I woke up at 2am. I got three hours of sleep. Dehydrated and hot.
It’s starting to be summery. It’s not even spring yet.
But the thought of summer makes me happy.
This will be my second summer since the surgery.
My left back thigh ached when I got up. A strong soreness. I exercised Friday though, so I guess it made sense.
Heat, summer, pain, and dehydration. Nostalgia for this old phone.
I went to the tutoring center today. Someone else got additional hours at their part time job, and so the center reconsidered me, and my lack of math skills, and finally called me up. I need to study some math now, to help out whoever I tutor.
It was a nice interview. I enjoyed just sitting, chatting with Mr. S, Sean is what I called him, but I don’t know if I’m supposed to. His office was hot, with two glass walls in the sun, and no air conditioning.
I had to wait in the chairs in the main office after my interview, for my Mom to pick me up. I spent the time sipping water, filing out tax forms, and talking to the receptionist / manager of everything, Teresa.
This is reminding me of THE STRANGER.
Maybe just the feeling I had while reading The Stranger, and The Moviegoer.
If they, Camus and Percy, wrote books, you’d think I could write one.
Write a book, make a cd, be a teacher..
I…don’t think John (guy I wrote that last poem about…) likes me. I keep hoping he’s just an awkward guy who appears disinterested…but I think he might actually be disinterested. Maybe I’m too needy.
I can’t tell if he’s being especially careful not to say anything that’ll give me the wrong impression about our friendship. Probably.
Because I feel like I openly flirt with him. He knows I was jealous of his scheduled singing time with Adam…the question is, did he guess I was jealous of the music, or jealous of the time spent with him?
I’m pretty sure it was both. I mean, I think I felt both.
He’s a talented, funny, attractive guy, who plays guitar, piano, drums, and ukulele. He can have his pick of any beautiful girl. Possibly a girl his age and not older.
Perhaps that’d be preferable. Preferable to me and our three year age gap.
He has options. So many options. He probably already dismissed me romantically from his head ages ago.
Why does he keep talking to me?
Do guys just do this?
They’re able to just talk to a woman and maintain a casual friendship, invite her to a party, chat, and just want nothing more?
Because I can’t.
Not so much, so privately.
Is it the digital age?
People younger than me are used to the impersonal, cold communication of a phone or website, not hearing another person’s voice, and so they don’t fall in love? They just treat it as normal? They don’t get crushes?
I tried it.
Freshman year of college I had only had facebook for three or four months, and then I started getting friend requests, from guys. Then, sometimes, I would chat with those guys on facebook. Only two specifically, Fred and Tom were really it, and they both wound up liking me. That’s probably why I think only guys who like me talk to me on facebook.
It was different then too though, because I went to school with those guys and could probably see them every day on campus if I wanted to, and I did seem to see them a lot, and they still sent me facebook messages.
John though, I only see once a week, if at all, and only really chat with on facebook that much.
Maybe it was more before…
I don’t know.
I’m supposedly going to a party tonight though.
He probably just invited me as a fellow artist.
That’s all I am.
Some cool chick with a good voice, a girl to play music with.
When I put up a poem about my unrequited love
on my secret blog, and talked about my fear of risking my friendship to tell a guy I liked him, a reader told me to tell him. It wasn’t a big risk, and if he stopped being my friend merely because I was attracted to him, and wrote poems about it in my spare time…, then he wasn’t much of a friend in the first place. I didn’t know how to respond to her comment. Many hours later I responded with something vague about my cowardice, but how I would try to overcome it.
I haven’t blogged since.
It’s been three days.
I wonder if they know I’m hiding from them? And the revelation that I am, indeed, a coward, who is much more comfortable complaining about her unrequited love in a secret blog poem, than actually talking to someone in person and finding out whether they like me.
Sometimes I think my four years in an all girls high school stunted me emotionally, as far as relationships with the opposite sex go.
I’m sure that reader only vaguely cares, and isn’t waiting around for an update of my life ready to judge and hold me to the words of my last response. Probably.
My punk friend Jack just told me to chill. The highschool student who openly claims to be troubled, told me to “let things lie”, after I sent him three frantic facebook messages asking for love advice.
I suppose we could question the credibility of my advisers, how I’m torn between the advice of a complete stranger who’s part of three single women writing a blog
about remaining single, and the advice of a hormonal teen boy who used to do drugs and now plays head bashing tunes about misery and failed relationships on his guitar, but they’re what I have to work with.
I mean, there’s also Mom, who thinks everybody is out to abuse and hurt her children, which may sometimes be true, but she’s become a bit one sided on the whole issue…
There’s my oldest brother Francis, who almost falls into the same category as Mom, except he just repeats the phrase “guys are stupid” all the time. Also a potentially valid point, but not exactly helpful.
Dad I don’t bother with my romantic issues, and lastly there’s my sister Patricia. And her fiancee.
They come as a set.
These two are convinced of John’s near undying love for me and spend every communication with me trying to draw us back to that topic.
I’m pretty convinced that they’re blinded by their own love and can only see the world as people waiting to be set up in the perfect little couples they’ve formed in their mind. If John really doesn’t like me, at least it will prove the oblivious lovebirds wrong. Maybe shatter their bubble a little. Make them stop before they sing songs about me and him sitting in trees, kissing.
It would almost be worth the rejection just to tell them they were absolutely wrong. I mean, I definitely appreciate their interest in my love life, to a certain extent, but they also made it impossible for me to believe myself when I said that he and I were just friends. They giggled and flitted around, raising their hands in response to their own repeated questions of, “Who likes John!?” And “Who thinks Catherine should date John!?”
It’s been a month. Patricia and Manuel left town, and now I’m psychoanalyzing every little thing John does, and trying to analyze my response. Too flirty? Not enough? Does he want me to go to the party, or does he just pity me?
The worst part is that I rather enjoy this uncertain limbo to a certain extent. Stupidly feeling like Elizabeth as described by her dad in Pride and Prejudice. Enjoying “being crossed in love a little now and then”. Turning my own real life issues into a game to amuse myself.
To pass the time until, until I have something figured out. Because my little love problems are merely diversions and distractions from the rest of my life.
From the gaping reality of my physical pain and lack of friendship and livelihood.
Compared to focusing on that, my unrequited unanswered love problems are a dream. An escape. I don’t want to risk losing that escape. I can’t risk that yet.
I’m not ready to let it go.
(*names changed to maintain anonymity. More or less.)