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| I'm annoyed. So much so, that I had to abandon my nap. Now you know it's serious.
I took the past couple of days off to unpack - so I've had Thursday, Friday, Saturday (today), Sunday, and quite possibly Monday off. That's the most days off in a row I've had in about a year, when I made my big move.
Why am I annoyed? Let's get straight to it, then - stream of consciousness style:
1) I haven't received any calls from Mr. Guy. Not a one. This from the guy who misses me "so much".
2) It has occurred to me that I have wasted so much time missing him, and while he has missed me (in what seems to be a much more carnal fashion), it's basically a crock o' crap. Because:
a) He admitted that the first time around, he didn't want to lead me on then, either, and yet, still said, "I love you," BEFORE I said it to him. Why would you say something like that without meaning it?
b) He told me that skipping out on me to date "other" girl had "nothing to do" with ME. Does that make sense? How long did it take him to get over me in order to date her? DID he have to get over me? Because I, personally, was surprised to learn that we had ended our relationship - sooooo....
c) One of my guy friends told me that he thinks that guys are easily infatuated with me, to which I replied, "So I guess you're saying that I have no redeeming qualities that would make them want to stick around?" And he just shrugged his shoulders. Fan-friggin-tastic. That's what I get for being myself. Now I know for sure that it's NOT them, it IS me.
*You can't see me, but I'm rolling my eyes right now.*
3) I know that if I DO go to visit him in Chicago (because he made me promise that I would), he's going to try to get "friendly" with me. In the past, it has been hard for me to resist his advances, but now that I know that he "doesn't want to lead me on," I'm fairly certain that won't be a problem.
4) At this point, it would seem to me that he might just be, in the words of the wise and all knowing Britney, a "womanizer".
You see, I have reached a certain point of clarity - I have passed through the Swamp of Sorrows, lost Artex along the way, and escaped The Nothing. Mr. Guy is NOT my Mark Darcy, a notion previously entertained for an unnecessary amount of time, he is my Daniel Cleaver. He is a twat (as the British pronounce it, of course, "a" as in "apple").
I plan on maintaining a certain level of contact, merely so that I can deny him a completely different level of contact. Set his feet on the ground, if you will. As many different girls might succumb to his awkward charms, I will be the one girl who rubs the fact that he can't have me in. His. Face.
All right - since I've woken, I'm kind of having a hard time remembering the huge list of things I had been mentally writing down, so this post will have to continue at a later date, when I've better harnessed my anger, and not let it so easily dissipate.
Chh....over and out...chh. | | |
| I sometimes wonder if previous life experiences have not left me in such a post-traumatic stupor that I appear to be the most happy-go-lucky person anyone has ever met. Shock turned to blatant overlooking of everything else that "sucks," in an attempt to lead a normal life.
Mr. Guy left on Monday. After I got off work on Sunday evening, I went over to his apartment to spend a little time with him. A little time, turning into all but the three and a half hours I left him to take a nap, before I returned the next morning to help him and his mom finish packing before he left that afternoon.
That last night was, needless to say, a necessary evil. Mr. Guy has spent the past couple of months woo-ing me, and attempting to make up for lost time. I only just learned on Sunday night that he didn't want to "give me the wrong idea". He may have wanted to take that into consideration before telling me "I love you," the first time around. Before he'd decided to take me by the hand and kiss me a few weeks ago. Still yet, considered that when he had me stay practically that whole last night, because I was "cuddly," because he couldn't resist my lips, and his hands couldn't stay away from my waist, my face, out of my hair. Perhaps, even, he should have refrained from telling me that my kiss could control people, and that he didn't want me to go.
I didn't initiate any sort of flirtations, in fact, I'd been quite hesitant, and overly cautious. It was my prerogative to clear the air, and treat him as though he were any of my other friends. I listened to him intently, I accepted the cd of the song he wrote with heartfelt enthusiasm, and I made him text me when he got back to his place after walking me home, "just to make sure" that he made the trip safely.
After he told me that he didn't want to lead me on (having MUCH to do with the fact that he was leaving, and that he couldn't bear the thought of me missing him, or some other cop-out), I told him he was an idiot. I did it in detail. I reminded him of everything he'd just said to me - about his inability to avoid my lips, how he didn't want me to go, we have the same sense of humor, this particular episode of, "Futurama," always reminded him of me, but he's not sure why - how I would be perfect for him, because a) I love him, in spite of his idiocracies, and b) I'm an easy girlfriend - if he wants to go hang out with his friends, FINE, because I am sure that I need some time to myself - that I would be a willing ear, a willing cuddle-buddy....as I went through the list, he smiled, and then kissed me in the middle of my sentence. Slightly obnoxious because I ended up forgetting what I was ranting about, and then he called me on forgetting about what I was ranting about. He also insisted that I would promise to visit him in Chicago.
Ultimately, I am annoyed by this "leading on" crap. Why did he even bother to spend his last full day in Boston with me? Only me? Were his other friends out of town? Was his ex-girlfriend not around to keep him company? Am I wrong about him, and is he actually a creep? I still can't see it. I know him - he just seems confused and a little scared to me. Mr. Guy clearly doesn't know what he wants, and I don't want to push him, but I also don't want to wait around for him to decide that what he wants is ME. Which I feel like we both already know, but he's not willing to admit it. Maybe he just needs to get his ducks in a row. That would be much more understandable.
I just don't understand what is so complicated. I have come to terms with the fact that I love him, that I probably always will, and if he doesn't love me back, as in "more than a friend...(Burgundy?)?", I can't do anything about it. There will be no stressing about it - when we're together, he treats me like he knows that he loves me, and can't stay away - and I'll always remember that as my little happy place. Like a warm shower after a long, hard day. Like the wave of relief I used to feel when I finished a project, or just got out of a ridiculously long and hard essay test. Like handing in my last paper, and knowing that I didn't have anything left to do for the rest of the summer. My muscles relax and tension is released. Like standing on the harbor, or sitting on the beach in the warm sun. He is my shangri-la. To the point that I don't care whether or not I spelled that correctly...OR could be because I'm so tired.
Either way, I'm in a weird state of mind. I feel a little lost, a little hurt, and primarily disoriented. My life at this point feels like a whirlwind, with so many changes - I'm missing my past, and I'm scared of the future, and nothing seems to stand still long enough for me to hold on and find something familiar and safe.
Tomorrow (today), I pack for my new apartment, and figure out when exactly I'll need to pick up the twenty-buck van.
I thought I was doing so well in my New Year's Resolution to be Heidi Klum, but I am so clearly a neophyte. | | |
| There's this song by Fiona Apple,"Love Ridden," and in it she says, "I want your warmth, but it will only make me colder when it's over." I know she's right, but I can't seem to heed her advice.
Mr. Guy and I have continued our correspondence. We've even moved past texting and facebook messaging to random phone calls that last a good forty minutes. Sometimes I text him when I'm on my way home on the train passing Blandford Street after work, and he meets me at the Harvard Avenue stop to walk me the short block home. We don't hold hands, but we bump into each other, and "accidentally" step into each other's paths.
A few weeks ago, right after I left my parents at the airport, I felt slightly despairing because it felt like the two days I'd had with my family were not nearly enough. I needed to be alone, but WITH someone, and so I called him up and told him to meet me immediately at the corner of Harvard and Commonwealth. We just went for a walk around the block, to let off steam and talk, and it was exactly what I had needed.
Then, about a week or two ago, I threatened to kidnap him at some point during the weekend, and held good on my word. I met him at a secret location...and then we went back to my apartment, dangled our feet in the pool in the well-hidden courtyard, and relished the fact that, in the courtyard, it felt like we weren't even in Boston anymore. It's been a very surreal experience for me, because I honestly never thought I'd see him again. Now he compliments me...and complements me, and flirts in the most awkward way. Indeed, for the past several weeks, I've been ignoring his come-ons, assuming that he was acting simply as so many of my guy friends do: insincerely.
Following our podiatric dip, we moved indoors, chatting animatedly to each other - which of course led to watching the next episode of "True Blood" on my little Mac Daddy. Mr. Guy leaned on me while we watched, leading to a very abrupt hand-hold (I hadn't picked up on the fact that he was trying to hold my hand, I was too busy being polite and conscientious and moving my hand "out of his way"). It was after this that he apologized profusely for putting me through so much, gave me a huge hug, and before I knew it, we were making out like middle-schoolers.
I kept thinking that I shouldn't be partaking. He is moving to Chicago in, as of today, less than six days. I've had my heart locked up for so long. I had convinced myself that if I felt anything, it was due to an inadvertent Pavlovian conditioning. No feelings of sadness I experienced when listening to songs that reminded me of him, or watching his favorite movies, or unfortunate witnessing of a picture added to facebook - none of that - was real. It was just something I'd conditioned myself to feel when I associated certain situations or objects with him. And the emotion that I associated with him? Severe melancholy. I am nature's most advanced computer - did I not come with a delete key? No "control-alt-delete" to get over a momentary freeze of the screen? And with that, I had decided to come to terms.
He inquired - pre-second-time-around-first-kiss - when I was planning on moving to Chicago. He spoke of future events, like New Year's Eve at his family's condo at the Lake of the Ozarks, inviting me to join them, in that "you should come" way that shy guys ask a girl out, in an attempt to prevent rejection, I think. But I don't want him to ask me in his subtle, "I might be joking, I might not", way, when I'm moving to Chicago. I want him to ask me,"Do you want to move to Chicago? Because that's where I'll be, and I want you to be with me." How else am I to know that he's serious?
It seems that nowadays, those brave knights that come tearing through the forest on their mighty white steeds must battle a different sort of dragon: the Commitmentphobus Manpussicus. They must save the princess in her tower from the evil step-queen, Indifferentia, and be sure to make the seven dwarfs, Love, Hope, Happiness, Fidelity, Compassion, Laughter, and Generosity, welcome guests in their home.
I'm afraid this will not bode well. I have not put any faith into this second chance with Mr. Guy, but I would be lying if I didn't say that, although the butterflies in my stomach that were there the first time around are gone, there is certainly a feeling of warmth and comfort, and pure contentment when I'm with him. Nothing I can explain - it's just there. And I am disappointed when we can't meet.
I hope this doesn't hurt as bad as the last time. | | |
| I am so over Boston. There've been a few nails in the coffin, but today just did it. Last nail.
Let's go over some of the basic points:
1) I miss my friends and family - distance is a killer.
2) I miss having an apartment all to myself, for cheaper than I can share a crappy three bedroom with two other people in ol' Bean town.
3) I miss my crappy car, and being able to drive wherever the eff I want, whenever the eff I want.
4) I miss...Wal*Mart? Yes. 24-hour Wal*Mart with everything I could possibly need, just five minutes from my old apartment, with $5 movies and relatively decent artwork to purchase for $cheap$.
5) I miss Taco-Bell. Specifically crunch-wrap supremes that were perfect after a hard night at work, or even after having drinks with friends and suddenly having the munchies...
6) I miss the St. Louis Art Museum, the Zoo, Forest Park, the Science Center, Botanical Gardens: all places that are free, and beautiful, and outdoors.
7) I miss having four seasons.
8) I miss watching my little niece, Eva, growing up. (Two and a half now!)
9) I miss Miss Precious and Horatio Hornblower.
10) I miss having money to spare - Boston gets to be expensive because....it's close to the ocean? You suck, Boston!
11) I miss outdoor/indoor cafes - walking down the Delmar Loop with Lauren, Donna, Teenie...
12) I miss Bubble Tea.
13) Yet again, more than anything...I miss my family.
14) I miss only working 4 or 5 days a week, as opposed to working 7 days a week at two different jobs, no holidays off, and STILL stressing about money.
15) I miss my personal space.
16) I miss having the time/energy/space/instruments available to practice my music.
17) I miss the sun - it doesn't shine here as much.
18) I hate the claustrophobia of public transportation so much, that sometimes I take cabs only because I can't stand the idea of being crammed like a sardine without any air! Ughhhh! It really freaks me out, to the point that it's actually painful for me to be on the train.
Ultimately, I think I needed to come out here, just to see what I was missing when I missed my chance a few years ago. I'm done now. I don't need this place.
Why the sudden explosion, you might wonder? Why the sudden hate for a city that, at one point, held so much promise for a younger version of Rebecca? Allow me to elaborate: Today, I finally had the chance to view the apartment for which I'd blindly signed a year-long lease. That doesn't seem like a smart plan, does it? Wellllll...(she justified to herself), my friend, Melissa, assured me that it was a CATCH! It has a brand-new dishwasher, a brand-new fridge, a brand-new garbage disposal, brand-new gas oven! Hardwood floors! TWO balcony-like porches! HUGE living room and dining room and eat-in kitchen! Laundry in the Basement....sounds great, right? In theory - fantastic! And here's the cincher: only $550 a month per person! Brilliant! I'm paying more than twice that right now for a three-bedroom townhouse (per person), AND I'm not really very comfortable with my current roomies, so I hide in my room all the time.
Upon arrival, the building seemed okay - walking into the neighborhood, it was a little sketch, but cute - I guess. Melissa unlocked the door leading to the stairs, which were covered in dust. In thick, powdery dust, as though they had been busy scraping paint or sawing wood. Understandable, they're doing renovations, whatever. Melissa assured me that they promised to clean the stairs before we moved in. At the top of the somewhat questionable stairs, just past the photo of Tupac Shakur in a hallowed place next to the hall window, we come to our set of THREE doors, right next to each other, leading into the apartment. Front door and right side door have no doorknobs, so the key seems slightly unnecessary. Strike one, apartment. Strike one.
Living room was large, good windows - so was the dining room, with its own little built-in hutch. Okay, I can live with that. Bedroom that has porch off it has already been "shot-gunned" by other roommate, with whom I have yet to actually get to know. But it was ridiculously small, so I cared not. Kitchen, was a little slanted, more so than the dining room. Small pantry off of kitchen was dirty, and I suppose still "in-progress" like other areas of the apartment, worse yet being the bathroom. Next bedroom I saw was also, ridiculously small. Not nearly as much light as the other rooms, so I meandered into the last bedroom, the largest of the three. Melissa was talking to me the whole time, but I just let her be white noise while I made mental notes of what I did and, mostly, didn't like about the apartment.
All of a sudden I heard her again as she said, "I think I'm actually gonna shot-gun this room, because I don't know how my bed would fit into the other room." Panic grabbed my heart while I thought to myself, "Whaaat? Your bed? You're concerned about your BED? How am I even going to begin to fit my five bookshelves, my four filing cabinets, my great-grandmother's bureau, my five-foot tall jewelry mirror, my desk, and the entire contents of my closet, not to mention everything else that I could barely fit into my current room that used to fill an entire one-bedroom apartment?! AND still have room for a bed? No f#($)ing way. This is not happening. What am I gonna do? Sleep on a puppy mat in the middle of the floor?"
"Well, I guess I could put my air mattress over here, but I have no clue where my desk is going to fit..." I heard myself start.
"You're not going to sleep on your futon?" she asked me. The proper response being, "Are you f&*$#ing kidding me? If your bed wouldn't fit in here, why the f&*k would my futon fit? Are you serious? Really? REALLY? You're insane."
Instead, I calmly explained to her about how I am a grown-up, and so, I have amassed enough to fill a one-bedroom, because I have been on my own for YEARS. She decided that maybe I could keep my bookshelves and filing cabinets in the living room. Yes, it's a possibility. But still, the bedroom is half the size of my current bedroom. I don't care about the rest of the apartment, the bedroom is MY place. MY little spot, where I study, where I practice, where I relax and find myself after a hard day's work. I am claustrophobic in general, and forcing me to make my personal space out of something the size of a jail-cell is freaking me out beyond reason.
Not to mention, and I didn't say this out loud, because she had been SO excited about the place, and I'm pretty sure she sensed my mounting disapproval, I don't even know if the closet in my room will fit hangers. I'm fairly certain that my clothes won't fit. I don't know where they are going to go, and the ones that will go in the closet - not sure how I'll see them because there are NO LIGHTS. Or shelves. Or even a bar to hang the clothes. I can't stop thinking about this. I wish I had gone with her, because, after having moved six times in less than 3 years, I am a friggin' apartment SHARK. I know what I'm looking for, and I know the important things to look for. For instance, it just now occurred to Melissa (while I was walking through the apartment, and pointing things out), that there are no cable hook-ups for tv or internet. Only ONE phone jack in the dining room - no other rooms. No outlet in the bathroom, so good luck doing your hair, Melissa. No outlet in the overly-large pantry, so I guess we won't be moving the fridge there, like you hoped.
Other things I hate about Boston: my jobs. One, that I have been working at for the past 11 months, has been overworking me, and underpaying me. I've trained about 95% of their staff, yet haven't been paid for all of them. The owner/manager has just told us TODAY that she's been going into the computer and changing what we've been claiming on our tips if she thinks that we made more than we're claiming. And she claims twenty-percent of our sales, in spite of the fact that we tip out the bartenders and the bus boys, so even if we GET twenty-percent tips (which, big surprise, doesn't always happen) we're still NOT making twenty percent of our sales. This stinks highly of unfavorable illegal behavior. So, at the end of the year, when I'm paying taxes, I'll be paying taxes on income that I never received. Raaahhhr!
Okay, I can't even deal with this anymore....if I keep typing all the things I hate about Boston, I will have a hernia. So here I go again, a new escape plan: Back to Missouri! How soon can I go? I don't know. Maybe by January. I'm so far in debt, p.s., by the way, since I've been making crap at my current place of occupation (because they very clearly don't know how to run a restaurant), and I've been paying my rent with IOU's on my first child, my loans have fallen into default. F&*#!!!!!!!!!! Oh well. I've decided to go ahead with the egg donation. I can make $10,000, set some of my past financial debacles right, work like a mo' fo' while doing it, and make a ton of money at my current job and my OTHER, new, job for the next five months. And I should have enough to join my family in WDW by New Year, yeah? I'll just find a subletter for the apartment with Melissa. I can't deal with this crap anymore. I don't want to deal with this anymore. My nerves are fried and I'm sick of not doing anything with my degree. I just need to curl up in a ball right now - I can feel the hot tears, but I won't let them fall. Thanks for the ear, cyberspace.
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| I confronted Mr. Guy...sort of...
We were texting, which I instigated, by telling him about something I had seen that I thought he might like. He responded with,"You were thinking about me?" Texting continued, and then he admitted that he had been strongly considering resurrecting his pc so that he could get some pictures of me off of it. I questioned his motive, "Why?" And he said that he was feeling, "nostalgic".
That, in my opinion, is unfair. It doesn't tell me how he feels now, it tells me that he wanted to recapture a feeling he'd had some time ago. But why does a person do that? Does that mean that he actually misses me? That he wants to rekindle whatever we had? So I responded, "That's sweet, but....you broke MY heart, remember? I don't want you to take this the wrong way but, where was that nostalgia then?"
I also mentioned that I wasn't angry, I was just confused by his innuendo. To which HE replied,"I thought you'd be used to it by now." What? Having a broken heart? Being bombarded by sexual innuendo? No. I don't think anybody ever gets used to it, they just learn to ignore it - until something fills that gaping hole, until somebody stands up for them...
The last text I sent him was essentially me apologizing for being difficult, and then saying that texting wasn't the ideal medium to maximize proper communication, and I wished him good night, briefly considering whether or not to include this Shakespeare quote: "O, swear not by the moon! The inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circled orb, lest that thy love prove likewise variable."
I did not include it.
All I learned about love, I learned from Shakespeare, Jane Austen, the ORIGINAL Grimm's Fairy Tales (scary! exciting!), and Audrey Hepburn movies. It's very nearly impossible for me to have functional relationships because of this. Men today are not what they used to be, so I am ill-prepared to deal with the guys who attempt to court me by being wiley, innuentive, and slightly pompously conceited about how "awesome" they are, and are thus annoyed when I turn down their physical advances upon initial meetings. WTF? How about impress me with your humility, kindness, generosity, and modest intellect? I will take any of the leads from Ms. Austen's novels, please. And thank you. Now eff off! | | |
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