Contact

A friend invited me to my former company’s holiday party earlier this month, and of course my “not sure if I’ll ever be ready for marriage” ex was there. It felt a little strange to see him again for the first time in nine months, but the encounter was nothing special. He looked the same. He came over to say hello and we exchanged a few sentences of small talk. He said he’d catch up with me later in the evening but never did, and I didn’t particularly care one way or the other. It felt empowering to know that he didn’t have any effect on me. Funny how all it takes is a little time to go from being so close to someone to being virtual strangers.

Lately, I’ve been reminded of another recent stranger. Since I met Mr. Something’s-Not-Right on an online dating site that I still use, every once in a while the site will prominently display his picture and recommend him to me. “You might like ____!” Oh, technology. Thanks for the late update, but now you’re just being annoying.

Still, in spite of the occasional unwelcome recommendation, I eventually managed to push him out of my thoughts (or at least push him to the back of my mind). I’ve been chatting with some other people from the site, and though a discouraging number turn out to be completely uninteresting or unable to string a few coherent sentences together, others seem just the tiniest bit promising. I’m going to go grab coffee with one of these semi-promising people next week, though to be honest, I’m not particularly excited about it. I should be at least a little excited since it’s the first thing even resembling a date that I’ll have had since Mr. SNR, but instead of thinking about the possibilities, my mind has been wandering back to the past. I blame this on one thing: SNR emailed me about a week ago. It was a simple message; it just said that my last email to him (way back when we broke up) was heartbreakingly sweet and that this new reply of his was inappropriate, but … he still missed me. And he hoped I was doing well.

I was kind of touched at first. After all, doesn’t every recipient of the “it’s not you; it’s me” speech wonder if that other person ever thinks about them after the fact? My second thought, however, was that it was definitely unfair. Who breaks up with someone and then a month later sends an “I miss you” email? There should be rules against such things. An “I miss you, I made a horrible mistake and I want you back” email? Sure! But an “I miss you and that’s all I have to say (aka I miss you but still don’t want to date you)” email? Not OK. I do admit it got under my skin, though. In spite of my better judgment, I caved and sent him a quick reply to say I was fine, that as much as I shouldn’t admit it, I missed him too, and that I hoped he was doing well also. It was a pointless exchange. We reached out from our respective corners to make brief contact and then retreated back into silence. Part of me wonders if I’ll ever hear from him again, but the other part of me is insisting it doesn’t care.

In recovery

It's been a week and a half since the unsurprising end of my relationship with Mr. Something's-Not-Right, and I think I've made my way through the worst of the post-breakup funk. I credit the usual painkillers: lots of sleep, TV marathons (I'm getting good use out of my Sex & the City DVDs), a pint of hazelnut chocolate gelato, and a little time.

Something else that helped was that the day after we ended things, he sent me an "it's not you; it's me" email. He said he just wanted to make sure I knew that he thought I was amazing. Our personalities and lifestyles seemed like an incredible match, and he was frustrated that we were so likely to click and yet he had such an inexplicable disconnect. He didn't know what was wrong with him, but I deserved someone who could give himself to me 100%. He was already jealous of that guy. He also already missed me.

I thought it was a sweet, unnecessary gesture, and though it didn't make the situation any less depressing, it did take down my frustration a few notches. I wrote him back once and told him I understood. It was sad, but if he wasn't feeling that special something with me, then that can't be helped. Still, I thought he was a great guy and in spite of the way things turned out, I was glad we met and got to spend even that short amount of time together.

It felt like good closure. -–But I still miss him. I miss a lot of things, but I particularly miss just talking to him and knowing him. Since we had so much in common, dated for such a short time, and ended things more or less amicably, I've been toying with the idea of if we could one day be friends. Granted, it'll be a while until it could realistically be possible, and by then I may not even be interested, but it's an intriguing prospect that helps dull the sense of loss. Maybe it's just a crazy thought that's the mental equivalent of sleeping too much and eating too much ice cream. Legitimate idea or coping mechanism? Only more time will tell.

Finally, an answer

I went out with Lynn last weekend and told her about how I was still waiting for this guy I’m dating to figure things out. Though, I admitted, I honestly thought I could only handle another week or two of this indecision stuff before I’d have to cut my losses. It was just too hard, and sometimes I wondered why I was even putting myself through it.

“It makes sense. Even if things look hopeless, everyone has to let go in their own time,” she said. “Remember when I was dating that guy who admitted he loses interest in a girl after the beginning of the relationship, and even when he was eventually down to only dropping by for booty calls, I still didn’t listen to you and kept seeing him until I got fed up?”

“Yeah, that one time, didn’t you go his place directly after we met and chatted about how I thought you should dump him?”

“YES. And remember how after I broke up with still-technically-married guy, I still pined for him even though he was, well, technically married and didn’t see a future for us? We all do stupid things sometimes when we like someone.”

I told her I was aware that waiting was a stupid thing since this was probably going to end badly, but it was just hard to walk away. I didn’t want to give up too early and have to wonder what if things would have been better in a week? What if he would have actually made up his mind in my favor?

The more I thought about it, however, the more ridiculous it felt. If I learned anything from my last failed relationship, it’s that I want to be with someone who KNOWS he wants to be with me. If this new guy, no matter how great he was otherwise, was already wavering around month two, why in the world was I sticking around? Why was I wasting so much time waiting for him, not to mention letting myself feel bad about it, when I was already fairly certain what he would decide?

I didn’t want to put off the inevitable any longer. I wanted an answer already.

After some initial small talk and a few minutes of questioning, I finally got it. He said his problem was that something didn’t feel right. He finally defined the “something” further and said he felt a bit like things weren’t developing, that at times it almost felt like we were in a friendship with benefits instead of a relationship. (Ouch. I wasn't expecting that one.)

I told him it was still really early, and I didn’t get that vibe at all, but if that’s what he feels, it’s what he feels. It was still hard to pin him down on a decision, though. He continued to hesitate, saying he knew it was still early, that he thought I was really a catch, and that he felt things could potentially be amazing so he was reluctant to just give up. I had to question him specifically on whether he was ready to call this a done deal before he admitted he was so confused about things that he thought he had no choice and probably shouldn’t be dating at all right now.

That was hard to hear, but it was also what I needed to hear. Even though I wasn’t the least bit surprised about his decision, it was still disappointing and surprisingly heartbreaking. He was sad about it, too, and said he was kicking himself for doing this, even as he was going through with it. We both said we wished things were different.

It was tough for me to end the conversation. It was difficult to imagine not talking to him anymore, and I know I’m really going to miss him. I told him I hope he gets unconfused soon and finds what he’s looking for.

I guess I’ll have to keep looking, too.

Awaiting a verdict

When the guy you’re dating announces (twice) that he really likes you but is more or less debating whether to flee, what’s the next step? Do you keep to your separate corners and put things on hold for however long it takes him to figure things out? Or do you continue spending time together, averting your eyes from the pink elephant in the room, while he thinks it through? I had a hard time coming up with an answer. The truth was I still wanted to see him, but would it even be possible to keep things the way they were, and to continue putting myself out there, knowing he may have one foot out the door? Of course, as my sister suggested, there was always a third option: Break up with him and walk away from the whole confused situation. -–I admitted that made a lot of sense, but I wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

The worst part is that even though I know this problem likely has more to do with his baggage and issues than it does with me, I can’t help but feel a little inadequate. In moments of weakness, I wonder, Am I doing something wrong? Is the mysterious “something” that’s keeping him at arm’s length something that he thinks is wrong with me? It’s hard not to feel insecure when a guy you care about confesses he’s not all that sure about sticking around. Coming right after my “I’m not all that sure about marrying you” relationship, hearing that hasn't exactly done wonders for my ego. On my better days, however, I’m frustrated with him and think I deserve better, and I feel defiantly ambivalent about whatever’s going to happen. On one of those better days, I decided I could handle the inevitable awkwardness and would continue spending time with him, if he asked me to. Que sera sera.

For a while, I wasn’t even sure if he was going to ask to see me this weekend, but he texted me on Friday about getting together that evening, so I agreed. Seeing him in that first moment, for the first time after the second talk, was awkward. Surprisingly, kissing him again was not. Hearing him express regret over his “indecision” was awkward. Chatting over dinner was not. For me, the whole evening undulated between moments of normalcy and moments of trepidation. In spite of my attempts at a “come what may” attitude, I couldn’t help but also feel wary. I held back a story or two when we talked because I didn’t particularly feel like opening up to him anymore. When he asked me to stay the night, I declined. It suddenly seemed like a bad idea to let myself fall asleep in his arms.

We were supposed to get together for dinner tonight, as well, but he backed out at the last minute because he wasn’t feeling well. It wasn’t his fault, of course, but there’s nothing like getting sort of stood up on a Saturday night by a guy who may or may not want to continue seeing you (and realizing you feel worse about it than you probably should) to make you wonder what you’re doing. Sure, I care about him and want to give this the best shot I can, but sometimes I wonder if I’m being optimistic or masochistic. After all, though I don’t know what he’s going to decide, I can't help but think that the odds aren’t in my favor.

This sounds familiar

Yesterday, we spent another long day together. It had rained the night before, a night that he spent at my place, and the sun had come out to reveal one of those beautiful, fresh post-storm days. We went to brunch and walked along an outdoor promenade for most of the afternoon and spent a lot of time chatting and window shopping. He seemed happy and at ease. He wanted my opinion on things he was buying, he took my hand in his as we strolled along, and we laughed a lot and swapped all kinds of stories. Later, we spent more time at my apartment and went to dinner, and when he finally drove home after midnight, I realized I hadn’t even been tempted to ask him about the weird talk we had before his trip. Lynn would have been proud. Maybe it had only been a momentary freak-out after all.

Looking back, I have been careful to take things as they come. I’ve let him set the pace of our relationship, but he hasn’t seemed hesitant to push things along. He was the one who first suggested we not see other people, he always wanted me to stay the night at his place or to stay over at mine, and about a week before he left on his last trip, he even surprised me by suggesting we plan a weekend getaway sometime. The weird talk has been the only anomaly.

I spent most of today running errands. We were trading the occasional text message, as usual, and when I was checking out at the grocery store, I got one from him that mentioned he was feeling kind of down. I asked him what he was feeling down about and crossed my fingers that it had nothing to do with me. Then, on the way home, I finally got his reply. It said:

“I still feel weird about us. It’s the reason I’m sort of holding back/distant.”

I actually cursed out loud in my car when I read that, which, though uncharacteristic of me, felt like the appropriate response. I couldn’t believe it. Those words were just so frustrating the second time around. I asked him what was so weird, and he said though it was originally the immediate closeness we both felt, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, now he just feels like something’s not right. He can’t pin down what that “something” is.

I wasn’t happy about getting the exact same vague answer a month after the first one. I told him it would have been nice if he had brought all this up in person. I said all the hesitation on his part was making me feel like I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop. I told him I hope he figures this out soon because if the “weird” feeling means he doesn’t think things will work out, I need to know sooner rather than later. And I said for what it’s worth, I like him a lot and think we have a good thing going, but I hope he can make up his mind about me.

He said he was trying to figure things out. He said he likes me, too, and thinks he’s lucky to have found me, but he’s also pretty confused. He said he’ll try not to drag things out but also doesn’t want to be stupid or rash.

I think it might be a little late to avoid the stupid part, but I could just be saying that because I’m still mad.

Holding my tongue

He came back last week.

I was nervous about what our reunion would be like. Would things be different? Was that "weird" talk meant to prepare me for another unpleasant revelation that he just hadn't put into words yet? Was I waiting for the other shoe to drop?

His flight came in late on a Sunday night, and even though I had to work the next morning, I was relieved when he wanted to see me right away. He came by my place around midnight, bearing gifts of candy and other sweets from his trip, and after falling into bed together, we stayed up half the night catching up and flipping through his photos before finally drifting off to sleep.

He wanted to see me again during the week, but I was unusually busy. I worked late one day and was going out with various friends for a few nights in a row, so we made plans for that Sunday. The day before, when I was out with Lynn, I caught her up on the situation. "Everything still seems perfectly normal. Am I supposed to pretend that conversation never happened? Should I ask him about it sometime?"

"Noooo. No way. If things seem great, then go with it. Don't ask him about that."

"Why not? I'm kind of in the 'let's just lay our cards on the table' camp."

"I don' t think that's a good idea. It could have just been a momentary freak-out. If he brings it up again, then you have a problem."

I was skeptical, but when another friend enthusiastically echoed Lynn's opinion, I relented.

That Sunday, he and I spent the day together, and by the end of the night, I was suddenly very aware of (and concerned about) how quickly I was falling for him. It seems dangerous to form a strong attachment to someone who has at least partially voiced some hesitation, but I've always jumped into relationships with both feet, and this has been no exception.

Though, as promised, I didn't ask about my new least-favorite word. At least, for now.

With great potential comes great … anxiety

The flip side of the blissful limitless-potential feeling that comes along with a new relationship is the maybe-this-isn't-going-to-work anxiety that crops up occasionally to warn you that things may indeed not last.

As much as I consciously know not to pin all my hopes on someone so early on, I couldn't help but do a little pinning (scotch-taping, perhaps?) since he and I have been getting along so well. It's almost strange how easily and quickly we've fallen into a comfortable couple mode, so when he dreamily mentioned that it seemed a little weird a couple weeks ago, I just smiled and agreed.

Then, when I saw him last, he mentioned it again. "I have kind of a weird feeling about us," he said. When I asked him what he meant, he couldn't quite pin it down. "I think part of it is that we feel really close but don't know each other very well yet." I could understand that, of course, as we've only been dating for about a month, but then he said something more concerning. "I feel like I've been holding back a little bit just in case the worst-case scenario happens and it's too weird."

Wait a minute. In my head I was doing a full stop and realizing that "weird" had suddenly become a very ominous and annoyingly vague word. Would he actually want us to stop seeing each other based on some indefinable feeling? His last serious relationship, a few years ago, ended badly, so I wondered if this was some recoil reaction to intimacy. I asked him to let me know if I could do anything to help him work that out, but since he was still pretty fuzzy on what he was trying to say, the conversation more or less ended there.

We went about the rest of the day as if nothing had happened and had another fun date (it sure didn't seem like he was holding back), but the word and its implications were never far from my mind. The next day, he left on a planned two-week trip overseas to visit a (female) friend, and that anxious feeling really reared its ugly head. (The timing of that serious conversation could have definitely been better.) I started having bad dreams … dreams that he was seeing someone else, dreams about being chased, dreams about a swarm of bees invading my apartment. My subconscious is apparently not happy. He's been emailing me periodically, which has helped, but there's still a week to go before he comes back. Until then, there will just be plenty of time to ponder the word "weird" and try to get a good night's sleep.

And then there was light

I didn't mean to leave this blog unattended for so long, but the past couple of months have gone by in a blur. I spent lots of time with family and friends, completely avoided the dating scene, and focused on getting my life back on track and getting myself back in a good mental/emotional state. Over time, it worked. I barely flinched when my ex left a sad-sounding birthday message on my voicemail in August, I easily ignored some miscellaneous drunk text messages, and I stopped being even slightly curious about what he was up to. Life just moved on, and I was OK with the fact that he was no longer a part of mine. Eventually, I started feeling better than OK. I felt perfectly comfortable being alone and was happy with my new lifestyle, and that's when I knew I was ready to put myself out there again and give this whole dating thing another try.

Back in June or July, when I was lamenting my single status with a coworker at an office event, he started going off on a tangent about how he thinks he has some psychic abilities. This topic of conversation led to some jokes and eye-rolling, but at the end, he told me, "Don’t worry. You're going to meet someone. I get the sense that you're going to meet someone in September. No, really! Just wait, and tell me if I'm right."

Perhaps it was a true psychic prediction, or perhaps it was just a self-fulfilling prophecy that lingered in the back of my mind all these months, but I met someone. On the last night of August, I finally joined a free online dating site, and that same night, I messaged a cute guy who had a really interesting profile. He wrote me back the next morning, and we spent the whole day exchanging lengthy emails filled with anecdotes about our personal histories. He seemed really smart, witty, and funny, and his messages always made me smile. By midweek, we were talking on the phone, and that weekend, we went on our first date.

Luckily, all my qualms about awkward first dates turned out to be unfounded in this case. What started out as brunch turned into a full afternoon of walking around near the beach and talking for hours, which turned into dinner, which led to watching a movie at his place and going out for a super-late midnight meal at the end of the night. It was a crazy more-than-12-hour marathon date, but it was a great time. Hanging out together was … easy and comfortable, and it somehow felt as if I had known him for a long time even though we had just met. We went out again the very next day. And the weekend after that. And the weekend after that.

I have to keep reminding myself that there's still always the potential for disaster. After all, four amazing dates does not a happily-ever-after make. Still, sometimes it's fun to let my optimism run wild. I had forgotten how exciting it is to meet someone new, and I can't help but enjoy this feeling of limitless potential.

June went a little something like this

It's been an interesting month. I've been spending more time with my one single friend, I kissed my first stranger in a club (though that experience felt a bit more weird than enjoyable), and yet somehow still managed to subconsciously slip in a "my boyfriend" instead of "my ex-boyfriend" reference in a story I was telling a coworker the other day. How did that happen? Habit? Lately, though, my single friend (let's call her Lynn) has been MIA because she's been dating someone more seriously, so I've been spending lots of time with family, keeping my apartment sparkling, and trying to round up some of my married pals for a rare group evening out.

The other week, I met up with some of those friends (along with my crazy ex-roommate) for dinner. The conversation inevitably lead to my single status, and soon everyone was on the "You should join an online dating site!" topic. My ex-roomy had actually tried one for a month, and her attempt at convincing me to join went something like this:

Her: "I met three guys and they were really cool! Well, the last one was like 65 pounds heavier than in his picture … but they were all nice."

Me: "Hmm … yeah, you're not doing a great job at convincing me."

Her: "Oh! And you know [so-and-so], from our old work? He's on that site, too!"

Me: "You mean that extremely socially awkward guy? Ok, now I'm really sold."

Still, after some more joking around, gentle peer pressure and being on the receiving end of a bunch of sympathetic looks, I agreed to try it. I know. Horror of all horrors. I haven't signed up yet, but I told them I would, and I intend to. (I sense some awkward first date stories in my future.)

As for Lynn, I hadn't seen her in a few weeks, but she messaged me online the other day to give me an update on what she'd been up to. She just found out that her new guy is in the process of getting a divorce. As in still technically married. He's apparently been separated for a year or so, but the papers haven't been finalized. She was shocked, to say the least. She's on the fence about what to do about the situation, since allegedly the divorce should be finalized in about a month and she really likes the guy. However, how does someone fail to mention the oh-so-important "I'm still married" fact? Yeah, that story definitely didn't help improve my feelings about dating.

"You know," Lynn told me, "we're going to have to add this to our list of questions when we meet someone. It'll be: 1. How old are you? 2. What do you do for a living? 3. Are you married?"

Fun times ahead.

Unfriended

Last night, I went to see the touring production of Lincoln Center’s South Pacific revival. (I love going to the theater.) I went with a girlfriend of mine, but since I purchased the tickets a long time ago, I had originally planned on taking my ex and had put it on his calendar. A couple hours before the show, I noticed my ex’s Facebook status said, “I miss going to see things like South Pacific.” It was a sad reminder that our lives are now on separate paths and all the things we had planned to do together will never come to pass. It was also a reminder that I really don’t need to let social networking keep reminding me of that!

So I did it. I unfriended him on Facebook and unfollowed him on Twitter. I sent him a brief email letting him know that it was nothing personal and it would just be easier for me this way. It was a little hard to pull the trigger, but once it was done, I felt free. It was even a little therapeutic to watch his image and name slowly fade out from my Twitter list until they were completely gone. *Poof*

That free feeling dissipated a few hours later when I received a long email from him. He just said that the breakup’s been hard on him … that he’s not dating yet but he honestly hopes I find someone who can make me happy … that he’ll always be there for me. It was sweet, and sad, and really wasn’t making me feel better. So after I read it, I deleted it. And slowly, that free feeling started coming back.

Chugging along

Work has been kind of painful lately. My group has been working on a lot of larger, more complicated projects, and there are some new people in the office so the process has been suffering. For one project in particular, someone will have us review a 45-page document, then the next day tell us we need to start over and do it all again because they had other groups review it at the same time and now there's a new, completely different version that needs our feedback. (They should have all necessary groups review and then submit the document to us, but I suppose that would be too logical.) After about the third time that happened, I briefly contemplated how much force it would take for me to break the fifth-floor office window with my chair and jump out. Ok, maybe not really … but almost.

On mornings that I know that particular project is coming in, I hesitate to get out of bed and try to conjure up a reason not to. Is that a tickle I feel in my throat? Is my forehead hot? Just a little bit? But no, staying home would just mean making my two coworkers shoulder my share of the work, so in I go. The weekends are a welcome reprieve.

This past weekend, determined to make myself go out more, I accepted an invitation from a friend to accompany her to another girl's birthday dinner. It's always a little odd to go to a celebration for a stranger, but at least I was out of the apartment. Of course, I almost wished I was back in the apartment when the birthday girl drank too much (only 15 minutes into the dinner) and threw up under the table at the restaurant with 14 of her friends watching. Dinner with strangers gets a little more awkward when one of those strangers is puking near your feet.

At the end of the night, I got a text from my ex. It just said, "Miss you a lot. Drunk right now, so feel free not to respond." It made my stomach drop a little bit, and a wave of sadness passed over me as soon as I read the words. I didn't respond. It's too depressing to engage in that kind of exchange, and much easier to just pretend he no longer exists. If only his Twitter and Facebook updates would stop poking holes in my "he fell off the face of the planet" belief system. I do want us to be friends eventually, but maybe I need to unfriend him before we can get there.

B-o-r-e-d

I’ve been pretty good about staying busy this past month, but when I got out of work on Friday, I realized I didn’t have any weekend plans until Sunday. No biggie, right? I stayed in Friday night, cooked myself dinner, and took it easy. I was a little restless and a little down about having no plans, but it wasn’t too bad. The next morning, I slept in, got ready, and then … didn’t know what to do with myself. I drove to a bookstore and aimlessly browsed for a bit, which didn’t keep me entertained as long as I’d hoped, and then randomly decided to go to the grocery store even though I wasn’t in desperate need of groceries. After buying some miscellaneous items, I debated going to a movie by myself, but in the end decided that would probably make me feel even more pathetic than just going back home. So home I went.

Yeah, it wasn’t the greatest.

When I was in a relationship, I really valued these days when I had no plans. Days when I could just relax and spend time with that other person, going out whenever and wherever we wanted together without having to stick to any schedule or agenda. It’s funny how different all that free time feels now that I’m alone. Maybe it’s just something I have to get used to. Maybe I need to find a hobby.

My mom called around 10 p.m. to check in on me, and she sounded less than thrilled to hear that I spent my Saturday running a few errands and then watching half a season of “30 Rock” on Netflix streaming. She again asked me, “Did you update your Facebook?” (a.k.a. “Haven’t you told everyone you’re single? Why aren’t you out meeting people?”) She seems to think that through the magic of social networking, all I have to do is change my status to single and people will start knocking at my door. Oh, if only it were that easy. On the other hand, holing up in my apartment isn’t exactly helping matters, either.

Note to self: I need to get out more.

Decisions, decisions

It's been really slow at work lately. All of these idle hours (which we have to track) make me worried that one of the three people in my group might eventually be let go. And if I think being single is scary, I can only imagine how freaked out I would be if I were single and jobless. Still, I'm trying not to worry. I'll cross that bridge if/when I get to it.

Part of me thinks getting laid off might even be a good thing. I don't particularly enjoy what I'm doing anyway, and perhaps having a drastic change forced upon me would help propel me in another direction. My problem has always been that I know I don't want to keep working in my current role, but I can't figure out what I do want to do. My indecision leaves me stagnant; I keep doing what I know because choosing a completely new career path and starting over sounds like too daunting a prospect.

A friend of mine who is also bored with her job has recently decided to go back to school for her MBA. She's trying to convince me to do the same, a suggestion that my parents have also been throwing my way for years, but I'm not really convinced it would be worthwhile. If I have no idea what I want to do now, how is spending three years and $80k on an additional degree going to help me figure it out? Is more education always the answer? Am I even interested in coursework about corporate finance and strategic leadership? My first instinct is to say no. Now how in the world do I figure out what kind of opportunity I'd say yes to?

Amazon thinks I need a lot of help

It seems like a bunch of people have been breaking up lately. (There must be something going around.) A coworker who just got dumped heard about my recent breakup and insisted I pick up It's Called a Breakup Because It's Broken, a book by the author of He's Just Not That Into You. I've never been one to read self-help or relationship books, but I figured it couldn't hurt. I downloaded it on my Kindle and read the whole thing in one evening. The book was actually pretty funny in parts, and it was also really interesting to read about women who hadn't been able to move on after a breakup or who had done completely crazy things to try to win back or get revenge on the people who broke their hearts. As depressing as my last couple of post have been, at least I can take comfort in the fact that I'm not that far gone.

As a result of this recent book purchase, Amazon.com has been recommending the most hilarious titles. Things like Why Men Love Bitches, Why Men Marry Bitches (by the way, who would have thought that was a series?), You Lost Him at Hello, The MANual, Man Magnet, and Don't Call That Man! Amazon apparently thinks I am a lonely woman on the verge of an emotional breakdown. Fear not, Amazon, I'm just someone who's a little down and out.

One of the book's recommendations to help you feel better is that you should dress up and go out knowing you look great. I admit I've been in a "I'd wear my pajamas to work if I could" mood, so I was determined to pick something amazing to wear to the office today. Of course, then I woke up late this morning and thought, screw it. But hey, there's always next week.

Feeling the void

I'm not used to living alone. In college, I shared an apartment with a friend who was so codependent, she threatened suicide when I wanted to move out. Her many crazy antics during the two years we lived together left their mark on me and put me off the idea of roommates forever. So when my boyfriend and I broke up, I didn't know exactly what the future would hold, but I did know that I would be living alone.

There are upsides, of course. I can cook whatever I want without worrying about what someone else feels like eating. I can monopolize the TV and watch Bridget Jones's Diary whenever I feel like it (which is often). I can be as neat or as messy as I want and nobody else is around to pass judgment. However, it feels strange to not have anyone to come home to. There's nobody there to ask how my day was, and if it was bad, to be ready with a sympathetic ear and a comforting embrace. There's nobody there to joke around with or discuss an episode of Lost with, nobody there to help me lift heavy items or kill invading spiders. I miss knowing that a special someone would always be there for me. I miss feeling needed, loved and appreciated by someone. I miss a lot of things.

I find myself coping in typical ways. I'm eating way too much junk food (it's amazing how much comfort a warm batch of oatmeal raisin cookies can provide) and I'm overspending on purchases for myself and the apartment. I rationalize that if I have to live alone, I might as well have a nice couch. Or, since I'm now single and feeling kind of down, I might as well get a cute pair of shoes to lift my spirits. All these new material things do help me feel better for a while, but at the end of the day, it's still a little sad and disorienting to be home — sitting on an expensive couch and wearing a great pair of shoes — alone.

One last look

This whole month, my ex and I paid rent at both our old and new apartments so we could have enough time to move things over and get the old place cleaned up. It's been an odd month of transition. You can't make a clean break with someone when there's mutually owned furniture to sell on craigslist, piles of random items to go through and divide up, and cleaning to do (or in our case, a cleaning service to hire — now that was money well spent).

Throughout the month, we've been talking on the phone frequently about all the apartment details, and we've seen each other at least once a week. We're still on amicable terms, so it hasn't been awkward, really, but it has been sad. When we run errands for the old place, he still opens the car door for me, still carries things for me, still jokes around and calls me by his pet name for me, even. If I'm not careful, it's easy to let myself forget for a moment that we ever broke up. But then, in an instant, the realization hits me and every act of kindness suddenly makes me incredibly sad all over again. It was even worse when we were still living in the apartment during the two weeks after the breakup. It's separate togetherness. It's relationship limbo.

I was relieved when we went to the old apartment last night to grab the remainder of our stuff and wrap things up there for good. The place was clean and empty, and as we were about to leave, I sat down on the living room floor and took one last look around. The empty space reminded me of how the place looked when we first moved in three years ago, and I thought back to how excited we were then and how happy we had been living there over the years. I thought about how I'd never again come down those stairs and see him sitting on the couch, how I'd never cook us dinner in that kitchen again, how I'd never spend time in those rooms again. When I walked out the door and closed it behind me for the last time, it didn't feel like I was just saying goodbye to the old apartment; it felt like I was saying goodbye to my old life.

I thought I was past the spontaneous-crying phase of this post-breakup period, but after I got in my car, I cried all the way home.

An end and a beginning

I always thought that by the time I was 30, I'd have a great career and would be slowly climbing the ranks in whatever profession I happened to be in. I thought I'd be happily married and starting a family. I thought I'd have it all figured out.

It hasn't exactly been that simple. I've been at the same job, in the same position, for four years. My job, which has no clear path for advancement at my company, is not even something I'd really care to do for the rest of my life. As for my love life, I spent nearly the entire span of my twenties in two relationships. First, a four-and-a-half-year run with my first love, a person who ultimately could not make me a priority in his life. Second, a six-year relationship with someone I thought was the one. We lived together and often spoke of getting married one day, but six years in, when I started pressing him on when that "one day" would be, he revealed he still wasn't ready to get married and didn't know if or when he ever would be. (Definitely didn't see that one coming.) It just seemed too risky to wait it out another x-amount of years on his assertion that he was "pretty sure" he wanted to get married at some point down the line, so unfortunately, amid much tears and heartache, that was that.

Now, my thirtieth birthday is just a few months away, and I'm single (with a serious lack of dating experience), living alone for the first time in my life, and reevaluating my career in one of the worst job markets in recent history.

Yup, this wasn't exactly what I had envisioned. But who knows. Maybe with a little luck, everything will turn out even better than I planned. (That's what I have to keep telling myself, at least.)

Let the adventure begin.