Okay, so that's a little collage of song titles, but it serves to say I feel like crying tonight.
Mr. Match called. Mr. Match had called several times during December, after I told him very clearly that I was busy almost every night until the 23rd. He routinely doesn't leave messages, so I just pretended I never saw the "missed call" notification. Once when he called and we connected, he said, "Don't call tomorrow night because Loraine will be in town." I decided I'm not the kind of girl that men call when their girlfriend is out of town. Actually, I didn't know that he and his ex-fiancée were attempting a reconciliation. That was new news that was revealed to me tonight as he was telling me he finally and for good broke up with her.
Once he revealed that, I revealed that I had been mad at him after he called me at 2:00 a.m. when I was in Scottsdale for NATS. He immediately replied, "I lost track of time." I told him that it wasn't the 2:00 a.m. that I was mad about, but the fact that he told me he'd take me to the airport on Friday morning and then never called again and didn't show up to take me to the airport. News flash: he didn't remember a) having called me at 2:00 a.m., or b) having promised to take me to the airport. These two little facts further support my supposition that the phone call took place after at least three martinis had been imbibed.
So after we'd been talking for about 45 minutes and I had told him my meeting-with-the-realtor news and my interview-on-the-18th news and he had told me his new-CEO-job-should-be-getting-better news and his breaking-up-with-Loraine news, he paused and said, "I'm in love." He went on to tell me he had met a woman named something-or-other Ferguson when he was in Brisbane in November and that they've been talking on the phone every day and they're in love.
My heart sank.
As he had been winding down telling me about Loraine, I had felt my hopes start to rise. Is this why he called me? Does he want to start actually seeing me again? He's a scoundrel, absolutely. He's a player, to the Nth degree. But when he's good, he's very very good. The magic we had in the first couple of months we were dating was beyond wonderful. Oh yeah. He "fell in love" with me with the same speed he fell in love with something-or-other Ferguson.
I told him I was thrilled for him. And then I told myself I was thrilled for me. Thrilled that I have enough self-respect to say, "Hey, Boy, you ain't gonna just call me when all your other women are unavailable." Thrilled that I have enough life experience to say, "That boy has a problem with alcohol and I'm simply not interested in being part of that lifestyle." Thrilled that I know what I want enough to say to self, "Self, we have plans that involve selling houses and moving furniture and starting life over again and no stinky player collector scoundrel man is going to make us change those plans."
But it would be nice to feel like I was in love again. Sometimes I think I don't even remember what that feels like. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever feel that way again.
Will I have less of a life if I never feel giddily in love again? No, because I'll find other things with which to fill it.
But for right now, I feel like crying.
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