I spent two weeks waking up every morning to this face. It was the happiest two weeks of my life.
Yesterday morning, I had to say goodbye. My heart feels like it’s in a million tiny pieces right now. He tells me, and I tell myself, that the separation is only temporary, that as soon as I’m cleared to fly I’m headed in his direction. My heart still feels so broken. The distance in our relationship was difficult when I had no idea what it was actually like to fall asleep in his arms, or be able to reach out and touch him, or kiss him. Now, though, I know those things, and I know exactly what it is to be missing them.
It’s okay. It’s only for a while…
Very little went according to plan. It’s quite a long story, but we were forced to spend our two weeks in a hotel. We didn’t really go very many places, essentially just out for food & supplies. Even so, all I cared about was that he was there, with me. He swears it was the same for him; that everything that went wrong doesn’t matter at all.
He makes me ridiculously happy, and I am, as far as I can tell, the luckiest girl in the world.
Oh, but I no longer have a boyfriend.
I have a fiance.
Last night, for the first time in about two weeks (seriously, it’s a shame we Americans don’t use the term “fortnight”) I was finally able to sleep mostly straight through the night. I’d been trying to go to bed at my normal time each night, but at best I’d doze off and wake up anxious an hour or two later, unable to get back to sleep.
I really don’t recommend trying to function this way.
This morning, though, I feel rested. Alert. My head isn’t foggy, my limbs aren’t heavy, and my heart doesn’t feel like it’s been working overtime. It’s lovely. It’s amazing what a little sleep can do, and how little you appreciate what it does when you’re doing it normally.
Since I’m feeling so good, hopefully I can knock out some things on my ever-growing to-do list! Keeping busy may have the added bonus of providing me with a solid reason to avoid a certain friend of mine, as well.
I must be doing something really wrong, because it seems as if it’s just one thing after another with my friends, lately. Surely the common denominator is just me, when all of it seems to be going wrong at once?
A few days ago, a certain friend of mine asked me for a favour. It was an odd favour, to be sure, but odd doesn’t necessarily mean bad, and it seemed innocent enough. At least it did until the following day when he confessed something that, to me, seems directly connected to the favour he asked for, even though he swears it isn’t. The confession caused the favour he asked for to seem inappropriate, even disturbing and downright creepy. Now I feel sort of used… and manipulated. And I’m finding I really don’t want to speak to said friend.
Ooh, could I be more vague? The whole thing is so weird that I feel awkward and embarrassed just by nature of it having happened to me.
Again, though, all these things going wrong with friends all at once, surely I’m somehow the problem. The only thing they’ve had in common is me.
Alex has booked his flight to come visit me for two weeks.
For my part, I can hardly contain myself. Every time I think about it, my heart starts to race.
The last time we tried this getting together thing, it ended disastrously. I either hit my head and had a seizure, or I had a seizure and hit my head; I can’t recall much past feeling a bit funny as I was walking through the airport in Houston, Texas, so the order in which it happened is unclear. (He thinks I’m clumsy enough that I may have just tripped over my own two feet and hit my head first).
So, I’m crossing my fingers and my toes that this time everything goes smoothly. I mean, he’s a little less accident prone than I am (I think), so I imagine his odds of arriving in one piece are significantly higher than mine.
We’ll be celebrating our one year anniversary during his visit. I think it adds a very nice sense of occasion, of course, but it would be a special occasion if he showed up on any given day. A stormy Monday would be the best day ever, if it was the day he showed up. For the record, I hate storms and Mondays.
I can hardly believe it’s been almost a whole year that we’ve been together. I just hope it’s the first of many, many more.
It’s six weeks yet to go before he gets here, and already I’m wondering how I’m going to bear seeing him off at the airport when it’s time for him to leave. I joke that I’m just not going to let him leave, but must confess I may only be half joking. I probably shouldn’t be admitting to that, because now if I drug him and chain him to the basement wall, well… you know. I’ve left a trail of evidence.
I’ve been broken up with. Via email, no less.
have had a friend with whom I’ve been having a hard time lately, and it’s been the source of much sadness and frustration. When I opened my email today to discover that she has finally “had enough” of me, I was surprised to find it didn’t hurt.
Not even a little.
What I felt was relief. And it’s not the end of the friendship that has me sad, but the observation that the end of it should make me sad.
I consider myself to be a good friend, although the evidence may not be in my favour, what with this being the second friend I’ve lost in as many months. At least this time I’ve a lengthy list of reasons outlining all the things which I’ve done wrong.
On a somewhat interesting side note, though, most of this list could serve double duty as “How To Spot An Introvert”.
I believe that friendship, or any relationship, should be a two-way street. There should be a balance of give and take. I have always tried my best to be the kind of friend that I hope to have. I am far from perfect, but my relationships are important to me, and I do try. In the same way that I make the efforts to recognise and be considerate of the needs of my friends, though, I hope, even expect, that they should do that for me.
At the very least, if you’re unwilling to do the kinds of things that I think are fun, and that I get excited about, then understand that I can’t always do the ones that you find fun. It isn’t that I don’t enjoy participating in large group activities, or that I don’t like being around people. It’s that these things, as entertaining as they can be now and then, are also draining for me.
My to-do list feels like it’s ten miles long.
I have work that needs done. Piles of photographs that need to be scanned, restored, put on CD/DVD and sent back to their owners. All the little personal side projects that I’m working on. Books waiting to be read. Dishes that need done. Laundry to wash. Cats that need their claws filed down.
Right now, though, I just want a break, so I thought it might be fun to share a little story about my absolute favourite subject, which is of course, Alex.
One of the odd little things that we do, being in a long distance relationship, is to fall asleep with Skype still running at night. Well, at least it’s night for one of us. Even if I don’t fall asleep before he does (and you might be surprised to learn that I usually do, what with it being 5 p.m. here when it’s 11 p.m. there), it’s comforting to me to listen to him breathe. Or snore. You know, which ever thing. It’s comforting.
I think I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m not a morning person. I’ve got nothing on Alex, though. I get up when my alarm goes off, the first time, more often than not. Alex will hit that snooze button five times before he actually gets up! In his defence, though, at least he plans for it, setting his alarm nearly a full hour ahead of when he actually has to get up.
I usually set my alarm for about 10 minutes before Alex‘s first one, so that I can get up and get a nice hot cup of tea and avoid being a real grouch to him first thing in the morning. By the time his alarm goes off, he’s usually aware that I’m already awake, and occasionally he’ll mumble that he loves me, or tell me “good morning, beautiful”.
The other morning, though, his alarm went off and boy, was he cranky. He hit the snooze and practically shouted at me, “I told you not to feed the turtles”.
What the fuck?!
I giggled a little and proceeded with the morning routine, which mostly consists of checking in on the blogs I read.
Ten minutes later, Alex‘s alarm goes off again, and once again clearly very irritated with me, he says, “Leave the laser monkeys alone”!
By that time I was sitting at my computer absolutely losing my shit. I had to mute the microphone so as not to disturb him with my laughter.
Eventually, his final alarm went off, and he groaned and started to get up. I waited to see if he was going to enlighten me as to what the problem with feeding the turtles was, or what would happen if I absolutely couldn’t leave the laser monkeys alone, but, nothing in the way of explanation was offered.
In fact, not another word about turtles or laser monkeys was mentioned until he got home from work that evening and I demanded to know what the hell was going on.
Naturally, he had no idea what I was talking about.
I sure would love to know where it is he goes when he’s off to dreamland, but apparently, even he doesn’t have a clue.
People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.
I don’t know why it happened, I received nothing in the way of explanation, but I lost a friend overnight.
I like to pretend that things like this don’t phase me when they happen. I like to pretend that I’m the kind of person who can just laugh it off and say “Well, fuck you, then, if you don’t want to be my friend”. The only problem is, fantastic imagination or not, I really can’t pretend that well, not about that.
If I’ve done something wrong, I’m the kind of person who prefers that you tell me so. I’m not one to set out to be intentionally mean or offensive, so if I have wronged you in some way, please tell me how. How does a person learn from their mistakes if they’re not even sure what mistake they’ve made? I’m well aware that I’m an imperfect person, but I can’t grow or change if I don’t have my flaws pointed out.
In simply writing me off with no explanation, my former friend has made it reasonably clear to me that he doesn’t wish to talk about it, or work it out, whatever “it” is. I suppose there’s not much that I can do but stitch up the little hole in my heart his absence leaves.
A little part of me wonders if, maybe, there’s some strange reason that he wants me to “chase” him down and demand to know the issue, but that’s not really my way, and I guess I sort of expect that people who know me, friends, would know this about me.
It’s not that I don’t care… it’s that he doesn’t. Or at least that’s what the behaviour indicates to me.
So the very first post in my blog was on Valentine’s day, and it basically consisted of me bitching. I did mention that I’m (incredibly) grateful for my boyfriend, but even so… lots of bitching.
I don’t want to do that. I’ve been miserable about missing my flight to London. It’s a legitimate reason to be unhappy, I think, because I’ve been dating Alex since May of last year, and I desperately want to get to him, but I really ought to be counting my blessings right now.
Firstly, I still have Alex. We’ve still got each other. Secondly, I had a seizure and hit my head. I’ve already experienced some really severe head trauma (it’s a rather long story, but my cousin shoved me down the basement stairs), and I’m very lucky that I’m in as good shape as I am at the moment. Thirdly, Alex is now making plans to come here as soon as he possibly can, so it’s not like we’re not going to get to spend the time together, despite my terrible luck.
Honestly, the universe is out to get me, but I still have a ton of things to be happy about.
When it comes right down to it, I should be happy today. I have a wonderful, loving boyfriend who, perhaps miraculously, thinks that I’m wonderful. Don’t get me wrong, I am very happy about that; very fortunate to have him in my life.
But, today, I was supposed to be with him, and I’m not.
Alex (that would be the boyfriend in question here, keep up, okay?) is still 4,000+ miles away, though. He’s in Cornwall, I’m in the Cornhusker State. I was meant to arrive in London yesterday morning. Two weeks. I was supposed to get two weeks with the man of my dreams, covering today, Valentine’s day, and my birthday, next week.
And it all went to shit because I just had to go and have a seizure and hit my head.
So fuck it. Fuck Valentine’s day. Try as I might to count all the things that I have to be happy about right now, it’s not working. I’m nowhere near where I wanted to be today.
Is it really too much to ask to spend Valentine’s day with the one you love?