A month of being exclusive later – I’m having second thoughts. My tall Indian lover has quickly turned into my tall Indian boyfriend – with all the demands and expectations of a regular relationship! And I’m not so sure I’m ready. In the last four months after the breakup, the move out, the getting sick with stress, the finding a new apartment, the new tits…and then a new relationship… I’m not so sure I’m dealing with the whole thing as gracefully as I should. Falling in love is easy, but staying in love and really committing to it – that’s the hard part as I’m sure the better half of the stats show with any modern day marriage! I’m struggling with wanting serious amounts of my own space, seeing other people and needing something a little more than just the occasional fuck. I’m not sure where a new relationship fits into all it. Perhaps nowhere. I tried to give my exclusivity rights back to him last night – but in that sexy London accent and with those chocolaty sweet brown eyes I was only able to articulate my need for space. I couldn’t bring myself to admit that I’ve been fantasizing about sex with my ex – a sure sign that I’m just not ready for another go round so soon! Does this mean that I have to give up the samosas?
Is there anything wrong with sending hate email to an ex-boyfriend? I mean just gather up all your rage and angry poison and blast it all away in one email? Just to let him know that my life is in complete shambles, that I’m having to live with my parents, that I’m so sick I’m unable to work, that every night I cry myself to sleep? I want to lay it so thick that he might feel a pang of guilt, remorse, regret, love? Maybe I just need some counseling or a good-old-fashioned fuck. Whatever pit of despair this is, I am most definitely at the bottom. The very rock bottom. I’m at the point where even my most reliable distractions are not working (my snuggle buddy has left town – god, that’s bad timing!) and all I’m left with is a half empty box of tissues, red eyes and a fucking headache from the 24 hour pity party that I’ve been hosting. Jennifer Aniston has nothing on me. I’ve been told I should be like a phoenix raising itself from the fire, but unless those ancient Egyptians sent hate email I don’t see any help in that metaphor.
How does one know when that invisible line between friend and potential lover is about to be crossed? And how, once one has discovered where it lies, is it possible to back slowly away from it without offending the friend? Questions to ponder, as I answer my third text of the day from him. A guy friend, yes, but he’s campaigning very hard to change categories. It occurred to me like a bolt of lightening as we sat over a fantastic meal of ahi tuna and bellinis (should the invitation for dinner and movie have tipped me off?) that the sustained eye contact was a little too intense, too deep, too meaningful. In other words, the line was rushed like an impending WWI battle with me standing there eyes wide shut. retreat! retreat! Then later, after a funny conversation about our best three skills, he turns to me and (with that intense stare again) says he’s really good at giving back rubs. Yikes! Red flag central! This is most certainly not something I intend to pursue but he’s such a wonderful friend and person that I need to communicate to him (morse code?) in not so many words – that I’m NOT INTERESTED! That line needs to be re-drawn in no uncertain terms. I know I’m good at being blunt (my best friends and worst enemies tell me so) but this situation requires a delicate touch. Should I send an email? A text? A telepathic thought? Different invisible lines, yes but perhaps they might serve well to re-establish the one that so desperately needs to be understood!
Maybe I sounded upset on the phone or perhaps it was my request to fly solo today that tipped my friends off, but whatever it was the suggestion for a beer, a bong and a lapdance that came vibrating through a text message made me laugh out loud. Is that what people do when they are trying to get over someone? Maybe, but certainly distraction in any form is helpful. I find when the day unwinds and the night settles in that it’s hardest to accept that I’m sleeping alone. Or when buying groceries, single serving – just for one. Or when looking for apartments -the inevitable question: ”is it just you renting?”. Or whenever the music and chatter in my head finally stop and there is nothing to listen to except the stillness that fills the in-between moments. Those are the hardest. Then it’s my heart’s turn to be heard. And try as I might to drown it out, it comes through loud and clear: I’ve lost a love and nothing but time will soothe it’s ache. If it sounds pitiful, it’s because it is. I’ve never had the carpet of my life pulled so completely, so quickly from under my feet – adjusting to the new balance is difficult and I understand it needs some focus -but the blurry life of distraction is so much easier to deal with. It’s just those awful in-between moments when time stretches out like an elastic and I wait for the snap, the sting and it always comes. God, I’m writing in metaphor. It’s worse than I thought….maybe I should take my friends up on their offer: a beer, a bong and a lapdance might just work.
Dear Blog,
I forgot to mention last weekend. It all started with a glass of white wine at my girlfriend’s house. That led to another which led to the urge to go out. So we did. We met up with a few friends at a local club. A few more cocktails, a shot of tequila and glow sticks to adorn ourselves with and we were ready to hit the dance floor. While I was in the middle of losing myself to the music, somebody grabbed the glow stick I had stuck in my back pocket. I caught of glimpse of the glowing green stick hovering above my head attached to a small hand and a slim arm. She had swimmingly dark eyes and a fantastically cheeky smile. Clearly this girl wanted to play – and so it was on. All night long that glow stick passed back and forth between us; dancing all over each other pretending it was the glowing green plastic we wanted. I remember running my hands down the length of her body and thinking O my god, am I really doing this? She was so incredibly delicious it was impossible to keep my hands off of her. When she pressed her body against mine in a vain attempt to reclaim the glow stick, I kissed her. I kissed her to the thumping of the music and the pounding of the blood. She was a tiny little thing with a crazy energy and a sexy Spanish accent. And she kissed me back. Passionate, hot, wet and urgent. My first real girl kiss. It was awesome!
G4
Dear Blog,
It’s been a long, hard month of crying, not eating, not sleeping and generally feeling like I’ve lost the plot. However, as this month as trundled on, I have managed to get a few clear ideas of what I need to do. I’m an eternal optimist and somewhere, somehow the sun is always shining. So, I’ve got my stuff packed and ready to move out today and it’s really surprising how little I have. I guess I’ve stayed true to my nomadic, gypsy self and have succeeded in traveling lightly through life. It makes leaving all that much easier. Not to mention the fact that one of my girlfriends has also just exited a relationship and we’ve decided to rent an apartment by the beach. You can bet the sun shines there! A little bit Sex in the City, a little bit Girls Gone Wild – should be interesting.
Signing off,
G4
