Old Wounds and New Horizons

Posted on November 26, 2010


I had a great day with Lieu today, and that’s the problem.  All the time I spend with him is good for me because I love him; I get to be near him, and smell him, and hug him hello.  And in a way, I get to relax; I’m the quietest version of myself with him,  a version I never get to be with anyone, and it is restful and good, like a warm bath with a glass of wine.  It’s good for him because I shine the full light of my attention on him as brightly as I can, and I know how to do it so that I flatter his angles and give his darker recesses their due.  I’m an inquisitive, attentive, and attuned friend; if we get to the place where I decide to know you, you are well and truly known.  It is, I think, my best quality.

So I was happy.  But I was delusional, as I have been where he’s concerned for too long.  While we were sharing a late lunch in a cozy pub-one plate, two forks–he said How do you feel about things since we decided to just be friends? I think it’s working out really well. And I suddenly saw myself and what I’m doing in searing relief, like a photo flash: There is no good end to this.  Absolutely nothing to be gained by being his cheerful pal on the surface while I secretly twist myself into knots of desire and hope that he has very clearly said he will never untangle.  Will I have to smile and congratulate him with a warm shoulder squeeze when he glowingly confides that he’s met someone he likes?  How old will I be then?

I made excuses to leave early instead of going back to his place for a movie and cried so hard driving home that I missed my exit and ended up lost in Georgetown.  I need to tell him, one more time, that I have feelings for him that are far more than friendly and that I can’t see him under any terms that don’t celebrate that fact.  I have to shut him out of my life and leave room for all the lonely spaces to open up, so that I can make room for someone who feels about me the way that I feel about him.  I have to believe that I can have that, and stop making a meal out of scraps and telling myself it’s a feast, even though I dread the hunger that will come roaring at me first.  It is so far beyond time.  And it makes me so sad.


One other thing that has been gnawing at me lately, since I signed the loan documents and made up a terrifyingly tight budget for myself in Excel, is the fear that I have unnecessarily upset the applecart and ruined my life by committing every weekend for the next two years to school in Philadelphia, and five years of an income reduced by 10% (two of those years wrestling with expenses increased by a factor of holyshit) while I pay back the loan.  I’m pretty sure this is just cold feet, and that I’m actually opening my life up so that it will bear fruit in ways that I can’t predict right now.  But I do have to shake off a cold stab of terror every day when I think of how overwhelming  my schedule and relative deprivation will be.   Let’s be kind to me since I’ve already cried so much today and euphemistically say that Time and money management are not my areas of strength instead of I am utterly incapable of managing my time or money, as every single event in my life to date has unequivocally proven.


If anyone has made it this far (ANOTHER post about that guy she broke up with in May and MORE whining about having the opportunity she’s been dying for since 1997), I need to confess that I have already spent some of my loan money irresponsibly on a shockingly expensive matchmaking service.  In a fit of disgust and despair after being contacted by a series of married men and various other rejections, I cancelled my dating site accounts and forked over the moola for a well-known site called, for purposes of confounding Google, It’s Just a Midday Meal!  (In DC, I’ve been assured, this is actually a misnomer because no one actually takes lunch, myself included.)  I’m told that right now there are far more 30something men signed up than 30something women, so my odds are decent.  As a bonus, none of them are married to other women, and all of them are either quite serious about finding a relationship or filthy rich, judging by the price tag.  My first date is Tuesday, and I am planning to wear something cute and tastefully revealing.  I can almost guarantee that I am the most bohemian woman in this dating pool, so I’m sure hijinks will ensue.