I don’t know about all women, but most of the women I know try to have their minds and hearts aligned before having sex with someone (new or old). I got a call from Secret Squirrel a couple of weeks ago. I sort of brought him up to speed; I didn’t want to go into detail. He went on to invite me over for a “platonic sleepover”. Yeah, riiiight, and I was born yesterday.
I told SS that I really didn’t think of myself as a platonic kind of sleepover friend – whatever the hell that means. To that he replied, “Well if you want to do it, we can.” Oh thanks for your generosity! Sure I considered it as a space-filler until I get my SBF legs back, but then dismissed it as just another poor decision waiting in the minefield of my private life.
The same evening that I had agreed to meet SS out for a game of pool, KB came by to get some of his things. I’d done laundry a couple of nights prior, so he had some clean undergarments waiting for him (which are gold when you’re couch-surfing). Some depressing video footage from Haiti was in TV, and he got all emotional. I don’t really fare well with tears (mine or other’s), so I poured another drink and changed the programming to the Simpsons instead. I had my evening planned out before he came over. I even thought that it was still going to pan out as scheduled…then I realized that I was drunk (sigh). I could barely get my ass back home from the bar much less get in the car and drive across the bridge to the party in SF that I’d planned on attending. KB took off around 11 and I was in bed before midnight. Anticlimactic doesn’t even begin to describe that night.
The next night, I was supposed to go to this monthly party that KB and I used to really enjoy together. He said he would be there so we could hang out again…I sent him an instant message saying that I had changed my mind. I was in a funk about being thrust into a solitary existence by our hasty split, so I didn’t think I was capable of having a good time, at least not yet. Although I couldn’t say it, I was grieving. It was very unbecoming. I didn’t want to be seen in public. I didn’t want to comb my hair. I didn’t want to drink – that’s what I do to celebrate and I didn’t want to taint it with my gloom.
He apologized and said that he would skip the party so I could go… still sweet to the end. That only made me feel worse. I told him to go and have fun. ‘I’m okay. I mean, I’ll be okay.’ So the rest of the weekend passed uneventfully and I got a few tasks checked off the “To Do When There’s Nothing Else Left To Do” list. Then I wrote a blog. That was last Sunday.
On Monday we talked again. I apologized profusely – for the whole mess that I started in the first place. I told him that I had come to terms with the reality that being just friends is what suited the situation and that I’d just have to suffer through the transition because that’s just how it goes sometimes. Then he said that he was actually hoping for at least some closure sex… WHAT!?!?! So, you mean he’s not upset and we could still be intimately involved? Then what the hell am I grieving for? He needed to move out so I could keep from going crazy, so he moved out. If we’re still sleeping together, then CHECK AND CHECK! I won’t have him there to kvetch to at the end of a hard day at work or to make me soup when I feel ill, but I will still get to triple-X wrestle. Sweet! I am not a good roommate anyway. I’m such a finicky and particular bitch when it comes to my living space. Yes, I apologized for that too.
We haven’t yet made good on the agreement to continue seeing each other on less binding terms (that was just discussed on Monday). I’m hopeful though. I’m not sure if it’s going to be better or just weird after what has transpired. What I do know is that it has been almost three weeks since I’ve had sex and the full moon is on Friday. You know that saying, “Strike while the iron is hot”? Well, it it’s not going to get much hotter…
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