Tonight, the two men in my life each responded back adorably to a text message with “me too.”
The LDF responded “Me too!!! :)” when I told him toward the end of our text chat: “Wish your trip this week were to [here].”
LP responded “Me too” when I told him “I am great. Miss you. Xoxo.” after he rapid-fire responded with three texts to a message I’d sent 30 minutes before.
Though I am seeing a few people, I really only have only two men in my life, even though neither is really in my life.
I had a moment of clarity tonight when I saw that my Long-Distance Fling (LDF) was on twitter, which he never is. I quickly scanned my feed, just to be sure it was clean.
Last night, I was working from the sofa and LP, my impossible to categorize love, texted me.
I’d sent him a message earlier, with a request I never make: ” I’d like to get on your calendar some time over the next 7 days. When can you fit me me in?”
It took two hours for him to respond, which was more than enough time for me to get my nose out of joint and compose many unsent tweets.
When he finally did, it was a check in that was a little strange about work and the weather and became a discussion about restaurants where I was trying to figure out if he was trying to ask me to dinner or help him pick a restaurant for a dinner:
LP:”What do you think of [$40/entree restaurant] as a restaurant? Any good?”
I have so many happy thoughts swirling through my brain, I do not want to sleep.
1. It’s disconcerting to date someone who is so much more attractive than I am.
Like, it’s genuinely weird to look at this man and just think . . . wow. He’s beautiful, and he moves beautifully and when I am with him, I am a little insecure because daaaamn. He’s just stunning.
Life moves fast.
And then certain moments crystalize everything.
I was in a car accident. It was minor. I have a concussion. My brain hurts.
I make a living thinking.
I am still articulate. I am not having memory issues. I am not having language issues. But if I have to think too hard . . . my brain hurts. It’s better than yesterday, which is better than the day before.
Immediately after the accident in which I was a passenger in a car FM was driving, we went to a bar, not a hospital. My neck hurt. That was it.
We drank heavily. I was with FM and the goal was: drink.
I texted the three current men in my life-ish, just to see the response: LP, the Bon Vivant, and the new man, the Editor.
The hard part about having a blog about my adventures and misadventures that is essentially my diary is that I am entirely honest in it.
And sometimes I do very awful things.
And then I have to confess to all of you.
I am intensely commitment phobic, even while committing to someone. I hate having to admit “I am in a relationship with this man who I love who I know loves me” when there is so much uncertainty and he is as commitment phobic as I. And also, we’re both going through fixing our own lives and all the shit that makes otherwise awesome people like us over-think relationships and fuck them up badly.
Which we have already done in this relationship.
So, BV is and is not my guy.
I need to do a full update soon, but . . .
My planned Friday was even better than I’d anticipated. In addition to the projects I knew I’d start working on through my company, my girlfriend C convinced me that I have marketable skills other people would pay me for and that she (a marketing guru) would help me find them.
I had a little anorexia meltdown at a famous eatery, at which I refused to eat. Then I had to tell my friend the think tank exec that I have an eating disorder, which is always good times. He said, yeah, so you really shouldn’t do ballet . . . Which, yeah, I know.
On Saturday, I had a long workout with the dog (I am actively exercising again), and was sitting by the pool writing up things for a big project when I got a strange fb wall comment from the Bon Vivant, and then another one.
And then a series of private messages that made the depth of his depression clear.
I did what I could, and then I made peace with my decision and his choice.
I am coping with BV’s absence in the ways I do: going out a lot with friends, seeing bands, and working really long hours.
Last weekend, I went to a work dinner on Friday, a daytime concert with our new girlfriend LV, PR. JR and his girl where we had drinks at BV’s favorite restaurant — which I did promise I’d skip while he was gone [oops!] — dinner with FM and one of his friends and then some barhopping on Saturday, and a pool party, then dinner with the Think Tank Exec, and then a really cool new hipster bar with him.
My weekend was overstuffed by friends who knew I desperately needed distraction.
I know I am sad.
I am trying hard to keep that sadness to myself.
I know everyone “loves” BV posts, as everyone “loves” BV.
But, I know that I do actually love BV.
And I need to figure out what in the hell just happened. And what it all means.
Which means I need to record it and ruminate over it here.
There are some parts that I need to elide over for our privacy/protection/whatever. Other parts, I am likely to provide more detail than anyone would ever want.
C’est la vie. If you’re here, still reading, you know this.
There are several parts to the tale, which took place over the course of about 22 hours:
I have been texting my girlfriends to apologize, as I feel like such an effing idiot.
They are all being gracious, but I have been an idiot and I am not letting myself off as easily.
My biggest sin: whining about this man, this Bon Vivant who got in my head and in my heart, despite my better judgment. In part, he gained access to parts of me because his intensity was so familiar, his problems were so familiar, his crazy was so familiar. He is — in large part — very similar to me and to LP.
But he’s shown himself to be open and loving in a way I found charming — and, frankly — important. Being with him was fun to a degree I’ve not experienced in a long time. Being with him was also being essential in a way I’ve not experienced in a long time.
So, he loved me and I loved him and it was still dumb.
I always pick love, as heartbreak is something you can recover from. I always pick fun, as life is difficult enough.
But . . . this was dumb. And I knew it.
He was trouble from the beginning, and it was intoxicating. Then it was all real, and that was even more intoxicating..
I have cried a lot of tears for him, for me, about each of us.
The breakup was so abrupt, so shocking, so in my face, I was left reeling for weeks.
I have deliberately shifted some of my patterns and behaviors — I stopped going to certain bars, going out on certain nights, skipping specific restaurants. I needed to avoid him. I felt an open wound, and then a healing wound, and then a scar.
I am always aware of him, the specter he casts, the inevitable confrontation that awaits.
That I saw him last night, less than 24 hours after the first time he contacted me in six weeks . . . shocking.
And yet, not shocking at all.