The only online purchases I am making today are for cle hours I forgot to take. I so rarely practice that I did not update my email address to one I actually check. When I rebuilt my archives and email server info late last night, I got a “you have 30 days” and a big fine email. Tomorrow is the 30th day. Oops.
It’s among the reasons I feel truly blessed. I saw it in time to fix it; I have the money now to take the classes and pay the fine. Whew.
I’ve been working my ass off for a month or more — 7 days a week, long, annoying days. It’s not how I do my best work. I am more surgical than bludgeon and the harder I work, the less efficient I become. My brain has to be fully functioning to make sure I am not missing anything. Still, there is money to be made and work to be done. Soon, I can take a step back, exhale, and more fully concentrate. For now, I am powering through the curves and hoping that 85% is good enough.
I am rather heartbroken and trying hard not to be. Perhaps I got overinvolved with LP but he’s been present for me for a while and the romance had both heat and light and elements of obsession and addiction, on both sides. With his absence, I am bereft. I am trying to get past it, past him, past the promise of an intense wonderful relationship. Past the feeling of waking up in his arms. Past the memory of him comforting me, holding me so tightly I knew I was okay, that he was different. I know it’s not me. I know his life is incredibly difficult and our timing is bad. I walked back into his life at a bad time for him and we tried to be together anyway.
I have asked all of my friends what to do — should I call him, text him, reach out, ignore him, push, withdraw??? Everyone has a different opinion, but almost everyone says, reach out, be there, be present — that’s what he told you to do: don’t play games, don’t withdraw, don’t be indifferent (which is my safe zone).
The lone dissenting voice: my mother. My mother, who worked around the clock and stayed in a horrible marriage for (in her mind) the benefit of her children, gave me the one reasonable interpretation: “It’s not about you. He cannot be with you right now because of everything he is dealing with related to his kid. He’s not ready and he cannot be with you when all he is trying to do is protect and be there for his daughter.”
It’s very, very true. He is sacrificing himself for his child. It’s what my mother did. It’s what I would do. How could I be angry about that? I am not angry, far from it, and were I the mother of that child, that’s what I would want — a man who I knew would kill himself to save his kid.
That makes all of it more heartbreaking. It would be easier if he were cruel or cold or adulterous. But he’s not — at least not so far. Instead, he’s reminding me of my mother, which makes this even more painful and the fact that we’re apart even harder.
She tried to soothe me: “maybe in a few months or a year, it will be different . . .” That is cold comfort. I have to close down the raw emotion I feel about him. Yes, it’s been a little under two months of activity, but there is a lot of passion and emotion there. I mean, we fought on our first date! Anyway, I can’t quite manage to shut down how I feel, and I can’t help but hold a flicker of hope that he will reappear in my life soon, before I get too committed to being single, to being apart from him, to settling for someone else, someone with more money and less passion. I am afraid of settling for good options, for men I enjoy, but men who don’t keep me enthralled and obsessed . . . as much.
As for BFD, we are dating a bit, but it’s not serious for me. It may be more serious for him. He’s very present for me, very available, very engaged. We’re talking on scale of normal to BFD, so that means he’s reaching out daily at a minimum. He gave me back the car overnight so we could see each other again on Thanksgiving before he drove it out of town to be with one of his business partners and to check progress before he left for training camp for 8 days. We did a terrible job, as always, coordinating our schedules because we never think to include the other. Except now when I mentioned Christmas in NY, which is where he wanted to go, too, but his usual place to stay was booked. I mentioned our pied-a-terre and invited him. It just sort of came out, but I might be open to it. It could be fun. He’s been different, obviously, reevaluating his life and reaching for what’s real and solid. I am real and solid for him. He’s not yet that way for me, though he is better than I ever give him credit for.
My weight has been fluctuating over the week. I am up at the top end of where I like to be: 115. Men, strangers to me, like to guess my weight and always guess 5-10 pounds lower than normal, which sort of makes me feel bad, but I am feeling more balanced about it. I am premensstrual and bloated, but I still ate and drank and enjoyed myself.
I am much less depressed than I’ve been. In fact, I feel pretty good. Stressed, but good. The LP heartbreak and small hope that he’s been telling me the truth — that it’s temporary, that he’s still here — linger, but I still feel good.
This week, I return to my workout regularly (I am actually making enough money to keep food in the house, the wolf from the door, utilities and house stuff paid, and able to pick up my own check for stuff). I need it. It makes my body and mind very, very happy.
Oh, and I am in a perhaps unreconcilable fight with my “best” friend, W, who is a hypocritical asshole and unnecessarily cruel.