Tag Archives: reflection

Playbook Pages {saying goodbye}

12 Sep

Thanks again for inviting me over last night. I’m really happy I got to see you. But I’ve been thinking that maybe we shouldn’t hang out anymore. I just have a lot on my mind right now and don’t really have enough time to dedicate to someone else. It’s just not fair to you. I’m trying to juggle too much, and unfortunately it’s affecting the way I act toward you. Maybe we can pick things up sometime down the road, but for now I think I’m just going through too much. I’m sorry.

I always keep a copy of this text as a draft in the notes section of my phone. You never know when you may have to get rid of someone. This was actually the text I sent to 30-Something a few hours after leaving his immaculate apartment for the last time. When I sent it to 30-something I truly meant everything I had typed. Now I am contemplating sending it to WorkCrush, and as I ponder, I realize the words are more true now than they even were before.

But am I really ready to get rid of WorkCrush? As a general rule, I tend to have the relationship attention span of a butterfly: I see something fun/great/sexy, enjoy myself, get bored and then happily flit away. Unfortunately, because of the reasons listed in the text {I’m busy; I’m tired; my stress-level has been sky-high}, I currently have the attention span of a hornet: I’m still attracted to similar things, but when I get bored instead of flitting away happily I get angry… and sting.

Right now I’m currently on a very bumpy roller-coaster with WorkCrush. One minute I really like him and want to kiss him atop his cute little shaved head, and then next I roll my eyes and want to run away because I find him so obnoxious. And please understand that when I say “one minute and then the next” I’m really talking minute-to-minute here. I feel like a legitimate crazy person because I can’t get my head clear about this. I’m bumbling around my love-life like a confused homeless person. Not cute.

Here’s a little of the inner dialogue for your reading pleasure: He’s a genuinely sweet person, so I should want to be with him, right? But sweet people shouldn’t have to put-up with bitchy, crazy people, right? But I deserve a nice guy too, right? But nice isn’t really worth it if it comes along with extreme annoyances, right? UGH. What to do… what to do… buzz buzz… buzz buzz.


This Morning {the morning after}

10 Aug

Well, my eyes look about as red and puffy as I thought they would. My hair looks a little better though… go figs.

I don’t know why he insists on torturing me, but I want him next to me so badly that I push the feeling that this is all fake back, far into my head. I’ll deal with that when his hand isn’t on my waist pulling me closer to him and I can’t feel his breath on my neck.

Ugh. Torture.

As I try to relax into the wall of his body, I try to ignore images and sounds flooding back from last night.
me: So, are you EVER going to kiss me?
him: {silence… I can’t look at him.} No.
me: Wow. Really?
him: Really.

My only other thought, as I’m curled into his trying to dodge the light of day, is that I wish I could do this every morning. I wish I could have this man next to me all the time.

You know... like this. But more terrible and painful.


This, apparently, is my wake-up call; not a figurative one {though that’s probably well on its way, too}, but a literal one. This big man coming into my room and climbing into bed next to me certainly woke me up; whether or not it will make me get out of bed is another story.

I have a headache… probably from the whopping 3 drinks at the Comedy Cellar; the extreme lack of food consumed yesterday; and the fact that I spent a combined total of about 2 hours crying last night. Oh, yes. I cried. I cried standing up, I cried sitting down, I cried on him, I cried next to him, I cried under him, I cried into my pillow and into the phone to my sister.

Hopefully, I’m done with that… but the lump in my throat tells me otherwise. So does the dull ache in my heart.

playbook pages {fake long-distance boyfriend, part 2}

31 Jul

Today I went golfing with 30-something, and when I got day-drunk all I could think was that I missed HottieFireman. Or at least it was a feeling that felt like missing. But then I started to think… Can I miss someone I haven’t seen or talked to in three years?

Yes. That is correct. I have not seen or talked to HottieFireman (up until about a month ago) in THREE YEARS. So, the fact that he will be standing in my apartment, in all of his 6-foot-6-inch-260-pound glory, in less than a week is a little bit scary. Add in the reasons for our not speaking for so long and the idea seems even scarier.

This is not the first time HF and I have engaged in the long-distance fake boyfriend and girlfriend dance. The first time I moved away from home (at the time, it was for college), he became my go-to phone guy. It started as usual… catching up. Then it was checking in about bigger stuff: How was that presentation? What did your boss end up saying about _______? Then it just felt natural to talk everyday… about everything. Then came the inevitable: fights about not talking, fights about dating people, fights about the fact that we were fighting.

In addition, there were the always-confusing attempts to categorize the feelings–both emotional and sexual. It’s amazing how sexually charged you can get just by hearing someone’s voice. Someone you haven’t kissed in over a year. Someone you’ve never even slept with.

We talked about it for hours… The things we would do if we were actually in the same bed. The things we were going to do when we saw each other. But when the time came and we reunited, it felt…off. We didn’t follow through with our plans, exchanged various heartbroken and confused Myspace {yes, Myspace} messages and stopped talking.

About a year and a half later, it happened again. I was just out of an awful year-long relationship with a robot-man who I almost married, HF was just out of fire school. We went through the same steps. Caught up; got connected; got attached; made a lot of plans; reunited and had a looooong awkward night of not-clicking and no sex. This time though, looking back, I WAS TO BLAME. I had just transferred to a new school and was in the middle-school stage of meeting new friends. HF was a stranger to them. He wasn’t “cool.” They thought he was awkward. And I ate it up.

I should’ve felt terrible for the way I treated him, but I didn’t. This time the messages were on FB. We stopped talking. My heart felt broken, but I knew I had broken it myself.

A year later, I reached out. In response, he told me I couldn’t be trusted. My heart broke a little more, because I knew it was true. That was almost three years ago to the week…