So yesterday, though nobody would know it to look at me, nobody would know it without going after me with a needle and a fine-toothed comb, was a hard, heartbreaking sort of day. I’m not dating anyone, though, naturally, I kinda sorta thought I was. And I kinda sorta am. Still. But not really. I can’t claim the title. Wouldn’t hold up in court. And that’s as much clarity as anyone can give me on the situation. Wait it out until you don’t feel like waiting anymore. Like, what, what does that actually mean? Care about me until it becomes a problem for you. What’s it actually require of me? A woman with broader shoulders and some sense would say, okay, halfway is not enough, we’re just going to hurt ourselves on the sharp edges of this. But I’ve pecked at crumbs and ash my whole life when it comes to affairs of the heart, so this understanding that the porch light is going to be left on for me, always a dish of food and water at the door doesn’t trigger the negative reaction that it should. Even if it’s clear I’m never getting in the house. I think, well, there’s food here. That’s not nothing. And nothing ties me down. I can keep my own devices as it pleases me. It’s what I wanted, right? It’s everything I’ve ever believed, that’s all. The best relationships are those conducted entirely by post?
And I thought I took it in stride, accepting the ambiguity of it all, the inevitability of my hope being broken down into a sticky sort of powder, until I realized, about halfway through the evening that I was acting like a teenage maniac. A stupid, stupid maniac who is going to regret her choices when they spin around and smack her in the face. Emailing the RP’er like some kind of ridiculous swanning princess who thinks she can set a world down for two years and pick it back up and find it entirely as it was. That was never going to happen and I knew that. But still, I was free! I was uncommitted. I was not on a path towards anything or anyone. I was officially and am officially single. Sort of. Only nothing’s changed. And it was only ever going to be about me.
I don’t really feel comfortable writing it out, this thing in medias res which might well be speculated upon and swiftly deciphered if anyone were of a mind. I suspect they’re not, but nevertheless, I feel bad enough about it that I want the shame shield to hang up like a Great Wall of China (and not some evil, orange-hued paltry attempt at nothing) between us. Sit down with me and a cup of coffee, glass of wine, and I’ll tell the rest. Suffice it to say that it all had to be entirely as it was, but my own good intentions done effed me again. The world has changed much since all these trains hit the station at the same time, and I am certainly not the soul to demand anything of anyone, certainly not punctuality.
It’s just going to be disappointing is all. Not evil. It’s not evil. Not yet.
Given these truish facts, I am endeavoring to continue on something I know is benefiting me – my small, paltry attempt at getting this body on the same page as my mind.