Also, this post is brought to you by the amazingness that is the McFlurry. I am expecting the sugar to kick in in a few paragraph's time.
I want to keep this as short as possible but I can't guarantee that. You know I love a good ol' flight-of-ideas rant.
I have been seeing this guy, we'll call him Mr X, for about a month. This is my first foray into a 'real' adult relationship and I really, really like this guy. In spite of this rant, I do still really like him, and hope everything works out. But I just need to let off a little steam, so hold on tight...
|This is happening inside my head.|
Really? Is it hard? Do you have some alternate method of communication? ESP? Clearly not, because you're not reading my mind right now. (insert quip about how Edward Cullen is perfect here).
We have a relatively good history with communication. The preferred method appears to be text message. I am OK with this. I may or may not have altered my cellphone contract within days of things getting serious to increase my monthly text allowance. We text A LOT. Multiple times per day. Tens of texts per day. And I like this.
Cut to last week. Things change. Granted, there are extraneous factors. Mr X gets a new job. It's stressful. His troubled friend comes to town and needs support. And the texts decrease markedly. I get it. People are busy. It's cool.
Cut to Friday night. This is now a week after I sent him a carefully worded "when we hang out can we please do something other than watch movies cos I want to have conversation with you" text. Fuck. Have I scared him off? Haven't seen him all week. I phone him because I'm travelling and I know he's stressed. He doesn't answer. That's fine.
Here's an issue: don't send me a text back saying you'll call me when you get home, and then not call.
|Sugar, you are my life now.|
Hello, sugar rush. I'm really getting into this now. You guys are great therapists. Speaking of, this week will be a packed session on the couch. But that's another story.
So, I hear nothing on Saturday. Hmm, I think. I know he's busy. I'll call this evening: Voicemail. I leave a light, cheerful, 'hope you're OK' message.
Sunday, I think something might be wrong. Then I think no, let's just see what happens. I will not text. I will not text. I do not text.
|This better be your reason.|
Monday (today) rolls around. When we last spoke, last Wednesday, we agreed tonight would be date night. Somewhat hopefully, I think perhaps this means we might go out. You know, like a real date. But at this point, I'll take any form of contact. Please bear in mind, despite the ranting, what I said above. I do really, really like Mr X. I'm torn between wanting to kick his arse and jump his bones.
Sooo, I hear nothing today. I wait. I try not to be angry. I rationalise my frustration. I take calming breaths. When he's not here and hasn't been in touch by 7pm, I text:
"Are we still on for tonight? I thought you were coming over after work" <--- please note no nicknames, smiley faces or kisses (which are my norm).
"I'm soooo sorry, I totally forgot." There was more, but this is the need-to-know. Please bear in mind that this is the first communication I have heard since Friday. Three days ago.
This about wraps up my issue. It's just so fucking frustrating! Are men actually from Mars? Surely I am not the only woman to be frustrated at this chain of events? Ladies, I neeeeeed you. I need to hear how the whole male race sucks at this. I need to hear that I am not alone.
And also, whether or not anyone ever died from McFlurry-induced sugar surges. I'm booking in for my type 2 diabetes test now.
Over and out.