  More importantly, there'll be two babies at the beach whose smiles and games never cease to make me happy.  -1 strike.

Dumped, Stage 4

It's going to get harder before it gets easier.

Yesterday wasn't bad.  I did wake up full clothed from the day before.  I did wander my house aimlessly at some points.  I did smell terrible and choose not to shower.  But I didn't cry.  At least I didn't cry.

This morning, not so much.

I have only been awake for two hours today, and already I want to go back to sleep.  I got up early to go for my usual morning walk (before it gets too hot) but immediately lost motivation.  Well, not immediately, exactly.

B and I were supposed to go to Tennessee this coming weekend, and when I made plans for the trip, I made the reservation non-refundable because it was cheaper and I thought why in the world would we need to cancel the trip?  I'm afraid to say that B has confirmed one of my worst-held relationship fears: that good things can't last.

When we broke up (ahem, when he broke up with me), he offered to pay for the hotel even though he wouldn't be coming.  To which I said, "I don't want your money!"  And then everyone I talked to was like, "Take that bastard's money."  So then I texted him later and said, "I don't want all the money!"  To which my friends said, "He deserves to pay."  So then I texted him and said, "If you pay for it, I won't refuse."

He promised to get me the money by today, and sure enough, I woke up at 6:45 this morning to my alarm and a text message from him telling me to check our agreed-upon drop spot (under a mat) because it was cash.  I went there immediately and found an unmarked envelope with cash in it.  80%.  He'd paid for 80%.  I'm still wondering if that's a metaphor.

On the one hand, I'm glad he didn't pay the whole thing.  I've never been one to mooch (unless it's off my parents and it's food), and making him pay for a trip he wouldn't have any part in seemed wrong.

On the other hand, he had every opportunity to tell me how he felt BEFORE I reserved the hotel.  And he chose instead to be a coward.

I'm trying to be the bigger person here, though.  So instead of texting him obscenities or punching him in the face, both of which I'd love to do, I put a note under the mat yesterday that I knew he would see when he dropped off the money.  It said:

I just wish you'd told me sooner.

                         Take care,
                            R


Because the truth is that I'm just really sad.  My anger isn't justified.  Not really.  He finally told me how he felt, and it kept me from being in a one-sided relationship.  It kept me from wasting my time.  The anger is just an attempt at sanity.  An attempt to feel something other than sadness.  An attempt to vilify the other just to avoid having to be alone with myself.

As an educator, I've taught many students whose parents were either divorced or in the process of divorcing.  And sometimes those parents hate each other so much that they refuse to speak to one another.  They schedule separate parent-teacher conferences, and they request copies of things to be sent to each home so that they don't have to get the information from their former spouse.  As someone who hasn't been divorced, but only dumped after three months of dating, I'm not privy to the feelings that these people face in their daily lives.  I won't pretend that I do.  I hope I never do.  I can only say that this experience has left me wondering if maybe divorcees hate each other not so much because the other person is actually worth hating, but rather because they're angry that they couldn't make it work.  They resent the other person for not trying hard enough.  Or for trying too hard.  And then that feeling just sticks.  Or maybe, like me, they're just angry because it helps them keep sadness at bay.  From wondering where they went wrong.

This morning, on my walk, I passed probably twenty people on the sidewalk, and each time we made eye contact and said hello, I smiled.  It was, of course, a fake smile each time because I feel about as far away from smiling as a normal, mentally-healthy person can be.  And they gave me a smile back.  Fake?  I don't know.  But it got me to thinking: what is going on in these people's lives?  Did that man that just passed me lose his father yesterday?  Did that woman that was standing near the museum just find out she's unexpectedly pregnant?  People go through terrible and difficult events in their lives all the time, but they still wake up and endure the heat because they have to.  Because the only thing worse than being sad is not living at all.

Yesterday, I looked up the stages of grief in an attempt to better understand where I'm at in my healing process.  I recognize that this is both very nerdy and overly rational of me, but I'm an intellectual person, and I needed something to distract me from what I was feeling for just a few seconds.  Please, just a few seconds of peace.

It turns out that psychologists generally recognize five stages of grief.  They are:
1. Denial/isolation
2. Anger
3. Bargaining
4. Depression
5. Acceptance

As I read over the descriptions for the first three stages last night, I thought to myself: Yes, I've felt these.  I've been sad.  I've been angry.  I've wondered what we could've done differently to avoid breaking up.  But as I read, I wondered if I'd bypassed depression.  If I was already on my way to acceptance.  I'd chosen the zen path: write, be strong, don't hate.  I'd accepted that we were done, and while I knew that I needed some time to recover, I was sure I'd be back at the dating game again at some point.

I should've knocked on wood.

Depression set in this morning.  Cold, hard, debilitating depression.  As I put on my clothes, I realized that now that B had dropped off the money, I had no reason to talk to him.  Ever again.  I would never see him again.  I would never hold him again.  I would never stroke his five o'clock shadow again, or groan when he suggested a documentary.  He would never send me funny memes.  Or laugh at the ridiculous number of books I read.  Or tell me that my hair smells nice after I've just showered.  He would never hold my hand.  We'd never go see the movies we'd watched trailers for.  We would never do anything together again.

I always download a podcast or two for my morning walk, but it was a struggle this morning.  There was nothing I wanted to listen to.  No music or voices I wanted to hear.  I eventually settled on an interview with a comedian.  Maybe this will make me laugh.  Or at least not cry.

It was a struggle to get myself out of the house.  I didn't want to walk.  I didn't want to see people.  I didn't want to be awake.

It was a struggle to work out.  I did fifteen sit-ups, five reverse chin-ups, and twenty leg-lifts.  And then I just couldn't convince myself to do anymore.  I'd started working out this summer in part for him.  And he wasn't a part of the summer anymore.  What was the point?

I took the short way home.  I fake smiled at the people I passed.  I almost sat down multiple times just from the sheer weight of it all.  I wasn't sure I could make it home without stopping for a minute on a park bench or the steps of that church I always pass, just to cry.  Just to give in to the overwhelming numbness.

It's not even pain.  Pain doesn't describe stage 4.  It's this emptiness.  This desire not to be.  Not like Hamlet "not to be"--I am extremely grateful to be alive.  Not even a break up with the sexiest, most caring man in the world could change that.  But a desire to not to be, just temporarily.  Until things blow over.  Until it doesn't hurt to move.  To talk.  To buy groceries.  To watch TV.  To read a book.  Until everything doesn't remind me of him.

For the first time this summer, I wish I was at work.  Because it is 10am right now, and the only thing I have scheduled for today is a volleyball game at 7:30 tonight.  That's nine and half hours of nothing.  Nine and half hours, rather, of missing B.  Of wanting to be asleep.  Of sleeping.

I don't know when acceptance will come.  I can only hope that it's sooner rather than later.  Because stage 4 is a bitch.  And I'm tired of it already.

Dumped, Part Two

For almost every one of the last seven weeks, Sunday afternoons have been about me and B.  In early June, I switched my volleyball training schedule to complement his only day off, and more than once, I've rescheduled family dinner to accommodate activities with his friends.  I guess that right there says it all.  He mostly stayed the same; it's me that changed.  That wanted to change.

Today, my first full day post-break up, has not been my best.  Today, I bawled for an hour in front of a group of acquaintances and total strangers, most of whom had no idea why I was crying.  And I didn't enlighten them.  I didn't feel compelled to share my pain with them.  They could watch, but what could they do?  Say they're sorry?  Tell me that it's for the best?  Recount that time they got dumped and then met their dream guy/girl?  I wasn't up for stories.

Plus, I'm not a pretty crier.  Maybe it's vain, but I didn't want them to see my face.  This morning, I woke up with under-eye bags like double-chins and swelling to rival that time I learned the hard way that I'm allergic to acne meds.  I mean, I should've expected monster face, after a night like last night.  I cried before I went to sleep.  I cried as I was falling asleep.  I woke up periodically through the night and cried then, too.  And my face + tears = ugly.  Red, puffy ugly.  Somehow it still surprised me when I looked in the mirror this morning, though.

Normally, a puffy, red face would prompt me to hole up in my house and press cold spoons or tea bags to my eyes all day.  But I had church, and my choir needed me, and I think I needed to get out of the house, too.  I needed to do something other than sit on my bed, or sit at my parents' house and listen to my siblings fight over cookies (yes, the 17 and 22 year old siblings).  I also kept up my obligations because I didn't think it would be a big deal.  I thought that I'd gotten all the crying out.

But apparently sadness wasn't done with me yet.

I cried during most of mass.  I avoided eye contact with my choir mates because talking about it--openly acknowledging the pain with people who knew nothing of my personal life--was too hard.  I went through multiple wads of toilet paper.  My sweater is covered in spots where I wiped my eyes, or my nose.  I was a wreck, and I couldn't keep it together.

"Are you okay?" my choir director asked.  "Do you want to talk about it after mass?"

I shook my head.  I'd already talked about it.  I'd written about it.  I'd thought about it non-stop.  How would owning up to my misery change anything about my miserable state?

Eventually, I told her on my way out of church.  "I won't be here the next two weekends because I'll be out of town.  Also, my boyfriend broke up with me yesterday.  That's why this--" I gestured toward my face--"is the way it is."

I sobbed on the way home.  Even though I was angry--to the point that I may or may not have held up a certain finger when I drove past B's house (unfortunately on my regular route to pretty much anywhere)--the tears wouldn't stop.  I was sad.  It seemed that I would be sad for a while.

When I got home, I saw that a friend from college had emailed me.  It was a simple email ("sending you love!"), but an important one.  A much appreciated one.  I wrote back, "Thank you, friend.  It is what it is."  And she responded quickly, asking if I'd seen the TED talk by Brene Brown about vulnerability.  I had, but I watched it again.  In the talk, she quotes her therapist, who once told her, "It's neither good nor bad.  It just is what it is."

Later in the afternoon, friends texted to see if I wanted to go to a movie.  They needed something to do, and I'm sure they knew I needed something to do.  We decided on Trainwreck, the new Judd Apatow movie with Amy Schumer.

As you might imagine, I was a little worried about seeing a romantic comedy.  Watching people fall in love is not exactly on a newly-single person's list of top ten things to do.  But after watching that TED talk, I wanted to challenge myself to be more vulnerable.  I wanted to lean into my discomfort, in the hopes that something better would come out of it.  As I learned in another recent movie (ahem, Inside Out), sadness is a powerful and valuable emotion.  On top of all that, it was the only movie from a list of choices given to me that I hadn't already seen.

In the end, the jokes were raunchy, and the plot, fairly predictable.  But somehow this ridiculous, funny movie about a messed up girl and a boy who likes her also helped me realize/remember two very important things.  First, that my family and friends are incredibly wonderful, and I am ever grateful to be surrounded by people who love and support me in healthy ways.  Second, that there's really no point in me being with someone who's not excited to be with me, too.

In her talk, Brene Brown labels people who have positive relationships with themselves and others as "whole-hearted."  These are people who embrace vulnerability, who love when there's no guarantee, and who experience great joy and connection as a result.  It turns out that if you want to feel anything, you have to feel everything.  And as hurt as I am, and as angry as I am, I'm still glad the last three months happened.  I'm glad I was honest and authentic with B.  He may not have been sincere with me, but I was always sincere with him.  I didn't hide the way I felt.  And I'm proud of that.

On our last night before breaking up, we took a long drive to meet a friend of his, and on the way back, we were listening to a podcast interviewing some former professional athletes.  Normally, podcasts aren't my thing, but this one was interesting and at the very end, the host asked for recommendations from each of the athletes for the listeners.  Gabby Reece, a former volleyball player, suggested something that I really loved: I'll go first.  Instead of waiting for someone to smile at you in the grocery store, she said, or waiting for your partner to say "I love you" first, take the first step yourself.  Put aside anxiety and self-protection, and put yourself out there.  Be the first to reach out.

Oddly, Brene Brown said the same thing about the people she researched.  Whole-hearted people, she said, say "I love you" first.  Whole-hearted people, she said, believe that they are worthy of love and connection, even if it doesn't always work out.  Whole-hearted people, she said, believe firmly that they are enough.

In my inbox this morning, I got my weekly Barking Up the Wrong Tree email, that research-based blog that I love so much.  How can you attract more luck? it asked.  The recommendation was four-fold: by being optimistic, by taking advantage of opportunities, by trusting your intuition, and by looking for the bigger picture.

My gut says: this break up is a sure thing.  My optimism says: it's for the best.  The big picture says: this is just a blip on the radar.  Opportunity says: there's someone out there who will love you just as much as you'll love them.

But I'm not ready to jump back into things.  "Get a glass of wine, choose a Netflix show, and let yourself be sad," a friend said to me on the phone when I expressed that maybe I just needed a rebound.  And she's right.  It wouldn't be fair to the person I meet, and what if that rebound relationship lasts longer than I mean for it to?  What if I end up missing someone great because I've settled for a little emotional anesthetic to tide me over?  What if I end up missing myself?

Two years and ten months ago, I set up my first meeting with my therapist because I'd broken up with a guy that didn't feel the way about me that I'd felt about him.  Instead of focusing on that relationship, she chose to focus on me.  How I saw myself.  What I wanted for myself.  She helped me see that I was enough.  And now, almost three years later, I know that I need to remind myself again of that very important fact.   Because I am.

B may not have loved me, but I do.  And that's enough.

Another Break Up Story

Well, it's been kind of a shitty day.

It didn't start well, and it hasn't improved much since then, but it's also still not the end of the day, so who knows?  There's always a chance at redemption.

What happened? you ask.  Well, so many things.

First, I'm in pretty perceivable pain.  I messed up my back this morning playing volleyball, and now it hurts to move.  It hurts less when I lay down, but that's not exactly a long-term solution.  So, on top of enduring the pain until Monday, I've also got to pay $20 for a chiropractor appointment.  That might not seem like a lot of money, but when you're not getting paid and trying to cut back on expenses until the next check, unexpected co-pays aren't exactly a mood-lifter.

Neither is the snickers I just ate.  Advertisers lie.

The day started with a bad night of sleep.  I woke up in the middle of the night and then again multiple times, frustrated by my apparent inability to get comfortable and stay comfortable in a state of unconsciousness.

When I finally got up, I realized that I had no breakfast food in the house and needed to go get something to eat elsewhere.  As mentioned in a prior paragraph, I am attempting to spend less, and as such, I weighed my options for places to get food before volleyball.  Whole foods has better pastries.  Rouses has better prices.  An actual restaurant has better nutrition.  Not eating at all would be the cheapest.

In the end, I chose Rouses.  They were close, less expensive, and on the way to volleyball.  Unfortunately, they also have a terrible bakery department (at least bad croissant variety), so when what I really wanted was a chocolate croissant, I had to opt for regular (not that great) croissants and fake Nutella (way cheaper).  I should have gone to Whole Foods.

[As a side note, I also heard that you shouldn't buy Nutella because it's killing the rainforest or something.  I should read more carefully before I disseminate information like that, but it was something about palm oil shortages or...something.  Anyway, I bought the generic version hoping they're a little kinder to the earth.  Probably not.]

Anyway, then I went to volleyball, where I (first) played poorly because I haven't played in a week and was groggy and (then) played poorly because I messed up my back and had trouble moving.  Yay! Fun!

All of that could've been forgiven, though.  I could've given the day a pass for some tough luck, if it weren't for the thing that has really made the day shitty.

B and I have to have a talk.  Hopefully not a break-up talk--that would be way out of left field.  We're getting to a point in our relationship, though, where discussing nerdy things isn't enough, and we actually have to have serious conversations about ourselves and the way that we interact.

This shouldn't be scary.  This should be exciting, right?  A deepening relationship.  Investment.

But it's not.  It's super f'ing scary.  It's super f'ing scary because I'm really bad at this.  I'm really bad at vocalizing how I'm feeling because I spend most of the time trying to get up the courage to say something and the rest of the time trying to say something coherent with appropriate tone and body language.  A couple of days ago, I tried to tell him how much I like him, and I think instead I actually communicated that I thought he might cheat on me.  Which I don't actually think he would do.  And didn't want to say.

Epic fail does not begin to cover the way that went down.

So today we're apparently talking about something, and I'm terrified because who knows what he'll end up taking from all the incoherent mumbling and round-about speak that leaks out of my lips?  How terrified?  Well, I just spent almost two hours watching Drive Me Crazy (that 90s movie with Melissa Joan Hart about the guy next door) to avoid thinking about it.

Thank goodness I have therapy on Wednesday.  This session is gonna be a doozy.

Unfortunately, you can't run from something forever.  (Well, I mean, you could, but it's not exactly a recommended tactic.)  So, off I go.  Wish me luck.  Hopefully my Godzilla foot will stay well away from my mouth this time around.

[5 hours later]

Well, he broke up with me.  Like I said, straight out of left field.

I keep thinking that maybe I missed something, you know.  Maybe there were signs, and I missed them.  But, even though I'm only a few hours out, I don't think I did.  I mean, hell, I drove across the lake with him last night to meet an old friend of his.  If he was going to break up with me, why not spare me the introduction?

I guess--now that I don't care what the f*** he thinks about this blog--I can give more detail than I've allowed myself in the last two months.

The thing is, I must've had some idea it was going to be bad.  A couple of hours before we met up, he sent me a text message about him meeting up with his parents to have coffee and then this text: "I've been having a bad day.  I want to talk to you about something you said the other night."

When I showed up at his house after I finished writing the first part of this blog, we went through the usual "how was your day" spiel before he gave me a massage where my back was hurting.

It would have been a really sweet gesture, except that I was trying not to cry the whole time because I was so terrified of this conversation that we were about to have.

Finally, I sat back and said, "So, what did you want to talk about?"

I couldn't even look him in the eye.

"What do you think I want to talk about?" he asked.

"I don't know," I said.

"Do you think I'm as invested in this as you are?" he asked.

"I hope so.  But I don't know.  My perception of others' feelings has been wrong in the past."

He then proceeded to spend the better part of a half hour waffling and leaving sentences unfinished.  And I spent the better part of it letting quiet tears roll down my cheeks.  He eventually looked up and got me Kleenex.  I almost refused it; why did he seem so surprised that I was crying?  Did I really mean so little to him?

After he finished his spiel and there was a period of silence, I broke in.  "I'm confused," I said.  "I don't understand what you're trying to say."

He talked some more, but to sum it up for you, what he was too much of a coward to say was: "I'm just not that into you.  I think we should break up."  Instead, I had to say those words for him: "So, what I'm hearing is that you're not that into it."  You know how much it hurts to have to break up with yourself?

"So I suppose this means I'm going to Tennessee by myself, huh?" I asked.

"Don't think about that right now," he countered.

I think that's about the time I started to get mad.

"Don't think about it?" I asked, my volume rising.  "I spent $500 on a hotel, and it's non-refundable.  What am I supposed to do?  Sit in my room for 3 days and cry?"

He didn't answer.  Instead, he went on to say (again) that he didn't know what he was feeling, he was confused.  Either that "indescribable thing" wasn't there or he wasn't letting himself feel it.  "This might be a mistake." he said (um, hello? duh), "but I don't want to wait until 3 months to have this conversation."

"So, we're done, right?" I was furious that he wouldn't just say it.  Should I cut my own head out of that picture you have of us on your desk, too?

He didn't respond.

"In that case, I think I'll leave," I said.  And I got up, took my pillow from his room, and I went to leave.

"Wait," he said.  "Can I say one more thing?"

"Sure," I said, my voice tinged with anger and sarcasm.  I sat down next to him.

"I'm really sorry blah blah blah blah blah..." I can't even finish quoting him.  I was so mad by this point.  Even madder when his eyes started to get teary.

"That doesn't make me feel better," I told him point-blank when he finished talking.

"What will make you feel better?" he asked.

"Nothing," I answered.  "You just broke up with me.  It's going to hurt."

I stood up, and I walked out.

Actually, he called my name repeatedly, almost pleading with me.  "I don't want to leave it like this."

"How do you want to leave it?" I asked, from the bottom of his staircase, almost shouting.  "You just broke up with me.  You don't get to make yourself feel better.  I'm not going to feel better talking to you.  It's going to hurt, and then I'm going to be okay."

And then I actually walked out the door and proceeded to burst into tears.  I called a friend and went over to his house to talk about it and get a hug.  He and another friend let me talk and made me laugh.  My sister offered to beat him up and teepee his car (since it's going to rain tonight, she said, and it'll get gross).  My best friend called me and let me vent/cry.


And the thing is, what makes me angry, angrier even than the fact that he was too much of a coward to own up to his feelings earlier, angrier even that he didn't respect me enough to simply tell me he wanted to break up instead of forcing me to pull it out of him, what makes me angriest is that I loved him and I miss him and the person I really want to talk to right now is him.  That's what hurts the most.

So, I've been knocked back to start.  It's the first time I've ever been dumped (weird, I know), but I can now say with complete authority that while the surprise element and lack of control sucks, I don't have to feel guilty or second-guess my choice like I did when I broke up with guys in the past.  Because I didn't have a choice in the first place.




Before I hit "publish," I want to thank all of the people who made my day a little better by threatening to beat up B and calling him the mean names I couldn't bring myself to say.  Also, a big thanks to my friend/pseudo-brother J who's going to come to Tennessee with me to make sure I don't just cry in my room for three days straight.  You're the best.