All right, so I’m nineteen, and I’ve been seeing this young man off and on for three and a half years. We have so much in common – same sense of humor being the main one, which leads to oft-concurring tastes in films, art, books, plays, etc. We’re both student actors, and we’re in the same summer Shakespeare troupe: three years ago, he did Benedick, I did Beatrice. Two years ago, I did Rosaline, he did Berowne. Last year, he did Orlando, I did Rosalind. Although we didn’t go to the same secondary school, during the year we often made the twenty-mile trip out to each other’s hometown to do lunch, or see a play, or go to a movie or concert. Over these three years, I’ve had other gentlemen friends and he’s had other lady friends, but (although of course I can’t speak for him) I never felt as deep a connection/attachment/affection for any of them as I did for this particular young man.
So, last summer we dated exclusively for two months, which was an enormous change of pace for both of us, and then headed off to different schools. He-ey, Self! I say to meself. You’re starting college, you know, time to get this fellow out of here and crack out the dating around! See the world! Have fun! Meet someone else with whom you can dance on the sidewalk and stay up until dawn talking on the phone!
Which worked fine for the first term, all right, keeping busy, trying to stay afloat in the workload, distracting myself with new people and places and fantastic theater (the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, for the record – yum).
But now! Now we’re both back for the holidays, and I can’t stop thinking about him. And I can’t figure out if I want to marry him (because aww, we fit together just right and we’re both so fun and funny and he’s smart and lovely and delightful) or get over him hugely (because HELLO, you’re NINETEEN and that is WAY TOO YOUNG ARE YOU ON CRACK?), and it’s just an enormous irksome, painful, bitter feeling to care so much about one person, especially one person who thinks Death Cab for Cutie is a good band.
Every day, I can’t go for more than an hour or two without thinking about him – just little things, like “hey, if he were here…” “…he and I could put our heads together and snark on that woman’s awful blouse,” or “…I could make a punnish aside and he would get it,” or “…he’d come over and rescue me from this dreadful conversation with a great excuse,” or “…he’d finish that line of George Tesman’s dialogue for me.”
I ran into him at the theater last weekend, and I fired off an email that evening mentioning that we should do lunch, and now it’s been six days and he hasn’t even called. Not that I care, because I am aloof and busy and too young to worry about ANY of this, right? Right. Shut up, emotions. Go away and leave me alone. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.
(Huh. That was more whiny than Pit-y. This was a newbie’s try, though, and I imagine I’ll get the hang of it eventually. :))