In this time of impending VD and on this, my second day of being thirty-eight, I have decided to reach back into the annals of 2010 and share a story with you. It's not quite a tale of love unrequited. Heretofore untold because, well, it's hard to fit everything in when you only blog twice a month.
It happened on a Thursday morn. I specifically remember that because the night before had been a Wednesday, and I haven't slept through an entire day since the 90's. As I trudged out to the car, my mindless morning routine was interrupted when I noticed a piece of paper on my windshield.
Quickly unfolding the loosened leaf, I read the words written in blue ink. It began, "Saw you at Kroger last night." Then came the three words every guy wants to hear (well, besides "you are hilarious"):
"You are hot."
That was followed by a phone number.
Call me old-fashioned, but is this what we've come to now? Leaving notes on cars? Whatever happened to traditional methods of meeting people, like picking up a girl in a chat room, or filling out a two-hour questionnaire and paying a monthly fee to join a dating site? Next thing you know, people will be just bumping into each other in public and striking up a conversation. And I can assure you, I am so not ready for that.
But seriously. I'm not sure what your impression of me as a love conquistador is, nor do I probably want to know. But things like this do not happen to me every day. Perhaps when I was younger. OK, so not very often then either. The closest thing I can remember was walking across the mall parking lot towards Taco Bell one day when some girls rode by and yelled, "Hubba hubba!" I wasn't sure what that meant, but I took it as a compliment and had a chicken MexiMelt.
And so a smile broke across my face as I tried to recall the previous evening at Kroger and who could have possibly left the note. I distinctly remembered an attractive girl in the sandwich meats. She was at the checkout as I was walking out, so I gave her the glance-and-smile. Of course, there was also a guy in a red shirt with a carry-cart who I oddly seemed to run into on every aisle.
I must have encountered ten or fifteen customers that evening, not to mention the employees. There was no way to know which of them had apparently waited for me in the parking lot, followed me home, then came back after I went inside and left a note on my windshield. What? It's only stalking if she's not hot and/or she's crazy.
Almost as quickly, it occurred to me that this might all be a joke. Maybe someone I knew had seen me at Kroger, tried to get my attention but I didn't see them, so they decided to have a little fun.
There was only one way to find out -- ask everyone I know who could possibly have seen me at Kroger that night. Or call the number. OK, so two ways.
I contacted everyone I could think of who both know where I live and might have been in the area. None of them had done it. Heck, half of them thought I was joking.
From there, my thoughts on who might have left the note pretty much ran the gamut. What if it turned out to be a really young girl who thought I was much younger than I am? What an awkward call that would be. Or what if it was a much older woman? There's no way that's gonna work. Do you have any idea how immature I am? Don't answer that.
The next couple of times I went to Kroger, I would look into the faces of the people I passed to see if any of them looked familiar, but none did. With each semi-attractive female I encountered, there was a feeling of "could that be her?" I think over time, my mind decided to fill in the blanks and convinced itself that sandwich-meat-girl was the one who had left the note. I thought of her often during those late October days. And then, not as much.
I even had someone offer to call the number for me just to see who answered, but I declined. If our paths were meant to cross again, I would leave it entirely up to fate.
That's been about four months ago now. So I think we can safely deduce that it was most likely not a joke.
I'm also willing to allow that it's possible I rely on serendipity a tad too much.
"May have lost this battle. Live to fight another day. Don't be fallin' in love as she's walking away..."
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Matches
Most days the days all run together. I preoccupy myself with the unimportant things in life. Things are mostly fine, except when they're not. Work is work, and the weather's always the weather. Tuesday's not much different from Friday. And January feels a lot like July.
But one day every once in a while, I'll gaze out over the water, to the other side of the river, and wonder about you. I know you're over there in a sea of people, alternately surrounding yourself with, then withdrawing from them into your precious solitude. Like I'm one to talk.
I want to know you're OK, but that some nights you still miss me so bad you whisper my name when you're in the dark. And other times, you cry my name out loud because you're angry still. Or maybe that's just me.
I could call, but I haven't any business trying to cross that bridge again. The last time that I tried, I almost drowned. You were on the other side with a can of gasoline and a freshly struck match.
But that was us, wasn't it? Always ready with a match, we both set fire to that bridge at least half a dozen times. Sometimes it seemed just for the sake of seeing how much damage we could do. Yet somehow it still stands. Or maybe it's no longer there. It's possible it's only in my mind.
I can't help that sometimes when I close my eyes, I still see yours, so deep and rich and dark -- caring, passionate and so completely vulnerable all at the same time. I'd get lost so easily in there and never want to find my way out. I remember how I'd know they were about to cry before a tear would fall. And most of the time, the tears were caused by me.
You were there for solace when I needed you, and you were trying hard. Then when I was ready to try, you were impossible to reach, at least for me. And so we went, back and forth. Maybe it was just a game we played -- one where even if you win, you lose. Or maybe I only threw away my matches when I knew you'd never cross that bridge again.
I remember mostly the good times now. That's just how I am, and it's a curse.
And so I remain on this side, where most days the days all run together. And I don't think about forevers.
But one day every once in a while, yesterday comes around. I think about how close we were, how far you are. I whisper your name. And I wonder if you ever think about us, the way we were when things were good.
You know, before we learned to play with matches.
"When you reach the part where the heartaches come, the hero would be me. But heroes often fail. And you won't read that book again, because the ending's just too hard to take..."
But one day every once in a while, I'll gaze out over the water, to the other side of the river, and wonder about you. I know you're over there in a sea of people, alternately surrounding yourself with, then withdrawing from them into your precious solitude. Like I'm one to talk.
I want to know you're OK, but that some nights you still miss me so bad you whisper my name when you're in the dark. And other times, you cry my name out loud because you're angry still. Or maybe that's just me.
I could call, but I haven't any business trying to cross that bridge again. The last time that I tried, I almost drowned. You were on the other side with a can of gasoline and a freshly struck match.
But that was us, wasn't it? Always ready with a match, we both set fire to that bridge at least half a dozen times. Sometimes it seemed just for the sake of seeing how much damage we could do. Yet somehow it still stands. Or maybe it's no longer there. It's possible it's only in my mind.
I can't help that sometimes when I close my eyes, I still see yours, so deep and rich and dark -- caring, passionate and so completely vulnerable all at the same time. I'd get lost so easily in there and never want to find my way out. I remember how I'd know they were about to cry before a tear would fall. And most of the time, the tears were caused by me.
You were there for solace when I needed you, and you were trying hard. Then when I was ready to try, you were impossible to reach, at least for me. And so we went, back and forth. Maybe it was just a game we played -- one where even if you win, you lose. Or maybe I only threw away my matches when I knew you'd never cross that bridge again.
I remember mostly the good times now. That's just how I am, and it's a curse.
And so I remain on this side, where most days the days all run together. And I don't think about forevers.
But one day every once in a while, yesterday comes around. I think about how close we were, how far you are. I whisper your name. And I wonder if you ever think about us, the way we were when things were good.
You know, before we learned to play with matches.
"When you reach the part where the heartaches come, the hero would be me. But heroes often fail. And you won't read that book again, because the ending's just too hard to take..."
Monday, June 22, 2009
Unfriending is (not that) hard to do
Dear Facebook Friend #70,
This just isn't working. I'm sorry. It's not me, it's you.
To be honest, I've been somewhat hesitant about our relationship from the start. Yes, we went to the same high school, but you were three years younger than me. The only class I ever recall having together was when I was a teacher's aide for your 8th grade civics class. (And honestly, my memories of that class are pretty much limited to sneaking out in the hall to make out with LG, who was an office aide that period, and grading the 6'5" basketball player's tests on which he barely made above his per game scoring average, yet never missed a single game.)
So I wasn't sure why you friend requested me. But due to my non-confrontational nature and my inherent need for everyone to like me, I accepted.
Lately, your incessant posting has just become too much. You fill up my homepage daily so that I have to scroll way down or click "older posts" to see updates from my actual friends. Your 8 posts in a 17-minute-span last night was the final straw.
Look, I understand that you must be very busy, what with running your own zoo, not to mention a very successful farm. All the while you've apparently become caught up with the mob, and also seem to be in the middle of a gang war. And I'm sure you're very proud that your zoo just successfully bred 6 Fiji Banded Iguanas.
But frankly, my dear. I. Don't. Care.
And so the time has come to unfriend you. Unfriend--it's quite possibly the ugliest word in a Facebooker's vernacular. I'm not even sure it was a word until Facebook came along. But that's neither here nor there.
I hope that this will not be too hard on you. Surely, you can busy yourself in your Lil' Green Patch and find consolation amongst your other 379 friends. You probably won't even notice I'm gone. After all, you've never once written on my wall and I've not written on yours. We never hurled farm animals in each other's direction. Never even poked one another, thankfully.
I would say that I hope we can remain friends. But as I am unfriending you, that would seem impossible, not to mention counterproductive. So I'll just say that I hope we can remain people-who-once-met-each-other-but-have-no-business-being-Facebook-friends-as-we-were-never-really-friends-to-begin-with.
Thanks for thememories blog entry.
PS: Also, please accept this as my declination of your invitation to join the mafia.
"So don't invite me, throw a sheep or bite me. I hate applications. There are far too many, and I don't use any..."
This just isn't working. I'm sorry. It's not me, it's you.
To be honest, I've been somewhat hesitant about our relationship from the start. Yes, we went to the same high school, but you were three years younger than me. The only class I ever recall having together was when I was a teacher's aide for your 8th grade civics class. (And honestly, my memories of that class are pretty much limited to sneaking out in the hall to make out with LG, who was an office aide that period, and grading the 6'5" basketball player's tests on which he barely made above his per game scoring average, yet never missed a single game.)
So I wasn't sure why you friend requested me. But due to my non-confrontational nature and my inherent need for everyone to like me, I accepted.
Lately, your incessant posting has just become too much. You fill up my homepage daily so that I have to scroll way down or click "older posts" to see updates from my actual friends. Your 8 posts in a 17-minute-span last night was the final straw.
Look, I understand that you must be very busy, what with running your own zoo, not to mention a very successful farm. All the while you've apparently become caught up with the mob, and also seem to be in the middle of a gang war. And I'm sure you're very proud that your zoo just successfully bred 6 Fiji Banded Iguanas.
But frankly, my dear. I. Don't. Care.
And so the time has come to unfriend you. Unfriend--it's quite possibly the ugliest word in a Facebooker's vernacular. I'm not even sure it was a word until Facebook came along. But that's neither here nor there.
I hope that this will not be too hard on you. Surely, you can busy yourself in your Lil' Green Patch and find consolation amongst your other 379 friends. You probably won't even notice I'm gone. After all, you've never once written on my wall and I've not written on yours. We never hurled farm animals in each other's direction. Never even poked one another, thankfully.
I would say that I hope we can remain friends. But as I am unfriending you, that would seem impossible, not to mention counterproductive. So I'll just say that I hope we can remain people-who-once-met-each-other-but-have-no-business-being-Facebook-friends-as-we-were-never-really-friends-to-begin-with.
Thanks for the
PS: Also, please accept this as my declination of your invitation to join the mafia.
"So don't invite me, throw a sheep or bite me. I hate applications. There are far too many, and I don't use any..."
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Why it was never just Larry and Darryl
In recent years, Wolfgang, LJ and I have hung out fairly often. To the point that I refer to them as Darryl and Darryl to my Larry. We've been to the beach, gone to ballgames and concerts. We've bowled, golfed, shot pool, and had many in-depth discussions about General Hospital.
Yet those activities have always had one key element in common: LJ.
Wolfgang and I have never, ever hung out just the two of us. Ever. This despite the fact I have known him roughly eighteen years.
We are, as I like to refer to it, friends-in-law.
I relate to him through LJ. If the three of us are together and LJ leaves the room--even just to go to the bathroom--there is instantly an air of awkwardness. You would think we had just accidentally touched hands and now neither one of us knows what to say.
If LJ is gone longer than a minute, we began to yell things like, "What are you doing in there? What's taking so long?" OK, we don't really, but we're thinking it. Or I'm thinking it.
If LJ has to work that night, we just don't go out. I remember one time we were planning to go bowling--LJ, Wolfgang, Jamie and I. LJ got sick and had to cancel at the last minute. When Wolfgang found out, he cancelled, too. Why? Well, I think it's obvious. That would have been like LJ going to the bathroom for two hours. Wolfgang wasn't ready for that, and frankly, neither was I.
If we ever do find ourselves alone, our conversation almost immediately turns to LJ. We start to make fun of him, dicussing his undiagnosed narcolepsy, his ex-girlfriends, how he has a top five list for every category imaginable, etc.
I cannot take credit for the term friends-in-law. I first heard it on "The Dog" episode of Seinfeld. Elaine used it to describe her relationship with George in explaining to Jerry why she and George couldn't go to the movies without him.
However, friends-in-law never quite caught fire and took what I feel is its proper place in popular culture like so many other classic Seinfeldian phrases: yada yada, no soup for you, low talker, close talker, high talker, regifter, germophobe, manhands, double dip, he took it out, not that there's anything wrong with that. I could go on.
Friends-in-law is as relevant as any of those. OK, maybe not as relevant as germophobe. Or double dip. Those are sanitary issues necessary for a healthy, happy existence. But I digress.
The friend-in-law concept is fairly simple. It's basically the friend of a friend. Someone you know through a mutual friend, and generally only see when said mutual friend is present. And for whatever reason, when said mutual friend is removed from this situation, things become weird.
I will now take a couple of reader questions.
Bone, what happens if LJ and Wolfgang get a friend divorce?
Ah, excellent question. This scenario has crossed my mind a time or two. Like when Wolfgang and LJ are arguing over who's better looking--Carly or Sam--and things get heated. If a friend divorce were to occur, it stands to reason that the friend-in-law relationship would be legally absolved as well. Of course, these are not hard and fast rules.
Here's our next question: Can you go from friends-in-law to just friends?
I probably get this as much as any question not involving catheters or my bread-eating habits. I would say that while it is possible, it probably doesn't happen often.
Coincidentally, Wolfgang actually IM'd me for the first time ever the other night. It was a little awkward at first, but it's bound to be when it's your first time. I'm planning to take things slow, but I could foresee us maybe having a phone conversation within six months or so. And who knows, we could be hanging out one on one by 2010.
OK, 2011. You can't rush these things.
"Friends, slowly drift apart. They give away their hearts. Maybe call you now and then. But you wanna be, just friends..."
Yet those activities have always had one key element in common: LJ.
Wolfgang and I have never, ever hung out just the two of us. Ever. This despite the fact I have known him roughly eighteen years.
We are, as I like to refer to it, friends-in-law.
I relate to him through LJ. If the three of us are together and LJ leaves the room--even just to go to the bathroom--there is instantly an air of awkwardness. You would think we had just accidentally touched hands and now neither one of us knows what to say.
If LJ is gone longer than a minute, we began to yell things like, "What are you doing in there? What's taking so long?" OK, we don't really, but we're thinking it. Or I'm thinking it.
If LJ has to work that night, we just don't go out. I remember one time we were planning to go bowling--LJ, Wolfgang, Jamie and I. LJ got sick and had to cancel at the last minute. When Wolfgang found out, he cancelled, too. Why? Well, I think it's obvious. That would have been like LJ going to the bathroom for two hours. Wolfgang wasn't ready for that, and frankly, neither was I.
If we ever do find ourselves alone, our conversation almost immediately turns to LJ. We start to make fun of him, dicussing his undiagnosed narcolepsy, his ex-girlfriends, how he has a top five list for every category imaginable, etc.
I cannot take credit for the term friends-in-law. I first heard it on "The Dog" episode of Seinfeld. Elaine used it to describe her relationship with George in explaining to Jerry why she and George couldn't go to the movies without him.
However, friends-in-law never quite caught fire and took what I feel is its proper place in popular culture like so many other classic Seinfeldian phrases: yada yada, no soup for you, low talker, close talker, high talker, regifter, germophobe, manhands, double dip, he took it out, not that there's anything wrong with that. I could go on.
Friends-in-law is as relevant as any of those. OK, maybe not as relevant as germophobe. Or double dip. Those are sanitary issues necessary for a healthy, happy existence. But I digress.
The friend-in-law concept is fairly simple. It's basically the friend of a friend. Someone you know through a mutual friend, and generally only see when said mutual friend is present. And for whatever reason, when said mutual friend is removed from this situation, things become weird.
I will now take a couple of reader questions.
Bone, what happens if LJ and Wolfgang get a friend divorce?
Ah, excellent question. This scenario has crossed my mind a time or two. Like when Wolfgang and LJ are arguing over who's better looking--Carly or Sam--and things get heated. If a friend divorce were to occur, it stands to reason that the friend-in-law relationship would be legally absolved as well. Of course, these are not hard and fast rules.
Here's our next question: Can you go from friends-in-law to just friends?
I probably get this as much as any question not involving catheters or my bread-eating habits. I would say that while it is possible, it probably doesn't happen often.
Coincidentally, Wolfgang actually IM'd me for the first time ever the other night. It was a little awkward at first, but it's bound to be when it's your first time. I'm planning to take things slow, but I could foresee us maybe having a phone conversation within six months or so. And who knows, we could be hanging out one on one by 2010.
OK, 2011. You can't rush these things.
"Friends, slowly drift apart. They give away their hearts. Maybe call you now and then. But you wanna be, just friends..."
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
I wasn't always this way
Dear C,
You had me head over heels. I'll never forget those summer nights on your parents' front porch. We learned so much. Sometimes I can almost taste your lips. I miss that innocence. I know we were young. Maybe if we had been a little older. You broke my heart. I'm sorry I held on for so long. I didn't know what else to do. I'll always smile whenever I think of you.
Dear C2,
I think your Mom liked me more than you did. That's usually not a great sign. Thanks for introducing me to Skyline, the local lookout point. It was all very Wally Cleaver-ish, until the police showed up. Once you went off to college, I just never quite fit into your world, with the sorority thing and all.
Dear J,
You were messed up. I thought I could fix you. I liked the idea that I could rescue you. I tried. I couldn't. There were a lot of lessons learned the hard way. Lessons I didn't plan to learn again. But any regrets I have are on me, because of things I let happen.
Dear L,
What more can I say? I've poured out my heart and written pages and pages about you. Part of me still refuses to admit you weren't my one. I know it's pathetic and I'm not proud of it. I became an arrogant jerk towards the end, not realizing it was you who had given me my confidence. My heart will always ache for losing you, but more than that, for hurting you. You will always have a friend here. Thank you for the best days of my life.
Dear M,
We had chemistry, huh? It was good to be in love again. You were never anything but wonderful. Thank you for sharing two years of your life with me. Whatever happened between us was only my fault. It was the start of a disturbing trend where I would get to a certain point and couldn't go any further. I'm sorry for that. The distance wasn't easy. You proved you would do anything for love, and I'm so glad you found it. I don't know what was wrong with me.
Dear J2,
There was always something comfortable about us, about being at your place. Baseball will always remind me of you. The fact is, I could never let myself completely go and I'm sorry. Anything else I could say wouldn't really matter. By the time you came along, I had taught myself to turn my heart off like a switch. But sometimes I think you could, too. You breaking a date by text message was just my excuse, my way out.
"Could you sympathize with my needs? I know you think I need a lot. Started out clean, but I'm jaded. Just phonin' it in..."
You had me head over heels. I'll never forget those summer nights on your parents' front porch. We learned so much. Sometimes I can almost taste your lips. I miss that innocence. I know we were young. Maybe if we had been a little older. You broke my heart. I'm sorry I held on for so long. I didn't know what else to do. I'll always smile whenever I think of you.
Dear C2,
I think your Mom liked me more than you did. That's usually not a great sign. Thanks for introducing me to Skyline, the local lookout point. It was all very Wally Cleaver-ish, until the police showed up. Once you went off to college, I just never quite fit into your world, with the sorority thing and all.
Dear J,
You were messed up. I thought I could fix you. I liked the idea that I could rescue you. I tried. I couldn't. There were a lot of lessons learned the hard way. Lessons I didn't plan to learn again. But any regrets I have are on me, because of things I let happen.
Dear L,
What more can I say? I've poured out my heart and written pages and pages about you. Part of me still refuses to admit you weren't my one. I know it's pathetic and I'm not proud of it. I became an arrogant jerk towards the end, not realizing it was you who had given me my confidence. My heart will always ache for losing you, but more than that, for hurting you. You will always have a friend here. Thank you for the best days of my life.
Dear M,
We had chemistry, huh? It was good to be in love again. You were never anything but wonderful. Thank you for sharing two years of your life with me. Whatever happened between us was only my fault. It was the start of a disturbing trend where I would get to a certain point and couldn't go any further. I'm sorry for that. The distance wasn't easy. You proved you would do anything for love, and I'm so glad you found it. I don't know what was wrong with me.
Dear J2,
There was always something comfortable about us, about being at your place. Baseball will always remind me of you. The fact is, I could never let myself completely go and I'm sorry. Anything else I could say wouldn't really matter. By the time you came along, I had taught myself to turn my heart off like a switch. But sometimes I think you could, too. You breaking a date by text message was just my excuse, my way out.
"Could you sympathize with my needs? I know you think I need a lot. Started out clean, but I'm jaded. Just phonin' it in..."
Monday, July 09, 2007
Friends don't let friends...
Several months ago I was at dinner with some friends when one asked if I was still talking to a particular ex-girlfriend. I informed her that I was not, and she replied with "That's probably a good thing."
I was aghast. How could everyone not be completely enamored with any female I might choose to date?
Hard as it was to believe, apparently it was true. Further conversation revealed a couple of other friends held a not-so-favorable opinion of this girl, as well. It was a real eye-opener for me. Like a cool, fresh bar of Coast in a morning shower.
I asked my friend why she had never said anything about this before. She responded that I never seemed all that serious about the relationship and she figured it would pass. It did.
But what if it hadn't? Would she have said anything? Would I have listened?
This is a not uncommon predicament in life. As long as we are single or have friends who are single, there will be situations like this. More times than not, I've found myself on the opposite side of the fence, wondering if I should say something to a friend whose significant other, well, had significant issues.
Inevitably, I wind up asking myself the same questions. What do I say? Do I say anything? How long should I wait before saying it? Is it really any of my business? Should I keep my mouth shut and just hope for the best? And even if I do say something, will it do any good?
Well, my friends, allow me to answer all of the above questions for you with one simple sentence: I have no idea.
At this point in my life, I tend to stay out of other people's business. I figure relationships are difficult enough without outside interference. And undoubtedly friendships have been damaged, some completely destroyed, because one friend decided to say something.
On the other hand, love is blind. And I would venture to say that lust is, too. As in my situation, the person in the relationship is usually the last one to see the signs that are so obvious to everyone else.
Do we not owe it to our friends to warn them if we think they are heading down a road strewn with certain pitfalls and probable STD's? After all, certainly there have been times in our dating history when most of us could have used a stiff smack to the forehead and someone questioning, "What are you thinking?!"
Good friends know us better than most anyone. They don't usually have ulterior motives. So if a good friend does voice an opinion, listen. Or don't. But don't let it ruin the friendship. More times than not, friends will be around long after the non-platonic relationship is gone.
And if several friends you've known for five, ten years or longer have a problem with someone you're dating, that should probably send up a few red flags. Then again, looking thru rose-colored glasses, red flags appear to be white.
There used to be a popular ad campaign which used the slogan, "Friends don't let friends drive drunk." But what about relationships? How far does a friend's responsibility go when it comes to dating under the influence?
"What would Brian Boitano do if he were here right now? He'd make a plan and follow through. That's what Brian Boitano'd do..."
I was aghast. How could everyone not be completely enamored with any female I might choose to date?
Hard as it was to believe, apparently it was true. Further conversation revealed a couple of other friends held a not-so-favorable opinion of this girl, as well. It was a real eye-opener for me. Like a cool, fresh bar of Coast in a morning shower.
I asked my friend why she had never said anything about this before. She responded that I never seemed all that serious about the relationship and she figured it would pass. It did.
But what if it hadn't? Would she have said anything? Would I have listened?
This is a not uncommon predicament in life. As long as we are single or have friends who are single, there will be situations like this. More times than not, I've found myself on the opposite side of the fence, wondering if I should say something to a friend whose significant other, well, had significant issues.
Inevitably, I wind up asking myself the same questions. What do I say? Do I say anything? How long should I wait before saying it? Is it really any of my business? Should I keep my mouth shut and just hope for the best? And even if I do say something, will it do any good?
Well, my friends, allow me to answer all of the above questions for you with one simple sentence: I have no idea.
At this point in my life, I tend to stay out of other people's business. I figure relationships are difficult enough without outside interference. And undoubtedly friendships have been damaged, some completely destroyed, because one friend decided to say something.
On the other hand, love is blind. And I would venture to say that lust is, too. As in my situation, the person in the relationship is usually the last one to see the signs that are so obvious to everyone else.
Do we not owe it to our friends to warn them if we think they are heading down a road strewn with certain pitfalls and probable STD's? After all, certainly there have been times in our dating history when most of us could have used a stiff smack to the forehead and someone questioning, "What are you thinking?!"
Good friends know us better than most anyone. They don't usually have ulterior motives. So if a good friend does voice an opinion, listen. Or don't. But don't let it ruin the friendship. More times than not, friends will be around long after the non-platonic relationship is gone.
And if several friends you've known for five, ten years or longer have a problem with someone you're dating, that should probably send up a few red flags. Then again, looking thru rose-colored glasses, red flags appear to be white.
There used to be a popular ad campaign which used the slogan, "Friends don't let friends drive drunk." But what about relationships? How far does a friend's responsibility go when it comes to dating under the influence?
"What would Brian Boitano do if he were here right now? He'd make a plan and follow through. That's what Brian Boitano'd do..."
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Fighting myself
The silent stillness of the night is broken by the piercing sound of the telephone. I know who it is, but check the caller ID anyway. Then I put the pillow over my head to lessen the noise until the machine picks up. I wonder how many times she'll call.
This is it. This is how I get out.
There are always a few little differences. But they're mostly the same. She'll call a few times. I won't answer. Then finally, I will.
I won't say much. Just something about how I don't think this is working out. I can always come up with reasons why. She was just saying the other night how I give her mixed signals and how I'm never there when she needs someone to talk to.
I listen. Or pretend to, anyway. To her incessant ramblings about nothing, night after night. And now she wants to nag and complain about our relationship? Well, fine. Let her see how she likes arguing with herself.
Maybe she'll cry. Maybe she won't. I'll probably wonder if I'm making a mistake. But I'd rather wonder if I left too early than regret hanging on too long.
The phone rings again. But for some reason, this time I answer. I tell her I love her and that I'm sorry.
It's a small step. And a constant battle.
I haven't always been this way. But someone hurt me a long time ago.
"The end is coming. She don't even feel it. It's a strange sensation. I'm almost happy..."
This is it. This is how I get out.
There are always a few little differences. But they're mostly the same. She'll call a few times. I won't answer. Then finally, I will.
I won't say much. Just something about how I don't think this is working out. I can always come up with reasons why. She was just saying the other night how I give her mixed signals and how I'm never there when she needs someone to talk to.
I listen. Or pretend to, anyway. To her incessant ramblings about nothing, night after night. And now she wants to nag and complain about our relationship? Well, fine. Let her see how she likes arguing with herself.
Maybe she'll cry. Maybe she won't. I'll probably wonder if I'm making a mistake. But I'd rather wonder if I left too early than regret hanging on too long.
The phone rings again. But for some reason, this time I answer. I tell her I love her and that I'm sorry.
It's a small step. And a constant battle.
I haven't always been this way. But someone hurt me a long time ago.
"The end is coming. She don't even feel it. It's a strange sensation. I'm almost happy..."
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