sixteen. tuesday. valentine’s day.
Last night I was reminded that today would be Tuesday. So, I awoke with nausea so bad that I thought that I should stay home.
Sixteen weeks. That is four months now. When I think back, it is hard to believe that I haven’t heard Him (in his alive state, not the voicemail playbacks) in four month’s time. Haven’t seen Him in 17 weeks. Haven’t been with Him in 18 weeks. Damn. The clock only goes forward.
I went to work not driving as fast as normal. I was jamming to The Dream like I was at the club. I was Rockin That Shit Like…
it wasn’t Tuesday.
But it is Valentine’s Day…which, for me, has minor significance…until I thought about it some more this evening:
Valentine’s Day 3 years ago, I took off from work early to travel to St. Pete to surprise visit a coworker at my former work/death place. Love was still working there. I told Him that I was coming to the area and asked about His availability. I cannot remember my exact wording (though I did find a copy of this conversation in my records, so I could get the exact wording if I wanted), but His response was something to the effect that they would be available. (Um, I know this doesn’t make sense without previous context that I have not yet chronicled, but just ride with it for awhile.) I responded stating I was referring to Him, not they, in this instance. He told me to hit Him up when I was there.
I waited at a local gas station, parked in the lot because I had too much PTSD to show up at the old job. I texted Him. He arrived.
We sat in my car. I hadn’t seen Him in a long time. It felt awkward. But He looked so cute…and serious. He was very serious. Extremely pensive. Quiet even. He didn’t crack a smile. I wasn’t sure what He was feeling. Confusion maybe. (And I think I know why now. Let’s just say I might have been the turning point of Him choosing another path.) Wait, it wasn’t awkward. He was just awkward. That’s how He was.
We talked about how we had not hooked up and about the delay. He was growing frustrated with the whole ordeal. Yes, it was an interesting ordeal. I was patient and amused because I thought I had put the ball in His court long ago. But He tried to put it on me. I didn’t need this. I was single and free. Besides, I was getting the my socks knocked off by old lover — I didn’t have much time for someone who was still figuring out their logistics. Love wasn’t aggressive enough for me, or so it seemed.
By the end of our conversation He had decided He would pursue me without “permission” though He still wanted me to “try [to get the permission]” (my words, not His. Is this starting to make sense?). I remember Him saying that us meeting in that moment was enough to change His mind and that He didn’t care anymore. He said He couldn’t wait any longer. Poor thing.
And then we parted and He headed home. I never saw my [other] coworker at the gas station. I went to another coworker’s house in St. Pete. and we met there. A couple hours later, I rushed home, oblivious to the fact that old lover (who was also another former coworker. Hell, we all know one another, okay!) might have wanted to see me. I had seen Love, though. I was pleased.
Poor thing Love was because I allowed even more time to pass past February while I toyed with Him. I decided that permission wasn’t my thing, but more so not my responsibility. I bounced the scenario off my Sagitarian fling who was already well-aware of the story. His response was, How bad do you want Him? He even came up with a way to put himself in the situation to run some interference — oh, the opportunist that he is! But I didn’t want it badly enough. The shit had gone on long enough. Here I am? What you gon do?
So, we did it…eventually. And I got to experience that aggression that I mistakenly thought that Love lacked. He gave me the biznaz.
I don’t want Tuesdays.
These are the links within this story. Read them at your leisure for greater understanding, curiosity, or confusion.
When I went to grief group last week, they talked about how hard the holidays were, especially in the beginning. They…medium.com
In my quest to recover past text messages from Love, I recovered something unexpected: His voice.medium.com
So we are on the road to tapering the relationship, taking it 1000 notches down.medium.com
I told him some really fucked up shit. THE ANGER. THE REGRET. Part one:medium.com
Week 15. 15. The number is getting high. 15? 15. Fifteen. My Friend is gone…is 15 weeks gone. Shit, I don’t really know…medium.com