12/16/09

Sometimes at work, I take bathroom breaks out of boredom. I’ll accompany co-workers even when I don’t have to go. Sometimes we gossip about other people in our department. We’ll talk about dating. The latter actually is the most frequent topic of discussion. My work BFF, M- would argue and break up with her boyfriend. A lot. It was any number of things, she planned all of their dates, she drove because his car was unreliable, and she felt he took her for granted. Valid arguments. My question is always, well did you talk to him about it? Her answer is always, no. She thought he should just know.

A year ago, I’d agree with her, however my dating experiences have taught me one thing: Whatever signifigance we deem any gesture, words, facial expression, etc.,etc., is about 90% less important than we, as women, believe they are. I realized this after a recent conversation with a guy I used to date. A few weeks ago I decided that I would go into 2010 clutter free. I have been cleaning house. I went through my cd collection, my books, clothes and shoes. I’ve probably donated at least 8 bags of clothing to the Goodwill. I’ve also made a few trips to Crossroads and Ameoba. The last leg of ‘clutter free in 2010 tour’ is ridding myself of all emotional opaqueness regarding the past. (Emotional opaqueness? Yeah, I said it.)

If my life were a movie, Erykah Badu’s Bag Lady would be on the soundtrack. In the last year there have been 3 situations that I still had questions about. In the spirit of that bane, I asked the dreaded question ‘Why didn’t this work out?’, the other night when I was hanging out with a friend (we dated the latter part of last year). It wasn’t because I wanted a redux. I just wanted to know what his take on why we went belly up. It happened. We didn’t talk for a while and then we were friends (strictly platonic) again, like nothing ever happened. My girlfriends were more puzzled by this, than I was. It was like their Rubik’s Cube or something. You’re friends? Really? How does that work? What happened? Huh? And I didn’t have an explanation, it just was.

I’d prepared for, ‘I met someone else’, or, ‘I just didn’t see a future.’ His answer? He didn’t like that I e-mailed him when I was pissed, and that he felt like I got mad at him for being him (he runs off to be a real life Indiana Jones about 4 weeks out of the year).

I HATE when people are upset and just let whatever comes to mind, come flying out of their mouths, so yes, I preferred to compose my thoughts before confronting people. What can I say, I grew up in a house where people didn’t yell. If my mom and I were upset with each other, we had a ‘cooling off period’ before we discussed whatever the issue was. Ok, fine I can see how that would be an issue. If the roles were reversed that would be something to discuss and work on. Not, as Hath says,’ pack up your toys and go home’. As far as him leaving, bon voyage, it was when he was out of town for a wedding for 5 days and he went incognegro on me, that I got upset. No carrier pigeon, not a smoke signal, nothing. Do I still sound upset? Cause I’m not. I’m just saying, is all.

In hindsight, as my friend Charles bluntly put it, he didn’t care as much as I did.

Right.

I guess I was excited to meet someone that got my sense of humor, who I didn’t have to have radio wars with, because we liked a lot of the same music, who made me laugh and who I could talk to about anything. Anything? Anything.

I thought about my past relationships. I felt pretty confident that everyone was clear regarding why it ended.
As I listened to his explanation, I realized we could’ve continued the discussion into the next morning but we’d never be talking about the same thing. Had we been in the same relationship?

It was a little discombobulating, so, much so that he wondered if I was still listening.

Yes. Yes I was.

I wished him a good trip. I asked him to e-mail me when he arrived at his first destination, (just so I would know he at least made it safely) knowing he probably wouldn’t.  (However, he surprised me a few days later with an e-mail.)

As he turned to leave, he’d asked if I would have any other questions for him. I said I wouldn’t.

I’d joked at dinner earlier that evening, that I was done looking back, not even to check out how great my ass looked in whatever it was I was wearing.

The latter was a lie.