THE LABOR OF LOVING YOURSELF

If you’ll permit the ridiculous simile:  Love is like a club sandwich.  Why?  Because it’s only fun in the middle.  Just like the bread surrounding a delightful deli meat, the top and bottom of a relationship is often intimidating and momentarily uncomfortable.  There’s the dry, awkward introduction; the starchy “baggage assessment;” the crust of self-consciousness, and we endure it all for but one blissful moment that’s soon digested and turned into… well… shit.

I joined the site, I paid my dues, I kissed some frogs and I met a truly great guy; a truly great guy with whom I have a truly great date planned for this evening.  For all intents and purposes, my “out there” efforts have paid off.  However, I’m truly freaking out. 

Last evening, I discussed this seemingly nonsensical anxiety with Dr. J. 

                “Why should a mutual, genuine interest with this man be so frightening?  We talk every night!  We get along really well.  He likes me a lot…what’s wrong with me?”  

               

                But as it often does in therapy---it turns out to stretch a lot more deeply than that.

                “What is it about this situation that’s scaring you?” asked Dr. J.

                “I just… I feel like I don’t have my footing… you know?  Like… all this stuff has happened and I’m not done figuring it out.  And this guy---he’s so eager!  He’s so sure!  He’s got our next twelve dates planned… and that’s only a slight exaggeration!!”

                Dr. J nodded as if to say “go on.”

                 “I mean, yeah… I believe I’m datable.  But… sometimes I feel like people are taking score, you know?  ‘Oops… Alex was engaged.  And woops, there goes yet another relationship.’  I just want to get it right!  I want to have some realistic expectation for how it’s all going to go.”

                I could feel it.  It was coming:  the big, devastating question of the session.

               

                “Why is it so important to know how it’s all going to go?”

… Because if 2010 were a book, I’d entitle it “ClusterFuck.” In an insanely short amount of time, I experienced a heart-crushing break-up, the death of a very close friend and a completely illegal eviction from my apartment. All the while, another important, sub-conscious adjustment was taking place:  I was asserting myself as a post-grad woman living on her own for the very first time. 

                As these thoughts flooded my brain, I replied “I don’t know… I’m just overwhelmed!”

                “So…” Dr. J interjected “why can’t you just tell him you need to take this slow?”

A loud plop suddenly resounded in my head.  I knew it could only be the sound of Nice Alex falling out of her chair.  We know she always defers to the other person; she’s terrified of leading people on; she worries day and night about everyone else’s feelings... and now, in one fell swoop she was knocked unconscious. 

                Slowly… I sounded it out. 

                “I… I can just tell him I n-neeeed…….to take this slow?  I can just tell him I need to take it slow!  Well… but wait… I mean… what if it scares him away?”

                “If it does,” she said “what would that say about him?”

How had this not occurred to me?  This was brilliant!  Genius!  Of course!  I’ll tell him that I need to take this slow!  One date at a time!  And then… then we’ll just… take it slow…see where it goes!     

So Readers, this evening may or may not be something I can write a pithy, humorous blog about.  Sure, it’s early; Mr. Wonderful still has plenty of time to morph into a mutant.  But for the first time in a LONG time, I feel like I’m looking at something that could actually be SOMETHING.

Maybe we’ll get to the meat and cheese, maybe we won’t. Either way…I'm going to take life one date a time.

THE EX-FILE

Rather than lament the misery of single life, there are times to appreciate the subtle joys of detachment.  With no man to cuddle with this past, rainy Saturday---I decided to fill it up with the people and activities I love. 

Braving the weather, I took in a musical at The Sandbox Theatre and later caught up with some former band mates at a Good N Plentie gig.  It was a great time; filled with laughter and singing; drinking and dancing.  By the end of their last set, I had truly made a night of it; but I still wanted more.  So as a last minute impulse, I trotted my social behind to the local dive for one more drink.  What I got instead was a triple shot of my past---straight up.

“One Vodka Cranberry, please” I ordered.

“It’s on me,” interjected the adjacent barfly.

As I turned to thank my new beverage benefactor, a trio of dart players caught my eye. 

"Oh No..." I gasped in horror.

I knew I knew them…and I knew where from.  I knew we’d all spent the better part of two years together.  I knew what kind of beer they liked and what video games they played.  Most of all, I knew that they knew me---as their friend’s fiancé---so many years ago.       

Yup, that’s right!  Once upon a time; your little Alex was engaged.  He wasn’t a handsome prince and it wasn’t a happy ending, but it did set the stage for so many other adventures.

At this point, the only thing I didn’t know was how to act.  Luckily, one gulp of liquid courage eliminated that problem post-haste...

“HEEEYYYYYYYY!!!”  I cheered [a little too] enthusiastically.

“ALEX, HEEEEYYYYYYYYY!!!” They greeted back.

Ah, relief!  My ex had onced crushed me with the news that his friends were thrilled to see me go.  It particularly saddened me to think that his best friend thought less of me.  He always seemed so funny and kind; and I thought we got along really well!  Well, now [in the midst of their warm, drunken hospitality] I learned that I was right.  In fact his friends distanced themselves from him shortly after our break-up and they haven't spoken since.

Before you know it, they were buying me drinks and inviting me to play darts.  But after three more Vodka Crans [and some truly unsafe dart launching] I was drunk off my petite patoot!  Somehow suddenly, our party dwindled down to two:  Me and the Ex’s Ex-Best Friend.  We caught up on work, life---everything.  Soon he even walked me home…  Even got my number…  Even kissed me… 

...

 But even in my condition, I knew it was wise to send him home.  So I did.

We texted yesterday and while I admittedly have NO idea what to make of any of this---I find myself oddly intrigued.

So readers, the question is… should I be?