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I Hate Valentine’s Day

February 25, 2014

I was late getting to work today. I woke up next to him again. The sun hit my closed eyelids and I came back to consciousness. I turned over and remembered, “He’s here with me.” I looked at him sleeping. Those big almond shaped eyes and long lashes. The head of curly hair, longer than he’s comfortable with. The color of his skin. I’m here with him again, I thought. One more time.

Last night was amazing. It’s always been amazing. From the very first time when I stumbled into the Blue Moon with that look on my face after leaving him. Liz looked at me and knew. But last night may have been the best yet. Intense. Experimental. Breathtaking.

I didn’t know two people could do that with each other. Not like that. When it was finally over, I had to catch my breath. My heart was racing. I was dizzy. And then we lay next to each other staring into each other’s eyes, kissing softly.

No wonder I can’t let him go. How am I supposed to say no to that level of joy?

 

I was mad at him yesterday and mad at myself for letting it get to me. Valentine’s Day. God, I hate Valentine’s Day. My ex was horrible at days like Valentine’s Day. And birthdays. And anniversaries. I tried to adjust. To not expect anything but the commercial, cultural machine bombards you with love and red and hearts and couples and bullshit. It’s hard not to expect at least an acknowledgement of the day from your own spouse in the face of that level of homogeneity.

This year was different. I don’t have a “boyfriend.” I have a lover. I had zero expectations.

Until he brought it up. Asking me if I had plans. I did have plans. My plan was to be in bed. Either with a bottle of wine and season two of House of Cards or with him, if he were so inclined. Then he posted some nonsense about being blessed to be single on facebook. Goddamn facebook!

When he asked to come over I said no. I had a lot on my mind. He persisted. He wanted to talk about it. To know why.

When I get really upset, especially with someone I’m in love with, I shut down. I hide. I go quiet. I’m not the yelling-in-your-face type. That’s how you know I’m really upset. You won’t hear about it. When I was married I would do this a lot. My ex was not the type of person to come after me, to see about me, to ply it out of me. There was no, “come on baby, tell me what’s wrong.” We were too much alike. I spent countless hours sitting outside on steps or a porch, thinking, crying and wishing he would notice and come drag it out of me and make it all better.

Truth is, that’s what I wanted him to do when I left him. I wanted him to drop everything and come and get me. I wanted to see him drive up and hear him say to me, “I love you. You’re the most important thing in my life. I can’t live without you. Whatever it takes, I want to work it out.”
He didn’t do that.

Z is completely different. He doesn’t take no for an answer. He knows exactly what to say and how to say it. He knows when to show his face and just look at me. He knows how to melt the iceberg.

He continued to text me. He apologized and cajoled. He made me laugh. When I caved like an addict who’s gone too long without a hit and just wants to get the high back, he sat in my living room with an offering of homemade Indian food and a coy look on his face. “Tell me what happened,” he said.

“I hate Valentine’s Day,” I began.

I’m going to need someone like Z in my life, if I ever manage to have a real relationship again. I’m going to need someone who doesn’t accept my little, dark moods. I need someone to reach inside my soul and exorcise the moody little demons. I want someone who will make me laugh and make it okay to be happy again. Without turning things into a world war of blame and criticism and drama. Without making it about them.

I don’t want the kind of relationship I had before. The weeks of silent tension. The never-ending martyrdom of righteousness, the demands for respect. God! It was nauseating. It was a waste of time.

I’d rather have someone cajole their way back into my heart and my bed, bringing me Indian food then rocking my world.

I just wish it was a boyfriend and not just a lover.

Maybe next year.

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From → Rantings

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