According to a recent text message:
My daughter-in-laws' brother-in-laws' brother finds me attractive.
Sounds reasonable to me.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Friday, July 27, 2012
it dawned on me
It dawned on me
the other day:
perhaps
what he was hoping for
was that I'd be him.
The him that he was for me
back then.
Ah.
That, I can do.
the other day:
perhaps
what he was hoping for
was that I'd be him.
The him that he was for me
back then.
Ah.
That, I can do.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
total bust
The blind date? Yeah, whatever.
As soon as he finished eating, he was all, "that was fun...we should do it again sometime..."
Me? Still eating at that point.
Not cool.
And, what was with the whole "the gelato here is really good. You should try it sometime. Not now. But sometime."?
What? Why not now?
I don't get it.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
another blind date?
A couple of weeks ago, one of my knitting friends passed along my info to a friend of her hubby's.
Last night he called, we chatted for a minute, and he asked me out.
We're meeting Friday night for dinner.
Last night he called, we chatted for a minute, and he asked me out.
We're meeting Friday night for dinner.
Monday, January 30, 2012
an entire week
That's how long it's been, since I last talked to that certain someone. A little more than a week, to tell the truth. Friday morning, the 20th, it was.
I'd had a sort of a bad night the night before, trouble sleeping and all that, and I'd texted him something, late that night, which he'd not answered. The next morning, he texts me something along the lines of "sounds like you were having a bad day", and after a little back and forth, he says he has a meeting to go to, and I say I'm going back to bed. Since then, nothing.
Here's the thing, with that: earlier on, I could see how difficult this was for him, trying to just carry on trying to be friends, and I'd prayed about it (because that's how much he matters to me), and asked that, if I should just step back, not try to talk to him, that at least He make it easier for me.
And it's been easy.
I take that to mean it's the right decision.
I'd had a sort of a bad night the night before, trouble sleeping and all that, and I'd texted him something, late that night, which he'd not answered. The next morning, he texts me something along the lines of "sounds like you were having a bad day", and after a little back and forth, he says he has a meeting to go to, and I say I'm going back to bed. Since then, nothing.
Here's the thing, with that: earlier on, I could see how difficult this was for him, trying to just carry on trying to be friends, and I'd prayed about it (because that's how much he matters to me), and asked that, if I should just step back, not try to talk to him, that at least He make it easier for me.
And it's been easy.
I take that to mean it's the right decision.
Friday, January 20, 2012
things I would say
I need time. Time to allow the things I want in a man to become abstract. Time to allow myself to look for those characteristics in someone new. Someone not you. Someone I haven't met yet. Or maybe I have, but I didn't see it, because I wanted it to be you so badly. I can't do this anymore. You've broken my heart, again, without even meaning to. It's not your fault. You didn't know I was waiting for you. How could you? For a while, I believed you could. I believed we had this connection, something other-worldly, and I believed you knew I was here, loving you, dreaming of you, waiting for the day you would come back.
But when you did come back, you didn't know. You didn't love me. You didn't even remember loving me, as an adult. You could only remember the years before, the awful, heartbreaking, all-too- short teenage romance, and who I was then. You didn't remember the woman you fell for, again, at 34. You could only see the girl I'd been at 17, so you, you became the boy you'd been, instead of the man. That girl is gone. I left her behind so long ago, so gradually, I don't even know when she disappeared. For me, that's a good thing. That girl wasn't my best self. She was alright, but, she lacked compassion, patience, the capacity to accept others as they are without judgement. The woman I was at 34 had all that. I struggle to maintain that now, at 43, but I know, I'm more the woman I was than I am the girl.
It's not your fault. I don't blame you. It can't be helped that I still look the same, sound the same. You look the same to me, too. But, I'm looking at the man you were, nine years ago, when you loved me, the woman I'd become, and not the girl I was. Nine years ago, when you were all those things I need, and more, except, you weren't available. The timing was off. Perhaps it's always been off.
I loved you then. I love you still. But you're not that man.
I want to be there for you, help you to heal after your divorce, as you did for me. But it's not working. I said too much, dreamed too long, kept seeing the man you were, nine years ago, instead of the man you are now, and I broke it. I ruined whatever connection we had, because I couldn't see who you are now, until it was too late. Too late, because you'd figured it out. You saw that I'd been waiting, that I still loved you, and you ran away.
I don't blame you. You didn't intend to break my heart again. You didn't know, until you saw me again, that I'd never gotten over you. That I hadn't even tried. I was just someone you used to know, someone you hoped still cared for you enough to be your friend and help you through a tough time. I'm so sorry I wasn't able to be that for you. I know how much you're hurting, and I know how much you need me to be there for you, to help you feel normal, lovable, worthwhile. You are all those things, though you can't see it right now. And I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am for not being what you need.
But when you did come back, you didn't know. You didn't love me. You didn't even remember loving me, as an adult. You could only remember the years before, the awful, heartbreaking, all-too- short teenage romance, and who I was then. You didn't remember the woman you fell for, again, at 34. You could only see the girl I'd been at 17, so you, you became the boy you'd been, instead of the man. That girl is gone. I left her behind so long ago, so gradually, I don't even know when she disappeared. For me, that's a good thing. That girl wasn't my best self. She was alright, but, she lacked compassion, patience, the capacity to accept others as they are without judgement. The woman I was at 34 had all that. I struggle to maintain that now, at 43, but I know, I'm more the woman I was than I am the girl.
It's not your fault. I don't blame you. It can't be helped that I still look the same, sound the same. You look the same to me, too. But, I'm looking at the man you were, nine years ago, when you loved me, the woman I'd become, and not the girl I was. Nine years ago, when you were all those things I need, and more, except, you weren't available. The timing was off. Perhaps it's always been off.
I loved you then. I love you still. But you're not that man.
I want to be there for you, help you to heal after your divorce, as you did for me. But it's not working. I said too much, dreamed too long, kept seeing the man you were, nine years ago, instead of the man you are now, and I broke it. I ruined whatever connection we had, because I couldn't see who you are now, until it was too late. Too late, because you'd figured it out. You saw that I'd been waiting, that I still loved you, and you ran away.
I don't blame you. You didn't intend to break my heart again. You didn't know, until you saw me again, that I'd never gotten over you. That I hadn't even tried. I was just someone you used to know, someone you hoped still cared for you enough to be your friend and help you through a tough time. I'm so sorry I wasn't able to be that for you. I know how much you're hurting, and I know how much you need me to be there for you, to help you feel normal, lovable, worthwhile. You are all those things, though you can't see it right now. And I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am for not being what you need.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
further thoughts
Last Saturday, I was out in the yard raking leaves, and thinking. Well, to be accurate, I was fuming. Over the whole Christmas Eve visit, how he'd said that he was, in his head, 18 and running away. Like we were still in high school. Fuming. And I was THIS close to texting him those most dreaded words, words no guy likes to hear: we need to talk.
But, I was trying to be patient, give him, and myself, space, time to think, so I just kept working and thinking, trying instead to find the answer within my own self. And then, it hit me: I'd been feeling, acting, and behaving, overall, like I was 17! Maybe not the SAME 17 as I'd been back then, but, still, there was no question. And if I was behaving as though I was back in high school, who was I to judge him for reacting to that?
Oh.
Not to mention, my pet theory on divorce, which I use often to excuse silly behavior, for myself as well: whatever age you were when you were last single, dating, that's generally the age you revert to when you start to date again. You forget that 10, 15, or 22 years have passed, and you tend to look for someone that age, and behave roughly that age as well. That's normal, and it takes a while to remember how old you actually are. I'd just forgotten to apply that to him.
So, I felt better. I wasn't mad anymore. He might be 18 right now, but, he'd get past that, in time, and start to see me, as I am, now. And when he did, then we could find out if we actually like each other, the people we are now, or if all we have is the past.
And I'm okay with that.
Myself, I'd been back in 2002, at age 34, when he loved me (again) and wanted to run away with me, not run from me. Back then, he was that man, the right man. But of course, if he'd left his wife and family then, he wouldn't have been. Neither of us, least of all him, could have lived with the man he would have become.
That's what led to that conversation, all those years ago. Him saying he didn't know what to do, he couldn't leave his wife, it wouldn't be right, but, what if he never saw me again? And me, asking him, did he really believe he'd never see me again? No, he said, but, "I don't want to be 45 before we can start our lives together." Back then, I felt that we had time, plenty of time. Besides, 45 isn't old. Not old at all.
But, I was trying to be patient, give him, and myself, space, time to think, so I just kept working and thinking, trying instead to find the answer within my own self. And then, it hit me: I'd been feeling, acting, and behaving, overall, like I was 17! Maybe not the SAME 17 as I'd been back then, but, still, there was no question. And if I was behaving as though I was back in high school, who was I to judge him for reacting to that?
Oh.
Not to mention, my pet theory on divorce, which I use often to excuse silly behavior, for myself as well: whatever age you were when you were last single, dating, that's generally the age you revert to when you start to date again. You forget that 10, 15, or 22 years have passed, and you tend to look for someone that age, and behave roughly that age as well. That's normal, and it takes a while to remember how old you actually are. I'd just forgotten to apply that to him.
So, I felt better. I wasn't mad anymore. He might be 18 right now, but, he'd get past that, in time, and start to see me, as I am, now. And when he did, then we could find out if we actually like each other, the people we are now, or if all we have is the past.
And I'm okay with that.
Myself, I'd been back in 2002, at age 34, when he loved me (again) and wanted to run away with me, not run from me. Back then, he was that man, the right man. But of course, if he'd left his wife and family then, he wouldn't have been. Neither of us, least of all him, could have lived with the man he would have become.
That's what led to that conversation, all those years ago. Him saying he didn't know what to do, he couldn't leave his wife, it wouldn't be right, but, what if he never saw me again? And me, asking him, did he really believe he'd never see me again? No, he said, but, "I don't want to be 45 before we can start our lives together." Back then, I felt that we had time, plenty of time. Besides, 45 isn't old. Not old at all.
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