I did some things I don’t do.
I challenged JDawg blatantly to tell me wtf his problem was with me for the past week, and I told him that if he wasn’t willing to be honest with me, then I wasn’t willing to accept his help of babysitting (please, scoff at that with me, that a father is babysitting his own child for an evening, out of very many other ones when he hasn’t even been around) and would stay home if it meant it.
We argued. I was questioned about who I’m interested in, and I might have mentioned a never-ever scenario and that was met with condescending tone and sneer.
Eventually it came out that I am dishonest with him, apparently, that I’ve shown an obvious interest in dating (anyone but him) and that he thinks I’m into my new friend, who was actually hosting the party JDawg was babysitting for. I think the phrase ‘in love’ even came up. And regardless of my protestations – which, why did I even bother? I know I don’t feel like that and it’s none of his business, right? – to the contrary, that there was a girlfriend and we’d become just friends fast and it was just a party and blah blah blah, the jealousy factor over rode.
This has been building, truly, since mid-November, when his inability to deal with the feelings he was having for me, and our then renewed sex life, led to a renewed excess of drinking. And the subsequent two am and three am drop bys. And sleeping in until noon – for Isobel to witness. It led to class and my realization of him not getting it and so, kind of cutting it off. Him off, that is.
A fight on the phone on his birthday about him wanting to borrow money [after his last fuck up (sans apology)] exacerbated it – then I heard the words, “I fucked up. Accept it. I’m not going to kiss your ass apologizing.” I was…seeing clearly, that regardless of the guilt he might feel behind closed doors, the embarrassment he might have over his behaviour or the anger that semi-empty words are said with, that was just it: his guilt, anger and embarrassment got directed toward me. Because I was there, asking for it, I suppose.
So, last night, after reading through some 20 exchanged emails in my defense that I did not receive one from him wherein he professed his feelings for me and the reasons he’s struggling, I said something like, “well, I don’t know what you want from me. Do you want to date me?”
He emphatically said no.
And then I emphatically bathed, did my hair, put on blue eyeshadow and curled my lashes and said good night to Isobel. I don’t think I said so to him, nope, but I kissed her a few times, thinking something like, ‘he can handle this. And if he can’t, I have a phone. And if he doesn’t call or realize a need to, I’ll be back soon enough to remedy it.’
And then, I walked to the bus and smiled at people who didn’t have children and it was a little glorious.
I’d made plans with him to come back by quarter after two. When the alarm on my phone told me I had to leave in 10 minutes, I hit off. Then I got distracted by fun. FUN.
Then time passed and the next thing I knew, people were piling out, and then I was half stumbling through snowy backstreets, having a drunken conversation, then standing in the snow-shielded yard, then back inside. Then it was three and I had to decide to stay until the first bus ran again.
I got home at 7:30. I was freezing and wet and the beginnings of a migraine were setting in. And I crawled into my cozy bed, where JDawg had fallen asleep, intent to rest. He got up, he got dressed and he walked out, without a word.
Not calling and letting lose might have have been wrong. Definitely coming home in the early morning hours, when he was already suspicious and concerned and jealous? Cruel and insensitive toward his feelings. But here’s the problem with it that I have – the thing that led to the fight before I left? Was him not talking to me and just reacting. Him leaving without speaking to me? Was him not talking to me and just reacting.
It seems like all there’s been in reaction upon reaction and the only truths that get spoken are because of a reaction to one of my own. This is not what a relationship can be based upon.
Yet, apparently, there is something wrong with me wanting something more than that – some real emotion, some truth that isn’t pulled in a way more extreme than say, tooth extraction. Apparently, it’s wrong for me to want to know someone who tells me that they like me, or even love me, without the cover of alcohol to make it a passable drunken confession.
So, this morning, I came home five hours later than I said I would. Which might have been me stepping away. And this morning, he walked away for the last time that I’d allow. Because he’s never stopped stepping away.
