The dry heave.

5 12 2007

The only thing worse than throwing up is the dry heave. I am sick to my stomach. So sick that I called the man in Hawaii. Sitting in a starbucks, studying when I told him it was important that I saw him on Tuesday. Of course he asked why, and I made the mistake of saying we needed to talk. After pressing the issue, I finally told him that I didn’t want to do this anymore. This being our relationship. Dysfunctional. Leaving me wanting more. Nothing extra for him to give. Nobody’s fault. He says, “Trust me, its going to get better.” When? When and how is it going to be better? Thinking about the floating, maybe non-existent target makes me want to spew.

I thought talking to him was going to make it better. He gave all the proper responses. He explained himself; things I already knew. He said it would get better. He said to trust him. He asked me if I wanted to break it off. I said no. I do want this to work. I don’t know if it will, though. I don’t know how it can.

Aside from him having no flexiblity in his super-tight schedule, I realize there are other problems:

1. He doesn’t read my blog.

2. Our daily phone conversations consists mostly of how sucky/tired/annoying his day has been. A hugely negative tone. He doesn’t ask about my day.

3. I am not always spontaneous. Rather, I like to think about things, make wishlists, and then am impulsive about when to do something, eat something, go somewhere, see someone. If I get the urge to experience something, I go for it right away. My closest friends tend to be the ones who are available on-call to participate in any of my many crazy impulses. He’s never available for my impulses. Which sucks.

4. As much as I want to trust him, that it will get better, I am so scarred by past relationships that have gone down the wait and see path, only to end up with a broken heart. I’ve done this before, and my soul knows the damage, knows that I swore never to put myself in this situation again. I want to trust him, but I know better. I know that it’d be different if waiting through the rough patch would be different if I knew what I was waiting for. I waited for Justin to graduate college. I held on to scraps of his time as he was working hard to be the best man he could be. I supported those goals. I supported him. I didn’t nag him about leaving me behind, or taking me for granted. I knew what I was waiting for. I was waiting for us to both finish school so we could move to the same city, get married. I waited for years. I hate that pathetic girl who waited, starved for attention. starved for affection. only to have her heart and ego broken. I refuse to be that girl again.

* blogged Sunday, December 1, 2007; 11:30ish.  Interrupted by marathon phone call from Hawaii.




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