I came home and sat at the desk, opened my laptop, and stared at the screen seething.
That's it, I told myself. I have to get out there again and meet new people. There's no reason for me to still be here like this. Solitude was never in the plans.
The panic started to rise.
Maybe it's too late. What if there's nothing left for me? I've been on the sidelines hiding from I don't even know what for so long, what if it's too late?
Sitting there, my running clothes suddenly felt too tight. I couldn't catch my breath and my head felt like it would explode. That's when I lost it, crying in deep gasps. In a fury I ripped off my top and threw it across the room. I rested my head in my arms on the desk. After a few minutes my breath evened out and my tears slowed. The anger was gone, leaving me half-naked and just plain sad. I wiped my face as I walked to the bathroom. I sat on the edge of the tub and ran myself a bath.
The next morning, in response to my main man JC's comment on my last post, I emailed him about how I might have just shaddup and done it, but that last night Harry and I went out for dinner and all he did was talk about this new girl. It wasn't like he even had anything to say. He did a lot of this:
[laughing quietly to himself out of nowhere]
"Oh, it's just that I remembered how last night after the show these guys, who are big fans of the band, kept Lisa company until I finished up my business and could leave."
[pause, waiting for something remotely interesting to come next]
And then later.
"It's funny", he laughed. "She's only 25 so she has so much more energy than I do."
Phew, I think to myself. Normally I'm all for the details. I might even say I'm detail-oriented, but I'm just not up for it.
"Like last night, we only got to sleep at like 4 AM and then she was up trying to fool around with me again before 7. I actually had to pretend I was sleeping, although that didn't last long."
I almost got up and left. Not only do I no longer want to say 'something' to him, I almost feel like I don't want to see him.
I've heard that when a person keeps saying someone's name, often with no real 'story' to tell, it means they must really be taken with them. He can't stop saying her name and I'm green with some kind of misguided envy. I'm a terrible friend. I think he likes her - a lot. That's great for him, but I'm in no mood.
Early in the conversation I tried to stay engaged.
"What does she look like?", I asked trying to imagine her, or them actually, so I could more actively follow along.
"Well, she's not as pretty as you."
"That's not nice to say", I shot back.
That only made me feel worse, but he didn't notice. He doesn't seem to notice anything. I'm not a good liar generally, but if you don't ask, I can pretend the elephant is not there better than anyone.
Like I said, I think I've had enough of him. There was a moment, but I think it's gone. And yet.