Month: July 2008

None pities him that is in the snare who, warned before, would not beware.
— Robert Herrick

I’ve been sitting here every day this week, staring at my site, wondering what there is to say. I feel empty, like there’s nothing to share. There are things I could tell you, of course, but even I’m tired of the ongoing saga of Pub Crawl Boy. I know now that it isn’t me, and he asked if I still want to talk to him – I do, but I sure wish he’d act like he still wants to talk to me.

I don’t think I’m cut out for dating. I’m not confident enough not to be hurt by every jackass who looks my way and says nice things. But what’s the alternative? I’m not ready to accept that I might have to live the rest of my life alone and that it would be ok, as someone recently suggested to me (not that she thinks I might really end up alone, only that I should learn to be ok with the possibility, just in case). The picture I have in my head of my life includes a husband and children and PTA meetings and softball games and summer vacations with my brother’s family and watching my kids and Aimee’s kids grow up as friends. And I feel in a hurry to get there, for a lot of different reasons.

When I lost my hearing, my life literally got put on hold for nearly three years while I tried to figure out what had happened and come to terms with it. If it hadn’t happened, I really feel like I’d already be where I want to be personally, and so it’s hard not to feel cheated a little bit, and it’s hard not to feel like I have to play catch-up. The other thing that happened when I lost my hearing is that I lost a lot of my sense of self and my confidence, which I’m only just now starting to get back, and that makes it harder now to put myself out there to try and get what I want. I feel stuck – too afraid on the one hand and too desperate on the other. Most days I have no idea what I’m doing. It’s amazing to me that I even bother to get out of bed sometimes.

Whatever. I suppose I’m just having a little pity party for myself while I wait for PCB to pop back up out of the woodwork and say the magic words to make me think THIS is really going to be the week. Again. I’m hopeless.

Disclaimer: I initially posted this Saturday afternoon. I took it down after continuing developments occurred Saturday night that show that I was hasty in my assessment – again – but I decided to put it back up because it’s still the way I was feeling when I wrote it, and I’m interested in people’s thoughts on the subject.

No woman ever hates a man for being in love with her, but many a woman hates a man for being her friend.
— Alexander Pope

When you know there’s someone out there in the world who digs you, who thinks you’re smart and funny and cute, who wants to be with you, you feel different. You walk taller, smile more, have a little spring in your step. At least I do. It’s a kind of validation, whether you agree with the concept or not, that you’re desirable, and it makes you feel good, and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.

But what happens when the bottom falls out, when – for no discernible reason – he doesn’t call, and when you call him, he appears to blow you off? You know in your head that it can’t be you, because you haven’t done anything: you’re the same girl you were the night you met him, and the day he arranged to have drinks, and the day he had to cancel and seemed disappointed about it.

I don’t know about you, but when that happens to me, it’s a constant struggle to keep my head up. I feel sad, of course, and disappointed. But I also feel embarrassed to talk about what happened, like I was foolish to ever believe that he would want to be with me and everyone else knew it and didn’t say anything. I know that’s ridiculous, and I thought long and hard about whether embarrassed was really what I felt, and decided that it is.

I could still be wrong about him, I suppose. I could be overanalyzing his last email – terse, not so friendly as the others, very matter-of-fact – telling me he couldn’t meet for drinks Thursday because he was heading out of town for the weekend. But there was no, “Sorry I haven’t been in touch [even though I’m the one who said ‘I hope next week will work’],” no, “Let’s try again next week” like he’s said before.

I assume, then, that I’m supposed to take the hint and understand that he’s done with me, but if that’s the case, I feel cheated. I feel like he owes me an explanation about what changed between last week and this week. I know I’m in the minority on this – more than one person has told me that, although it would be good manners for him to explain, he doesn’t “owe” me anything – and I’m certainly not going to send him an email asking why, but this makes me mad. I trusted the things he said to me, which isn’t easy for me, instead of listening to the little voice in the back of my head that said “Don’t get caught up in this.” And there you go.

You know what the sad thing is, though? This isn’t the first time this kind of thing has happened to me, and I never seem to learn how not to jump in head first, how not to get my hopes up, how to keep my expectations low. And I probably will not learn anything from this, either, quite frankly. But like my friend says, “It’s going to be wrong a lot, and it’s only going to be right once. Luckily, it only has to be right once.”

And if you don’t expect too much from me
you might not be let down
— Gin Blossoms, Hey Jealousy

Hope can kiss my ass.

More later.