The Winter of my Discontent

It's amazing how little it takes for me to either be happy or unhappy. B.N.B. was out of town for a week, and I had hoped to see him last evening, though I knew there was a distinct possibility that the evening would end with me, too drunk to manage the bus system, walking home with a broken shoe. That, in fact, is exactly what DID happen. Now, I'm wallowing in a lovely quagmire of self-loathing, hating my new skirt, hating my new haircut, hating the sunny day outside and waiting for him to call. I am WAITING FOR A MAN TO CALL ME. I gave that up for Lent when I was like 18, so what in the hell am I doing? I know, too, that when the phone rings, my exaggerated startle response will cause me to explode with anxious twitching. I know, further, that when the phone finally DOES ring, it will likely not be him. So. That leaves me where, exactly?

In Chicago. On my own.

That was fine a month and a half ago. I made plans to fill my time with "new to the city" activities and fun. But since B.N.B. entered the picture, I've been totally and completely focused on how to spend more time with him at the expense of my self esteem.

What I will wind up doing today is going shopping with my meager funds as everything in every store reminds me of the fact that I want to be with him and he is most definitely not with me. "Oh, that's a really swell set of Cephalon pots! God, I wish he'd call." "I could totally use those flip-flops. I am nothing if he does not call." I will likely call a few friends, just to prove to myself that I'm not totally alone in this world, but will then be depressed by the fact that all of these friends likely have something to hang their self worth on other than doomed relationships. I'll call New Orleans boy and tell him how much I miss him, and feel gratified by a wonderful conversation, but at the end of the day, I will still be alone. I will go and see a show, laugh, make small talk with my friends at the theater, and go home alone. I will put on Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah" and cry as I brush my teeth, alone. In the chill middle of the night, I will decide my afghan isn't enough of a covering and crawl under my sheets and coverlet, alone. I will wake up alone. I will have to find a way to be okay with that.