I was going to post a long, drawn-out, fairly whiny diatribe about the issues my girlfriend and I were sorting through, but now that it’s over I’ll just recount the gory details instead.
Last Sunday I told K. that I didn’t know if I could deal with the state of our relationship. We’d been doing the long-distance thing for the past three months, and were currently on a brief two-week period where we were in the same city for the first time since May. The next morning I was catching a flight back to Fake London, and I was dismayed and pissed off that she didn’t seem at all concerned that I was leaving. We talked for an hour in the driveway of her parents’ house, where she was staying for the next week before she moved to Ottawa for her job.
We had a lot of impediments to our relationship. Besides the distance, she’s Catholic and I’m lapsed. She believes in complete abstinence before marriage, and once admitted to me (while we were dating) that she was considering joining a sisterhood. I get moody and emotional while she keeps her thoughts and feelings to herself. But we shared so many interests - art, music, going on spontaneous road trips to small random towns, cooking weird and unpronounceable foods, swing dancing…the list goes on and on. We’d gone to highschool together, had e-mailed each other while we traveled the world and tried to discover ourselves, and seven years later finally were in the right place at the right time to see if we were meant for each other.
Tonight, K. and I talked on the phone. For the first time since I left last week. Up until tonight, the only contact we’d had were flurries of e-mails back and forth about the nature of our relationship. She felt I wasn’t including her in my future plans, I felt that how could I do that if emotionally I wasn’t sure she wanted to be with me, she needs me to commit before she can open up, I can’t commit unless I have a degree of intimacy…and around and around, like some perverse, out-of-control ferris wheel.
On the phone I asked her point-blank whether or not she could ever see herself, at some undetermined point in the distant future, saying she loved me. I waited a minute. All I got was silence. And that was it, in my mind. We talked some more about how good it was at the start, how we both still liked each other, why she was simply incapable of revealing her feelings to anyone, and then we said goodnight and I asked her to call me once she reaches Ottawa.
And then, afterwards?
I went to the kitchen. I made myself an eggplant, bacon, and provolone sandwich.
I want to believe she’ll send me an e-mail or a postcard or call me in the middle of the night saying she’s changed her mind, but the chances of that happening are about as likely as me swimming the English Channel. I want her to show some emotion, to let go, to be the crazy and carefree person that she once convinced me she was.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Seeing Garden State last night has not put me in the proper frame of mind to deal with this.