dark

I don't know what to say here. I just know that sometimes when life falls apart and I feel completely bereft, it helps to write.

I met an idiot for lunch the other day. She's a friend, but admittedly several years younger and greener than me. She told me that whenever she is into a guy, she always "puts herself out there." She said she'd rather not have to wonder what might have happened if she had. I asked if any of the guys she'd revealed her feelings to had ever said, "Awesome! As a matter of fact, I'm really into YOU, too!"

No. They hadn't. They had just said thank you and walked away.

Still, she claimed that she had no regrets. Better to have loved and lost, blah blah blah. I mulled these thoughts around in my head, regarding Nick. I'd been praying and thinking about him for awhile. I hadn't planned on the big return of sentiment when I saw him. But being with him was just nice... it was what dating should be. When I was with him, I didn't worry about where it was all going or what we were doing or what it all meant... I always worried about those things afterward, when he wasn't around and I was staring at the ceiling at midnight. But when I was with him, it was just EASY. And fun. And good. I hadn't experienced that in a long time. Even with some of my previous long-term boyfriends, dating hadn't been fun, but stressful and full of doubt and unrest. When I was with Nick, I felt like everything was as it should be.

The only problem was our past several years of never being on the same page. He had seemed so into about me when we first met. And then for years afterward, always asked me when I was coming out to visit. And then I DID, and everything went horribly and I was CRUSHED afterward when he decided we were hurting each other. And then the long silence. See? Never on the same page. When I came back to St. Louis, I went from talking to Nick everyday to not hearing from him at all. So I did something crazy (after a lot of prayer). I put myself out there. I told him, "I know this is coming a few years late. And I know we live about ten states apart and are both just getting out of long-term relationships. But I like you, Nick. I wasn't planning on it, I just wanted to see you so we could be on good terms. But you surprised me, and there it is, finally. I like you. This is me being vulnerable."

I was never vulnerable with him before. I was always quite defensive. It felt pretty damn freeing.

Until about three days later, when I got his reply... which essentially said, "Thank you."

Tonight's the first night I've cried in a long, long time.

New York Posts - Day 26 - "The Date"

The other night, I was a little blue. I found myself sitting next to a bronze statue of 3 bears on the edge of Central Park and I was just discouraged. It started to rain, as it is wont to do whenever one is feeling especially periwinkle and I snapped open the red umbrella that I bought to replace the polka dot one of Liz's that I lost somewhere in Brooklyn. Right then, my phone beeped encouragingly. I think it is worth noting that, whatever detrimental effects technology might have on interpersonal relationships, cell phones sure can snap you out of a blue mood... just the sound of my phone delivering a text message lifted my spirits!

It's slightly underwhelming, though, when one looks at the unknown number and sees: "Yo. I'm bored and lonely. Where are you? Let's hang out."

I believe in polite society this is called a "booty call" but I'm generally pretty naive and didn't realize that. I mean, I got this text message at 5:30, don't booty calls normally come around 2 a.m.?? In any case, I would have assumed it was just a wrong number had not the message attached itself to a previous message from 2 weeks prior, which read: "Hey sorry, I'm probably not ready to date yet."

That's right. The man we will refer to as Ace The News Reporter was texting me. I responded thusly:

"Do you know who you are texting? This is Elise. Perhaps you remember me? We were supposed to go to Coney Island but before we could get that far, you repeatedly compared me to your ex-fiancee, finally calling me by her name." OH YES I DID!

Undaunted, Ace replied: "I know who this is. I'm still bored and lonely. If you are too, maybe we could hang out. I could use some Southern humor." Perhaps New Yorkers think that Missouri is in the south? I don't know. Some of them don't seem to be too smart.

I declined to move a muscle from my bench by the three bears but said that if he wanted to come to Central Park, I would keep him company. What can I say? I wasn't doing anything, and he was kind of pathetic. I mean, he broke up with someone! That sucks! Surely even my sarcasm was better than him sitting alone in an empty apartment.

So Ace showed up. And I kid you not, within 30 seconds of his arrival, I greatly regretted my decision to spend the evening with him. First, it started to pour. Then, he demanded that because it was pouring, I kiss him. Not seeing the connection, I declined. He insisted. I declined more vehemently. He insisted more strenuously, finally making a lunge at me and yelling, "Why won't you just make out with me!?"

To which I yelled, "Because you are desperate and pathetic!"

He halted abruptly. "Desperate and pathetic? That's low."

"That's what you said. In your text. 'I'm pathetic and bored.'"

"I said bored and lonely."

"Well, it's the same thing," I replied. Throughout these interchanges, I pondered why I was with this clown, wasting one of my precious days of life. Ahh, yes. Because when you break up with someone and agree to "see other people," you are then required to actually "see other people." And unfortunately, when you watch a guy on the news, you think to yourself, "Well, he's quite handsome and charming! He's probably not so bad!" And it doesn't occur to you until later, much later, that when he's delivering the news, he's probably reading from a teleprompter, and that you aren't seeing his personality at all.

Eventually it dawned on me that instead of waiting for someone to come and rescue me from this terrible experience, I could just get up and leave. I have an innate inability to willingly disappoint people... I don't want anyone -- even crazy men -- to think of me as a witch. I don't want to be that girl who was so full of herself that she got up and left in the middle of a date. But finally, I just said, "You know, I'm really tired, I think I'm going to head back to Brooklyn. Take care." And I got myself on the train and left.

That's one great thing about New York... since no one drives, its not incumbent on anyone to get you to your front door at the end of a terrible evening.

Love Actually

There's this scene in Love Actually where a guy who's harbored an all-consuming crush on his best-friend's girl finally confesses to her that he loves her. It's Christmas and everything's possible on Christmas. He has no desire to break up their relationship and no wish for anything other than to unburden himself and let her know that he will always love her. So he confesses on these giant poster cards while she stands at the door. She kisses him in thanks, and then goes back inside. And then he leaves. He walks out into the night and he says, "Enough. It is enough." And you get the sense that he is going to move on with his life now and find a nice girl and or maybe go to South America and study plants and learn to forget about this woman. He can do that now, because he has been honest with her and his own heart (she always thought that his studied avoidance of her meant that he hated her). So now he can move forward with his life.

That's kind of how I feel with regards to New York Nick. Nick and I never had a "break up." It was the most lacking in closure of any relationship I've ever had. He just kind of quit speaking to me. And when I tried to ask him about it, he would send an unrelated one line text in reply: "Great to hear from you, E! How's life?" and that's where things ended. It infuriated me, because there was nothing I could do about, because it was not mutual, and because Nick evidently was writing me off as a friend as well. I responded as I usually do, swinging wildly back and forth between caustic comments and heart-rending pleas. It was a method guaranteed for failure.

But now all that is changed. Now I've seen Nick again, now I've had a nice long chat with him with no trace of awkwardness. And it turns out it wasn't even necessary to allude to the fact that we had an uncomfortable period. I feel I can walk away and say, "Enough. It is enough." I can go forward with my life and let Nick go. Of course, I would rather not. But it is enough to end on good terms.