329 Days Remaining
I wish I knew then
What I know now
Wouldn't dive in
Wouldn't bow down
Gravity hurts
You made it so sweet
'Til I woke up on
On the concrete
What I know now
Wouldn't dive in
Wouldn't bow down
Gravity hurts
You made it so sweet
'Til I woke up on
On the concrete
- Katy Perry, "Wide Awake"
True, I haven't been in what could really be described as "a relationship" for quite a while prior to halting my search for potential husbands completely, so I guess that could be why it feels as though I haven't had a cuddle or a kiss for an extremely long time. When I look at that looooong 329 days stretching ahead, it seems like they will take forever to get through.
I'm basically trying to break it down into manageable pieces: I'll get through today. I'll get through this week. I'll celebrate when I'm into the "200s" on that "Days Remaining" counter. And, usually, it isn't a real problem; my days are so full, what with full-time school, work three evenings a week, and the kids filling every moment of the time in between, that I don't really think about the lack of a partner in my life or the fact that this is what I have chosen for myself for the foreseeable future. It's times like today, when I am hormonal, weepy, tired and actually have some time to breathe (it's the weekend! Hurray!) that I start to feel that old refrain of "I'm never going to find anyone who will just love me for myself" and "I'll be alone forever..." Yesterday morning I was on my way to school, aiming my Yaris down a long and winding country road, and listening to the radio. Katy Perry's "Wide Awake" came on. Now, I'm not a Katy Perry fan in general. Her rhymes bug me (seriously, rhyming "Make 'em go ah, ah, ah" with "as you shoot across the skah, ah, ah" is pushing it), her subject matter is often vapid, and I don't like the way she yells the chorus in "Firework". (Okay, apparently it's just that particular song that really bugs me. But trust me, the only other song of hers I've ever liked is "E.T.")
This Katy Perry song, however, is a good one. It touches me. It reminds me of my relationship with HB and all the struggles I went through to try to get past him (yes, I know I haven't posted that particular Tale from the Dating Archives yet, but don't worry, I'll get there). Now it's been nearly six weeks since we last talked - although last week we exchanged some brief, businesslike text messages; he has my spare car key and I need to find a way to get it back from him - and it does get easier every day. When I am hormonal, however, it all comes flooding back. That stupid song had me bawling all over the steering wheel, doing the whole sad-movie-heroine thing of trying to sing along as I choked on the words and wept and hiccuped. At one point I grabbed the steering wheel and shook myself and actually yelled out loud "I HATE HAVING MY PERIOD!"
Of course, hormones being the fickle things they are, by two minutes later I was singing happily along to a completely different song, and by the time I got to school I was fine. And then again last night, sitting and having a glass of wine with my roommate and having one of those oh-so-serious roomie discussions that happens occasionally, we got on the subject of HB, and I got weepy again, and this time I did something that I definitely shouldn't have done.
I called him.
Not allowed. Completely, one hundred percent the wrong thing to do when you are trying to get over someone. It's bad enough that we texted regarding the car keys, and that now I have to decide whether I can handle seeing him when I go over to Van next week, or if I should just tell him to drop the keys off at my hotel front desk for me (I'm leaning toward that as the best option, but so much of me wants to see him...just for a few minutes...), but picking up the cell phone, scrolling to his name, and hitting Send was absolutely what I should not have done last night. My roommate, knowing that I wanted to call him, had even threatened to take my phone with her when she left the room, but I convinced her I would be fine. Then, of course, I snuck into my bathroom and dialed him.
The phone rang. It rang again. My heart was racing.
 |
| "I just love you sooo much...and you're a total jerk for leaving me...and you better come back here right now on a white horse and make everything all better again...no, of course I haven't been drinking!" |
I asked myself what I would say if he answered. I imagined a hushed conversation, both our voices subdued and tinged with affection and regret, and sadness that this is the point in our lives that we are reduced to. "Hey, stranger..." he would open with, having recognized my number on the Caller I.D. His tone would be cautious, wary of revealing too much, curious as to why I would be calling him, yet hopeful and pleased to hear from me. "Hey," I would say softly, trying to put every ounce of feeling into that single word. "Just wanted to hear your voice."
And that was true, I realized; it really was all I wanted. Just to hear his voice. I didn't have anything to say to him that hasn't already been said in many repetitive conversations over the past three years. I just miss his place in my life as the other half of me.
His voicemail picked up, and I listened to his familiar message of greeting with a smile. I love you; I miss you; I wish things were different, I mouthed into the phone as he wrapped up. The tone beeped; I hung up without leaving a message.
I feel like I made half a mistake. I called, which I shouldn't have, but I didn't leave a message, though there are so many feelings in my heart that I long to express to him. It happens. I might happen again. I'm not going to freak out over it. And I do miss him, and I do still love him, and it will take a while to get past that. So right now, the goal for this week is to get through this Katy Perry time of month without calling him again.
One step at a time.
L
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