Let There Be Light

I came home last night to an im from the BND alerting me that he'd finally gotten around to responding to my email. This cheered me up a bit, as I'd been experiencing quite a bit of loneliness. I scanned the email quickly at first and then went over it again more carefully. And hold on a minute, what's that line....

"I miss things about the floor too, and things that i wouldn't have even expected to as much and i feel like i might have missed something i should have pusued and it would have been so easy to do so (and no, you do not know anything that i am refferring to there). "

1. I can't even imagine that he could think I wouldn't take it that way.
2. Boy knows I'm an English major. Proofreading would be nice.

I replied with a, "wtf, mate?" and got:

"And when I wrote that I was just thinking and writing and then once it was written I realized it may have been misleading so I cleared it up a little, but bot enough that you would know what I was talking about."

So here are the options I'm thinking of:

1. This was an admission gone awry and the parenthetical part was an attempt at sarcasm. (not very likely)
2. He was simply trying to get a reaction out of me. Jerk. (perhaps a bit more likely?)
3. He really was just being careless and insensitive. (most likely)

If option 3 really is the truth, that leaves me wondering just to what exactly he was referring. I have racked my brains and really do not know. It's probably some sort of robotics shit or some such.

I hated myself for the little jolt of golden hope that coursed through my veins upon reading those words in the first email. I am supposed to be getting over this, right? And the BND, knowing this, would be careless enough to say something like that? He had to have known how that would affect me. It's just cruel, really.

While I was reading that first email last night, the bulb popped out suddenly in the only lamp that was lit. I was plunged into semi-darkness, with only the glow from my inbox. I sighed, got up and took the bulb out and navigated my way through the dark to the kitchen. I flicked on the kitchen switch and looked at the bulb curiously. It looked unfamiliar, a different brand than I buy. And then I remembered. He gave me this bulb at school the last time I was plunged into sudden darkness.

Then, today, I was at the store when his favorite song came on over the radio.

Can you really get over something that didn't ever amount to anything?

That was then, this is now

Being at home (and unemployed) has left me with copious amounts of time to think. This is dangerous. It's a good thing I start work in June or else I'd probably be institutionalized come August.
So, during all this thinking, I started to reflect upon how I've changed over the past year. The old me was less neurotic, less jealous and paranoid, more focused and self-assured. The old me most certainly would not have Facebook-stalked my way through an entire relationship of wall posts. I am pathetic.
I don't know why I did it, the Facebook-stalking, I mean. I knew it would make me unhappy. Unhappy to see that they were happy. How utterly terrible is that?

I feel as if I was robbed of the happy part. The BND and I went straight from friends to the awkward "i like you" stage to bickering break-up without any of the good stuff in between. I want the "I-can't-wait-to-see-you-hey-I-miss-you-call-me-later" stage. I want the part where I wake up with a smile on my face. I want to know that someone is as happy to be with me as I am with them.

And all this, I think, has been the hardest part. Her lingering traces and evidence of his past affection serve to twist the knife. My inadequacies taunt me from the corners. Why isn't everything that I see enough? Have I imagined the emotional and intellectual connection that I thought I felt? The ties that bound us together turned out to be made of gossamer thread: hard to see and even harder to hold onto.

He told me once that with me he felt a new hesitation, one he didn't feel before he dated either of his exes. I should have known then that it wasn't going to happen.

I wish I hadn't stuck around to become the one who didn't measure up.

And that's the thing. The old me would not have cared about that. The old me would've said fuck that. I don't care how I measure... up or otherwise.

New me needs a life beyond the hypothetical and the wishes and the could have beens. I'll put that on the list of things I'm not going to accomplish this summer.


(P to the S, resolution: no more complaining about the same old stupid boy things. I will find new subjects to write about. Well, we'll see how long this lasts...)

Boy Next Door No More

No more. Well, in three days it'll be official, anyway. We are moving out. And I was feeling all sad and reluctant and nostalgic, but now I am so ready. I need to get away for a while, clear my head.

The other day, he told me that he was repulsed-- nay repelled-- wait, make that disinterested by relationships. After three months of leading me along and holding out hope, that's what I hear. Oh, sigh. Good thing nothing he can say will surprise me anymore.

And he tells me not to expect to hear from him over the summer because He Is Not Good At That. At this point, if I'm not even worth a modicum of effort, I'd rather not hear from him anyway. (That was a tough-minded, self-deluding kind of lie. Of course I want to hear from him! It's my pride that doesn't care for him.)

We got room assignments for next year. I got put in an all girls dorm. Says the BND, "Well, maybe you'll live next door to your girlfriend next year." Ha-fucking-ha.

Although, truth be told, the other team isn't looking so bad.

Enough

I woke up and stepped into the suite bathroom this morning. I took a look at myself in the mirror, saw my pale, make-up smudged face, my wild hair, and I told myself, "Hey. I'm enough."



Wait... where have I heard this feel-good nonsense lately?



A hallmate of mine was reading "The Rules", a guidebook for meeting and marrying Mr. Right and I curiously skimmed it the other day. The budding feminist in me bristled and ranted about it to anyone who would listen for the next hour or so. It's archaic! Women should be allowed to talk and think and be themselves and their worth should not be determined by whether or not they're married! And on I went...



And yet... here it is from "The Rules" website:



"Take care of yourself, take a bubble bath and build up your soul with positive slogans like "I am a beautiful woman. I am enough."



So there I was this morning, building up my soul with a positive slogan. I stepped into the shower, taking care of myself, and thought about everything from this past year...



... the nights when we talked for hours that dissolved into minutes, the incident with the two different shoes, the inside jokes, the birthdays, cards, emails, ims, the speaking in code, the glances exchanged at dinner, and every little moment that's meant anything...



That is what I can give. It's enough for me and it will be enough for someone, even if it isn't the boy next door.

Ten Weeks

Well, according to Google, ten weeks can get you a lot.

Search results yield that, in ten weeks you can:

1. Have a better marriage.
2. Lose ten pounds.
3. Make better financial investments.
4. Live in London for less than 5,000 pounds.
5. Learn U.S. Women's History (really? ten weeks is all?).
6. Have something growing inside of you that is technically termed a fetus.

Oh, yeah, also there's a metal band called Dead for Ten Weeks. Oh, the irony.

See, ten weeks ago to the day was when I chose to divulge my feelings in a spectacle that kicked off Angst-a-palooza.

And I'm sure my ten-weeks-ago-self thought I'd be in a different place by now. I was more optimistic, more excited. I thought I would tell the guy, and surely by now things would be different.

So, what Google doesn't tell you is that ten weeks can also get you:
1. no relationship
2. a heart that's anticipating hurt
3. and a feeling that's starting to resemble bitterness.

But I think I've gotten some good things, too. I've grown closer with him and learned a lot about myself and the way I deal with these situations. I've gotten some life lesson things.

Maybe twenty weeks will be different? I think I've still got a little optimism alive and kicking.

Orange Haze

Melancholy settled down in a sickly orange haze last night as our team got knocked out of the Final Four. Instead of the usual joyous call and response of, "Tar! Heels!", we stood on the balconies in silence. Everyone was busy cursing the Jayhawks and wondering what happened to Tyler, but I was upset for a different reason.

The same things I'd been turning over in my mind for days had risen to the top, and it was time to talk. I tried to collect myself and walked out onto the balcony. My semi-drunk friend passed me, and noticing my direction, grinned and said, "Make it work."

He meant make it work with the boy next door, the one who turned me into a crazy, mumbling pile of nerves. The one who likes me, but says he can't date me, at least not for now. The one I can't stop caring about, no matter how crazy it drives me.

I opened his door without knocking, as usual, and sat in his roommate's always-empty desk chair. I chattered nervously about normal business for a while, per the mutual agreement that I need to warm up before the big show.

I took a deep breath and started. And I told him that I'm sorry for the way I've acted about my feelings for the past few weeks, and that I'm sorry for trying to force him into a relationship that he doesn't think he can handle. I told him I'm sorry for expecting immediate, equal reciprocation.

"And after all, maybe it's better that we're just friends," I said with a shrug. I tugged at the sleeve of my sweater, and choked back tears, "I mean, it does seem a lot easier."

"It is a whole lot easier," he agreed. His face took on a pained look as he stared at his computer screen. "I mean, man. This sucks."

We sat in silence for a moment, neither looking at the other. I was desperately trying not to break down in front of him. Again.

I started to talk again, "I'm just sorry for all the times I've acted like a jerk--"

He cut me off, "Well worth it. I don't think I could have made it through this year without you."

As he kept talking, I felt myself soften. To hear things like that from him means more than I can say. I mean, he is a man of few words. I can hold a whole conversation with him to which he contributes around 15 of 500 words.

"And anyway," he continued, "I don't see this as the end. We're still going to be in contact. Summer doesn't have to be a deadline."

Sometimes I wish he would give me a reason to stop hanging on.

Even though he doesn't see this as the end, I am trying to get used to the idea that we may never be more than friends. "Just friends" doesn't really do it justice. Good friends we are. We go in and out of each other's minds so easily. I've often said that it feels like we're on the same frequency, as we easily detect small changes in the other's mood. It's something that adds dimension to my life and I don't want to lose it.

The conversation came to a conclusion and I was satisfied. I think I had started to doubt that I meant anything to him and this assuaged those fears. We usually AIM each other as a coda to in-person conversations:

Me (1:16:13 AM): ok, well i'm going to sleep now. and i actually am feeling better. and no matter what happens, i'm glad to have you in my life. so, goodnight.

Him (1:16:39 AM): same here, i really do appreciate you more than i ever say or probably let on, thanks a lot

Not to sound like I'm drowning in self-pity here, but I hope that someday I'll feel like this with someone who wants to be with me. Too much to ask?

I went to sleep crying and woke up with tears on my face. I told my roommate my allergies were acting up. I think she knew I was lying, but she bought me Claritin anyway.