Last night I put things back to normal, declaring to him that I did not want to care about him anymore and that I wished nothing had happened between us. He had no objections to this rather melodramatic outcry, and I expected nothing. My life was just fine before he tumbled into it, the drunken ambusher, him. I had no hopes for the future, no ideas of children and family, nothing beyond making it through the end of the day.
The whole thing was doomed from the beginning anyhow. I could never imagine us actually being together, in the life I have now. My friends don't really like him because he took home two of them over the last couple years. There was always the potential for awkwardness, if we happened to encounter anyone else, and he was not responsible enough to just face the music, he was always trying to duck any weirdness. He needed way too many reassurances for someone who is fairly successful in his professional life and is over ten years older than me. And most importantly, it was not a given that he actually liked me.
I will give him credit for not totally disappearing. He twice ignored me for a day or two, but he always sauntered back in with an innocent sounding, "What?" Given that everyone accuses him of pulling the disappearing act (because he always does it) I guess I consider myself somewhat special.
More than anything, I'm just tired of always holding up more than my end. I'm tired of explaining myself or even needing to when it comes to guys. I'm tired of chasing them, of wanting them, of needing them. Short of joining a convent, I just need a break from them all. So it's goodbye to him, the drunken ambusher. Goodbye to the quiet french major (who I have not seen or heard from in more than six weeks).
I may resent always being the single person at the table these days, but there have been more days that I wasn't single and longed to be.
No comments:
Post a Comment