After the whole stupid drama with P and S on Monday night, I remained in a funk. It was just so unnecessary on all of our parts. I was cruel to S (the ex-girlfriend) when I should have shown compassion. His explanation was as follows: She’d called him Monday morning. They talked. He told her he was feeling sick from drinking the night before. She asked if he wanted her to come over. He said no. Right after he texted me to confirm he had my brace and would be over at noon, she showed at his apartment. How much of that is true, I don’t know. He said he went to lie down thinking she’d leave and he fell asleep, unaware that she was even still in his apartment when I came over. I believe the gist of his explanation, but it still didn’t make me feel better. Even though I was the ones he had plans with – she was the one whose feelings he’d cater to, and that realization hurt. He could have asked her to leave. He didn’t. He could have texted me to say he wasn’t coming over. He didn’t. Message received loud and clear. He didn’t treat me like friend of fifteen years. He treated me like a side-piece. Ouch.
When I get in these funks, I like to write myself through them. This weekend, I wrote an intention list for the summer. There were a number of things on it. (Post a selfie of myself in a bikini; go out-of-town for a few days to someplace sunny; finish twenty-more scenes of my book; take Firestarter and Boot Camp at Equinox. ) But the last item on the list was something I hesitated to include, because it made me feel really, tremendously pathetic:
By the end of the summer I want to be dating someone. Really dating them, not just hooking-up with them. Doubling down on that intention, I included in the intention that I wanted to post a photo of us together. I want a smug couple selfie, dammit. Like I said, pathetic. I carry a shame with me about my inability to sustain a relationship or to even get dates. The women who leave biting comments calling me “easy” (lol. Thanks, Nana) and saying I don’t love myself enough aren’t saying anything I haven’t told myself in the darker times. When I’m not allowing that bully voice a say, I know I respect myself. Men who sleep with crazy women are given a pass because, penis. A woman sleeps with a guy like P has no self-respect. See how that works?
What I seek is rare, and I won’t settle for anything less. I am not desperate. What I am, at times, is lonely. It’s difficult to admit that even though loneliness is a human condition experienced by many. Sometimes I just want attention or a connection and my go-to solution is sex. There are other instances when I just want to get laid, but I would say half the time I’m hooking up with a guy, it’s because I just want to feel like I matter. You can call that “easy” if you want. I don’t see anything wrong with being easy. Or being lonely. Part of the reason I’ve become so physically active is because of the sense of connection I get from being at the gym. I said awhile back that I was being pulled in many directions and, as a result, my soul needed nourishing. I’ve found that nourishment in working out and yoga. I’ll still seek casual sex now and then, though. To say I won’t would be disingenuous.
As I said to someone last night, there’s this pressure on me (and really, most women who writes about their personal experiences) to produce, to prove I am lovable and capable of being in a relationship. I definitely have moments, after a guy has flirted with me or show interest, where I think, “I have to write about that so people know men find me attractive.”
After months or years of writing about your romantic foibles, you get to this point where you get tired of being perpetually single, especially when one big reason for that has to do with experiences over which you had no control. Experiences that made you harder, less trusting, and more closed off. I think that’s what frustrates me the most. Would I be a different person if my mother hadn’t died? Would I have wanted kids? Would I have been softer and less abrasive? Would I be less stunted? Or were all these experiences – even the darker ones – just part of The Plan? Is this how my life is supposed to play out?
I suppose I’m giving this more thought because I’m probably more open to a relationship than I’ve been in many years. Part of me fears it’s too late for me. Another says I figured things out right on schedule.
Only time will tell.