I’ve been absolutely slagging on this and I’m not exactly sure why. Actually, (and you can tell I’ve put much thought into this) I’ve narrowed it down to several possible reasons.
One: I have so many things that I want to write about, so many great ideas but am having trouble translating my thoughts into written word.
Two: Again, I have so many things that I want to write about, but I am absolutely sick of writing about the same things over and over again. I’m afraid that I’m coming off as sappy, and as one recent emailer suggested, “obsessive”.
Three: I have been in an absolute rut this past month when it comes to relationships, and that general feeling of not being good enough has refocused itself in my writing.
I think that it’s a combination of all three. The things that I want to write about, the things that I have rumbling around in my head tend to follow the same general pattern. Meeting a guy, dating a guy, realizing that in no way does he compare in any way to the person that I want to be with. Hello, second reason. And that person? In no way wants to be with me. Second reason, meet third reason.
For starters, my girlfriends and I threw our annual cocktail party last weekend. I’m sure that I will eventually get around to writing about it. The party had begun with the concept of gathering a few friends, forcing them into dresses and satin heels, or suits and ties. We always shed the Christmas music for dancing music, the nice cocktails for shots, and in my friend John’s case the clothes would be shed as well. This year was a bit different: As we were mid-planning, my girlfriends and I realized that just about everyone was coupled up. All of our guests would be bringing dates, with the exception of Meredith and me. Brilliant.
The next evening Jordan and I went to dinner and that topic came up. He asked me if I’d like him to come, and as I’d spent all day fearing the idea of being the only single one at this party I said yes. This ended up leading to fights throughout the entire week, the final one at my house the night before. I had been breaking out in hives all week, and when he was over I somewhat resembled a much-less humanitarian version of Angelina Jolie. I had also broken a toe at basketball practice, and had hives running up and down my thighs. He insisted on seeing the dress still, and as he zipped me up he told me that was beautiful. My typical reaction was to protest. He kissed his finger and touched my lips. “They’re gorgeous,” he said. And the next thing I know, he’s kissing me. I pulled away- it didn’t feel right. He sighed, frustrated. “When are you going to get over him?” he demanded. Within a few minutes he got into his car and drove off. I haven’t seen him since.
The cocktail party felt…lonely. Thankfully Habibi ended up coming, so I spent the majority of the night dancing and drinking with him. While the other “real” couples took over the beds, we slept on the floor beside the fireplace. In the morning he woke me up while the rest of the house slept, and we spent the next few hours alone at the coffee shop down the street. I’ve talked about it before, but it was an overwhelming sense of calm. I actually felt annoyed that we had to leave to go back to the house.
I spent all of the next day with Habibi too, with him driving over to my home town for the holidays with his mother. Habibi brought his lab mix, and we walked the two of them downtown together before taking them to my favorite park. It felt strangely comfortable again, as though we had been dating for years without the physical aspect. I’ve never seen Willa get along so well with another dog- they carried sticks together, licked each others’ noses, and cuddled together while we watched a movie back at my house. It felt closer than it had with Jordan, but I still know it’s not right.
There are thousands of other ideas running through my head right now, but I’m sure that I’ll have to make up for the lack of writing. I need to post pictures from the party, I want to write about the fact that I re-broke my toe (and two others) while out dancing with my girls last night. I want to write about how I teared up at the movie Mer and Jen and I saw tonight, which is something I never do. And about how my favorite Christmas present this year was the one my parents are giving me: they’re having t-shirts made for all of the girls on my basketball team with names and numbers on the back. Or about the day I spent volunteering at the hospital that Chris died in. Or even about how I will have to go into my old hospital again next week. I want to write about how I spent the night gambling (and won seventy-five dollars!) in Atlantic City last week. But I have all the time in the world to catch up on these things.