when the bough breaks

I've been pretty MIA lately around here.  I don't know why.  Every day I think about posting a new blog entry, and things I could/should/want to write about.  But I don't.  I haven't.  I've opened up blank screens with intention, and then not managed to get a single word down.  It feels like my writing parts are broken.  Out of use.  Rusty. 

Last week I had this weird realization about myself.  I've become a self-soother.  A self-healer.  So self-sufficient that I operate like a Bluemoon machine most of the time.  Something breaks, I fix it.  I feel sad/sick/frustrated/depressed/angry and I take care of it.  Depending on the problem, I go for a drive. I  go to the gym.  I take a long bath, or sometimes, sit in the shower to feel the water pound down on me from above, steam rising up in waves around me.  I go shopping.  I write in a paper journal.  I read.  I call my Mom.  I go out with friends, or I don't.  I know what I need as a general rule, and I tend to these things as they come up.

There's no room in my life right now for reliance on others.  It barely even registers as an option anymore. 

Last time I reached out, it failed.  I had a raging migraine and the two people I reached out to were useless.  100% useless.  So I said screw it.  And I went out and undertook measures to ensure that next time I didn't need help.  I got extras of things I could run out of for those times, and I do everything I can in my daily power to avoid the situation in the first place.  Expecting anything from anyone was a mistake, and it made me feel worse in an already horribly painful moment.  Screw it.

I feel like I am generally a pretty happy person lately.  I'm having a lot of fun with friends, enjoying my solo time, and work has been busy.  I'm watching a ton of football, which makes me happy.  I'm reading a lot of books, which pleases me.  Taking care of myself works.  It's a routine. 

But.

A couple of weeks ago, I went out with a guy I'd gone on two dates with awhile back.  We'd stopped talking for awhile, but then he popped back up, and I liked talking to him, so we resumed texting back and forth everyday.  Something about us clicked, and we exchanged random pictures from our days, talked about books and football and randomness.  And finally he suggested we should hang out again.

This time I went out to him, in the Capitol Hill area of DC.  We went to a restaurant and had drinks and food, and we were there for hours.  The alcohol was flowing, and we were flirting like crazy, and kissing.  Afterwards, we wandered through the dark streets to his condo, taking silly pictures on the street corners.  We hung out, just goofing around and being silly drunk people.  By the time I thought to leave, Metro was closed, so I stayed. 

We didn't sleep.  I don't think he sleeps very often, and I don't sleep well in places I don't know.  I was punchy with sleeplessness by the time I headed home the next morning.  We had a good time, and I felt closer to him, and even though it was still weird and didn't make sense, I just appreciated it for what it was.  I appreciated laying close to someone in bed for all those hours, spooning, laughing, joking about ghosts in the intense darkness of his room.  Realizing how terribly uncomfortable it is to fake sleep in jeans.  It was weird, but it was nice.

So last week we decided to hang out again on Saturday night.  He came my way this time.  We had fun for several hours. It was fallish weather, so I made chili that afternoon, and baked brownies.  I used his visit as an excuse to clean my apartment very thoroughly, so everything just felt nice and organized and cozy by the time he arrived.  We ate chili, we watched the end of a college football game I was into.  Then we watched a scary movie since we're both fans, and we had drinks and engaged in generalized silliness.

Then things turned weird, and quickly.  Bottom line, I love flirting with him, I even like kissing him, but the front and center chemistry between us is just off.  It was like we were driving on parallel roads past each other, and like I told him at one point, "Your game just doesn't match my game".  And I didn't mean that in a bad way, just in the way that we didn't match.  It felt forced past a certain point, and I wasn't into it.

He didn't really get the message, or at least didn't take to it very nicely.  He seemed generally the same, but he got a little weird and made some passive aggressive jokes that rubbed me the wrong way.  I decided it was time for him to go, so I scooted him out the door to take him to the Metro.  He was silent in the car.  Seriously, wouldn't speak when spoken to, just shook his head and nodded, once each.  Then he put on headphones.  And then I seriously wanted to reach across him, open the door, and roll his childish self out of my car, but I didn't.  I got him to the Metro, he mumbled "Thanks" and that was the end of it.  We haven't spoken since.

I was pissed.  I was hurt and disillusioned and annoyed for being surprised at how things turned sour.  Sunday I felt zapped of energy.  I slept in.  I woke up, ate some food, watched the first half of the Skins losing, then fell back asleep.  I didn't get dressed, though I did finally shower.  I felt like I was stuck in quicksand, and I didn't have the energy to care much.  It was just one of those days.

Then Artboy texted me.  I didn't care, and ignored it.  Then he IMed me.  Once, twice, and on the third time,without me having responded yet, he asked if I wanted to come over for football and food.  It felt like a life raft on a shitty day at sea.  It was totally unexpected, but exactly what I needed.  I made myself presentable and within a couple of hours I was at his place. 

When I got there I flopped on his couch and he sat down with me and gave me an unsolicited massage.  We joked and laughed, watching the end of one game.  Then we headed out to the grocery store, where we got drinks, and then to pick up food.  We came back to his place and ate.  Watched football.  Flipped back to other things on TV during the commercials. 

Later on he drew me a hot bubble bath.  He has this awesome tub and he knows I'm so fiercely jealous of it.  I luxuriated in this candlelit bubble bath and just relaxed.  It was too hot for him, so he just sat alongside the tub with me and played with my hair, and then just left me in there on my own for awhile.  It was ridiculously relaxing.  We talked about work, art, sports, I even told him about Saturday night because I'm compulsively honest and he asked.  That night with Artboy was EXACTLY what I needed. 

I love when I get to have the boyfriend experience with Artboy.  For whatever reason, I decided to let him in on Sunday when I was feeling blue, and I let him make me feel better.  Every now and again, I can do that.  Every now and again, it works.  As dysfunctional as that relationship can be, sometimes the fact that I've known him for 2.5 years works for us.  We're comfortable together.  On the rare occasions when we do journey out into the real world, I know we look and seem like a couple.  Not the over the top newby couple, but the comfortable, settled couple.  The kind that jokes and is affectionate in the easy way, not the nauseating way.  Sure, it's sort of pretend, but it's sort of not.  That comfort is real.  That familiarity and that affection is true.  We just don't let it out of the box very often in the real world.  Usually we save it for when we're alone.

I guess maybe the fact that I can let Artboy in every now and again is a good sign.  Maybe it means that one day, when the time is right, I will be able to let someone else in.  Someone who can offer more than the occasional boyfriend experience, and instead be an actual full time boyfriend. All hope is not lost.  Right now, though?  99.9% of the time I roll solo.  I take care of myself because I can and because I have to.  I am my own best resource.