Small Victories

Sometimes it seems like i forget to record the good things I do, the moments of triumph when I get over something or demonstrate growth.

Last night Slutbag text messaged me a hello. I texted her back, saying I wouldn't be calling her for another hour because I was out drinking with my UK buddies. When I did call her, she was watching Spanglish and wishing I was there. "I'd really like to be in your arms right now," she said. I didn't get an emotional high off of it. I let it be, telling her that I'd be happy to snuggle with her when I got back next week. No sentiments of missing her, no reminding her that she chose this path, and no internal rejoicing at her "need" of me.

"What are we going to do?" she asked at one point.

"I don't know," I responded, and for once I didn't wonder if we might get back together. I didn't long for some feeling of belonging long since past and ever elusive.

I felt a little bad, but I reminded myself that she is seldom there for me. That she deserves to feel this way, that she chose this, that I am not at her beck and call.

Then I got off the phone with her and called Robin. :-) For a girl I haven't even met yet, I sure am excited about her.

Lonely weekend

I went out with Sarah Sperry Friday night. The date was great -- she came to my place, we had sushi, shared some alcohol, and made out on my couch. After she left, I dreamt about Lolo. I woke up a wreck, not wanting to face the world or myself. I was forced into action by duty and professionalism, meeting a client midday. Then I went to the gym, met Shane for basketball, and proceeded to stay for two hours after he left. Talk about channeling your passion. I got invited to courtside Warriors seats by Tony, the Raiders trainer from Houston. I declined. Then I got invited to a holiday party with Corban. He told me I needed a date, so I called every girl in my phone, hit on the weekend receptionist at the gym, and even called Rachel. She invited me out with her friends, which is where I ended up. Basically, I kept myself busy. A multitude of invitations, a dozen rooms full of people, and I still went through the entire weekend feeling alone. Today I woke up the same way. I don't think my dreams were so vivid, because I missed her less, but I still didn't want to face the world. I tried to go back to sleep twice. I suppose the good thing about sleeping on the floor is that your bed isn't comfortable enough to keep swallowing you into it. When I finally emerged from the cocoon that would no longer accept me, I did business and called back a girl or two out of duty. I made a date for tonight, only to break it two hours later. I made a date for Tuesday night, too, which I'm breaking tomorrow morning if I still feel this way. I cried today. Twice. Once after my shower, as I stood in front of my closet and wondered what shirt to wear. (Yesterday SUCKED on the clothing tip, btw. I put on two shirts on two different occasions and pulled Burckey hair off of my shoulders. Who knew that it would stick even through the dryer?) The second time was just a moment ago -- some sappy song turned up on iTunes and had to go scream into my pillow for a minute. Rachel reminded me last night that Lauren did exactly what I predicted she would do -- change her mind about me the moment I committed. Just like she'll call the moment I stop missing her. You know the biggest secret? A little tiny part of me likes crying. I'm not sure if it's because it's familiar and comfortable. The psychoanalyst would probably say so. But maybe it's just because it makes me feel human -- fallible, hopeful (wouldn't be here without that wager of hope), still able to love. The Killers' "Smile Like You Mean It" just spun up on iTunes. Damn you, Burckey. Damn you. I'm gonna go cry again for a little while.