It was touch and go with SNR these past couple weeks. We’ve both been really busy and he’s been traveling for work, so we hadn’t seen much of each other. Still, even when he was around, it seemed like he was contacting me less often than usual, and I took the post-gray-area-talk silence as a bad sign.
A couple days ago, in response to an email I sent him, he wrote back saying we needed to talk (the dreaded phrase). There wasn’t really any ambiguity about what kind of talk it would be, so I was upset and indulged in an evening of moping. But, after I got that out of my system, I didn’t feel the need to do it again. Perhaps because this turn of events isn’t exactly surprising, it hasn’t seemed as difficult this time around.
He called me this morning, and even though I was ready with a box of tissues on hand, I didn’t have to use them. The conversation wasn’t as sad as I was expecting. I mean, of course, the situation is depressing and, unfortunately, familiar, but talking things out with him made me feel significantly better. He told me he still feels like something isn’t quite right, but that he cares about me a lot, etc. We ended up talking on the phone for more than two hours, and not just about the mysterious something and the second demise of the relationship. We just chatted about life, tv shows, past relationships, and all kinds of other things that reminded me how much I enjoy talking to and just knowing him. Sometimes the hardest part about ending a relationship is losing the friendship you’ve formed with that person. I was thinking about that and lamenting that portion of the loss when he hesitantly asked, “So, do you think we could try to be friends?”
I didn't know what to say, and I debated what my answer should be for quite a while. Is it possible to be platonic friends with someone you used to sleep with? Can you retrain yourself to see someone in a different way? Will the friendship get awkward and fall apart when one person (or both) starts dating other people? The whole thing seems rife with challenges and sounds like such a slippery slope. I’ve never been friends with an ex and have no idea if I’m capable of it, but after wavering for a bit, I eventually told him we could at least try. This might be yet another bad idea, but I guess it’s something I can cross off the list of things I’ve never experienced. Just like how I can now cross off getting more or less dumped twice by the same guy. Yeah, I could have probably gone without achieving that one, but in spite of everything, I don’t regret it. Things happen, and life goes on. I feel ready for whatever comes next.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Familiar patterns and familiar problems
I’ve been traversing the gray area with SNR for more than a month now, and though it’s been a lot of fun spending time with him, maintaining a rational amount of detachment has been difficult. The more time we spend together, the more comfortable we get and the deeper we fall back into the same patterns we had when we were officially dating. Last weekend, we spent a whole day together, went to see a play that his friend was in, and I stayed the night and we went out for breakfast in the morning. It felt great. And it felt stupid.
I find myself falling for him all over again, and it all feels so familiar. Only this time, there’s even more uncertainty and fewer guarantees. Every time we part ways, I wonder if it’ll be the last time I see him, and not knowing what he wants out of all of this is taking a toll on me. I had a series of anxiety dreams last weekend — the kind where you’re always running from things that are chasing you, etc. — and I’m certain that this is the reason.
I took the nightmares as a sign that it’s time to figure out what’s going on, so last night, after another full day together, I asked him if he had given any more thought to what he wants out of all this, if anything. His answer wasn’t as definitive as I had hoped. He said that he likes me a lot, and he feels even more comfortable with me now than when we were dating, but he still doesn’t know what he wants to do and he doesn’t want to make the wrong decision. I’m not sure what kind of revelation he’s waiting for, and the fact that he hasn’t had it by now doesn’t seem to bode well, but it’s hard to walk away without knowing for sure. I thought I would call it quits if he had this kind of wavering answer, but when it came down to it, I just wasn’t ready to let go.
I guess the question now is just how long do I wait for him to figure things out, and how do I keep myself from getting too emotionally involved in the meantime? It feels masochistic (again, familiar), but I want to stick it out a while longer. I told him about the dreams, though, and the fact that the uncertainty was wearing on me, and when we parted ways, he said he was sorry for causing all of it. I told him I could handle it for the short term. After all, “I run pretty fast in my dreams, so it's fine — for now.”
I find myself falling for him all over again, and it all feels so familiar. Only this time, there’s even more uncertainty and fewer guarantees. Every time we part ways, I wonder if it’ll be the last time I see him, and not knowing what he wants out of all of this is taking a toll on me. I had a series of anxiety dreams last weekend — the kind where you’re always running from things that are chasing you, etc. — and I’m certain that this is the reason.
I took the nightmares as a sign that it’s time to figure out what’s going on, so last night, after another full day together, I asked him if he had given any more thought to what he wants out of all this, if anything. His answer wasn’t as definitive as I had hoped. He said that he likes me a lot, and he feels even more comfortable with me now than when we were dating, but he still doesn’t know what he wants to do and he doesn’t want to make the wrong decision. I’m not sure what kind of revelation he’s waiting for, and the fact that he hasn’t had it by now doesn’t seem to bode well, but it’s hard to walk away without knowing for sure. I thought I would call it quits if he had this kind of wavering answer, but when it came down to it, I just wasn’t ready to let go.
I guess the question now is just how long do I wait for him to figure things out, and how do I keep myself from getting too emotionally involved in the meantime? It feels masochistic (again, familiar), but I want to stick it out a while longer. I told him about the dreams, though, and the fact that the uncertainty was wearing on me, and when we parted ways, he said he was sorry for causing all of it. I told him I could handle it for the short term. After all, “I run pretty fast in my dreams, so it's fine — for now.”
Monday, February 7, 2011
One step forward, two steps back
It’s been an interesting month and a half. I received a few more flirtatious emails from SNR over the holidays and into the new year, and eventually, I tired of wondering and just called him on it. I told him I had to assume nothing had changed on his end, so the obvious question was: What’s the endgame?
As expected, he admitted he missed me but said the mysterious “complications” were still there. He called his emails self-indulgent and apologized. It was a little frustrating to hear, but something about finally having a definitive answer in hand felt liberating. With the ambiguity cleared, I knew I could put him firmly in the friend zone and focus my efforts on meeting new people.
We casually kept in touch after that, and after another week or two of sporadic emails and brief online chats, he suggested we catch up in person. Now, I’m not completely naïve; I knew where that could lead, and I knew that going there would be a bad idea. Yet, the thought of seeing him again was too appealing to resist. Late one Saturday night, we got together and spent more than three hours catching up and exchanging stories. It was fun and easy and completely civil and platonic. That is, of course, until he mumbled something about lacking the necessary willpower, and kissed me. Then the admittedly bad idea suddenly seemed like a very good one.
We’ve seen each other a couple times since then, and navigating the gray area is tricky. I feel like if we were merely hooking up and then going our separate ways, I could compartmentalize that. I could figure out how to handle that. But, when we get together, we more or less do the same things we did when we were dating. We spent the entire day together this past Saturday; we went to lunch, walked around the promenade all afternoon, went to dinner, and then passed the remaining evening hours at his place. I have a feeling that if we continue this pattern of couple-like activity, it’s going to be challenging to keep my head in a realistic place.
I did ask him about what we’re doing once, and he said he’s trying to figure himself out. He implied he was trying to determine if he wanted to give official togetherness another shot, but the realist in me thinks this will ultimately turn out to be an “I missed hanging out with/sleeping with you but still don’t want to date” situation. I am astutely aware that engaging in a casual relationship with someone I have more-than-casual feelings for isn’t a great idea, but wise or not, I just want to see where this goes. Even if there’s another terrible ending in store, hopefully I’ll at least be able to enjoy the ride until we reach it.
As expected, he admitted he missed me but said the mysterious “complications” were still there. He called his emails self-indulgent and apologized. It was a little frustrating to hear, but something about finally having a definitive answer in hand felt liberating. With the ambiguity cleared, I knew I could put him firmly in the friend zone and focus my efforts on meeting new people.
We casually kept in touch after that, and after another week or two of sporadic emails and brief online chats, he suggested we catch up in person. Now, I’m not completely naïve; I knew where that could lead, and I knew that going there would be a bad idea. Yet, the thought of seeing him again was too appealing to resist. Late one Saturday night, we got together and spent more than three hours catching up and exchanging stories. It was fun and easy and completely civil and platonic. That is, of course, until he mumbled something about lacking the necessary willpower, and kissed me. Then the admittedly bad idea suddenly seemed like a very good one.
We’ve seen each other a couple times since then, and navigating the gray area is tricky. I feel like if we were merely hooking up and then going our separate ways, I could compartmentalize that. I could figure out how to handle that. But, when we get together, we more or less do the same things we did when we were dating. We spent the entire day together this past Saturday; we went to lunch, walked around the promenade all afternoon, went to dinner, and then passed the remaining evening hours at his place. I have a feeling that if we continue this pattern of couple-like activity, it’s going to be challenging to keep my head in a realistic place.
I did ask him about what we’re doing once, and he said he’s trying to figure himself out. He implied he was trying to determine if he wanted to give official togetherness another shot, but the realist in me thinks this will ultimately turn out to be an “I missed hanging out with/sleeping with you but still don’t want to date” situation. I am astutely aware that engaging in a casual relationship with someone I have more-than-casual feelings for isn’t a great idea, but wise or not, I just want to see where this goes. Even if there’s another terrible ending in store, hopefully I’ll at least be able to enjoy the ride until we reach it.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, November 19, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
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.
“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.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
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.
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.
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