Rabid Interest

I forced myself out of bed at 5, dying a little. Feeling the whole weight of eating a cow and drinking a bowl of gin. My eyeballs ache. I have to force myself into the car and to my office. Struggling hard with a headache and a desperate need to nap. Not just tired.

Bothered, and not in a good way. I had to silence my phone to stop the whistling. Mr. Grey doesn’t wait for me to text him back and when I look at my phone there are 11 new messages from him. I feel inundated. I’m especially annoyed because Incredicock’s text tone cracks me up and I’ve missed it three times now because Grey can’t pump his brakes.

There’s a fine line to holding my interest. I’m not afraid to admit that. If I feel like I have to hide from him, I don’t want him anymore. I have a million things going on in a day and I don’t care what he ate for lunch. Not. At. All.

I actually have no desire to talk to him during his lunch break or on his drive home. I’m not a pacifier.

For the love of God. Why do all the wrong men chase me like a deer on the first day of hunting season?

I realize by going silent that I’m making the problem worse. If I want him to chill out, I have to out-text him, call during dinner and send him animated gifs all day. I know the path out, I just don’t care enough to follow it.

G- You must be busy today! Have a good one, gorgeous.

G- Flying Sunday?

G- I can fly over and pick you up so you don’t have to drive so far.

G- We could get lunch in Kalispell, Montana?

G- It was great to catch up with you.

G- Navy pinstriped tie today.

Sigh. I wish I cared, but he’s annoying the shit out of me. I feel like there’s a target on my back that I don’t know about. Yeeesh. I finally snapped.

J- Hey Chatty Kathy, I’m at work. I’ll text you when I get off.

G- Sorry babe, I woke up thinking about you. When do I get to see you again?

Where’s that annoyed emoji when I need it. I put my headphones back on and prayed he’d shut the fuck up. No luck. I finally Googled how to silence him, and a lovely little moon popped up beside his name. Finally, peace.

I raced to get my little Dumpling from school and took her to the park to play. It’s getting colder and darker earlier these days, so we’re trying to squeeze every last bit of playing outside. We walked home in the dusky twilight, holding hands.

This is why I don’t want a boyfriend. She’s my +1. I don’t want her to have to share my time with anyone. That may sound a little dramatic, but it’s really important to me. I only date when she’s asleep so she is none the wiser. She is really excited that my heels have come out of  storage, though.

We walked up to the house and there was a long white box waiting by the front door.

D- PRESENTS!!!!!

It’s from Mr. Grey. I lifted the lid and it’s a big bunch of gorgeous pink roses.

D- Daddy sent me flowers!!!!

J- He’s such a nice daddy. Let’s put them in some water.

D- I want them to be in my room!

I thanked Grey for the roses and let him know it was a huge hit with the little one. I stopped short of telling him they were in her room.

G- Call me after she goes to bed.

J- I have to run. I’ll text you.

… … … ……………………..

I didn’t.

and woke up to 14 messages, including some song lyrics and hearts.

FML.

spoiled

Overtext

I miss dating like it was when I was in junior high. No caller ID, no Facebook, no cell phones. It really was a blissful time to grow up and learn how to fall in love.

Your heart raced every time the phone rang and you answered with every cell in your body on edge, praying to every saint you could remember, that it was your crush.

When it actually was?

Nirvana.

These days you can see every damn detail of his life before you even say hello. You know what he drives, the food he eats and I’d be willing to bet, a few of his exes; thanks to laziness on his part in deleting old uploads. You see his kids before your first date.

Hell, if you’ve exchanged numbers with him, I’d be willing to bet you’ve seen his dick, too. Guys are quick to offer them up these days.

There are no secrets anymore. It’s all out there from the second he says hi.

I’m going to be a real bitch for a second. I fucking loathe the amount of time this shit takes. I don’t mind a date once a week. I can deal with that. Texting all day? NO. It is slightly moderately disturbing how much a pilot can text. 101 text messages. I just counted, twice. 7 pictures. I can handle about five a day, ten at the most and only if inspired.

I just don’t care that much, and I don’t care AT ALL what someone is eating. This is the longest fucking date, ever…

I’m sure he’s really nice… but he’s gone down that awkward path of being sexual before we met. It’s an unpleasant side effect of this endless texting. A false sense of intimacy with a stranger, who is absolutely not ready for it. I was silent.

img_8473.pngIMG_8474

#ghosted

Why are they all SO crazy? This is the crazy shit that makes me want to bleach a few Perfect memories out of my head because trying to replace him is torture. They’re either completely unattractive or they’re raging douche bags. There doesn’t seem to be any middle ground and it is so pathetic that I don’t think I can do it.

I went to bed annoyed and frustrated. Mad at myself for picking a fight with my dick on call. Tossing and turning until I got up and slipped quietly into my workout gear. I put my headphones on, climbed onto the elliptical machine and ran in the dark to the songs that are torturing me. Shaking my head to stop the thoughts about him. Missing someone can be the greatest form of torture. I can’t get away from my own thoughts and he’s too far away.

I know I could text him and he’d respond. I could ask him about his week. He would tell me. I could ask about his day. What he had for dinner. What game he’s watching. These are all available details. They’re also none of what I want to hear. For a while, it was enough and I was thrilled just to hear my phone announce that it was holding a message from the man I want most.

It wasn’t enough for very long and I had to force myself to delete him out of my phone to save myself. Biting back L-bombs and choking on tears because old habits die hard and I knew myself enough to know I could not leave him in reach.

It helped to touch someone else but I can’t help but miss him and my heart just doesn’t shift gears. It’s great to shake off the painful edge with someone that you aren’t invested in, dedicated purely to please you but if I thought it was going to fix everything, I was mistaken. I love a pretty Band-aid as much as the next girl but it can’t fix a lot if the damage is internal.

Sound asleep, I hear the sound I wait for. Fuck. I stared at the ceiling until I couldn’t help myself.

Tired and mad enough at the state of affairs, I said plenty.

IMG_8476He apologized, because he’s perfect and that’s what men do. I’m stuck on the fact that the beard is gone and all I want to do is climb into his lap and kiss his silky face.

God damn it. Now my mind is racing.

He’s gone silent since I told him to stop making platonic small-talk with me. Not exactly what I meant but I have to admit to myself that I’m getting far too much satisfaction from conversations more tame than I have with my mother and siblings.

I don’t want to talk about the damn weather with him. I want to talk about when he’s coming home to chase me around the kitchen. I miss the whisk that’s been banished since he was here this summer and the thought of him holding my spatula, gives me goosebumps.

One Perfect sentence and I’m back on the elliptical machine, running the agony off. Thankful that he’s finally helping my ass look good instead of just breaking my heart.