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Ok maybe I am a whining s.o.b and maybe I over react sometimes. Perhaps I’m just passionate. Or simply inexperienced when it comes to relationships. Or all of the above. Forgive my rants.
la parisienne and I met, went for a long walk (she wanted to meet in a cafe first but I’d rather kill myself than talk relationship details in a public place) and talked. Honestly, it felt really good. I only asked of her two things: 1) that if she falls in love with someone she’ll tell me so I won’t have to hear it on the grapevine – I promised her to do the same, 2) that she respects the fact that she broke my heart and acts accordingly when we happen to meet out, since our social circles overlap significantly. Initially, she had some trouble understanding what I meant but when I explained she agreed that this wasn’t bad ideas.
So I told her about Barbie. Actually she recently received some info about this, which surprised me. I mean, the woman’s been back one week and is already into the gossip. And moreover, so am I. She’d heard about it from a mutual friend of ours, and a colleague of Barbie’s, who had seen the two of us together one day. Well what can you do? Someone will always find out. And it is definitely not my thing to keep things secret (I did that with Selfish Engaged Bitch and have since concluded that it’s demeaning if only one wants to do it).
The thing with la parisienne is that she has never been broken up with. Let me say that again, she’s never had her heart broken. Dating her, I broke one of my cardinal rules. After Scottish Lass, I’d sworn not to date someone so inexperienced. They will treat you like a fouryearold who rips off the legs of an insect because it doesn’t understand the meaning of life and death.
So when I told la parisienne that I am experiencing problems connecting emotionally with Barbie because of the news of la parisienne’s return as I’m still emotionally tied to her, she didn’t understand. Actually she said she couldn’t understand how the fact that a relationship had just ended, with you as the losing party, could affect your ability to start something new. I was truly surprised but again it just further underlined my impression that la parisienne is a kid.
In November we broke up on the phone. Seeing her over Christmas made me realise that we’d not really broken up and that I still nurtured a hope and a wish that we’d get back together. Seeing her yesterday – regardless of what I wrote below in my late night drunken depressed and shocked-at-seeing-her rant – made me realise that I have, finally, put her behind me.
Friends, I feel like I’m about to start something wonderful with Barbie and I won’t allow anything to hinder it. The road ahead is empty, perhaps just wet from the rain that fell last night, and now glistening with hope and promise in the morning sun. I see it’s dark, confident and safe surface before me and how it undulates over the green landscape. I’m just dying to see where it leads and what will happen along the way. Imagine, all along the only thing missing was a talk with la parisienne.
Thanks for reading.
That last post may have been over the top. But I’ve promised myself never to delete anything on this blog. What’s here is how it was when I wrote it and that’s how it remains. I don’t want to give an edited view of what’s happening. Well, of course apart from fixing spelling and grammar mistakes to the extent I find them (I’m a lawyer after all).
I’ve just texted la parisienne with “Hi we need to talk” and received “Yes we have” so we’re meeting up today at 5 p.m.
I really have no idea what we’re going to talk about or what I want to say or achieve with this meeting. Can you help me?
I just got in from having been out with friends at a bar and a club. This week was la parisienne’s first week back from Africa, and working in my unit. But I hadn’t seen her at all. And she hadn’t contacted me, even on Skype, I guess because I asked her a few months ago not to be in touch because I, having been d u m p e d cannot go from boyfriend and someone who loves her to just being a friend, which apparently is what she would like. This evening she showed up at the bar where we were a very large group of people. I went up to her and said hi. To call the five-minute conversation we had stiff would be an understatement. It felt awful, there was no connection. And so after a while I left her, just like that. The evening progressed. More drinks, more music and eventually the bar closed. I didn’t speak with her again at that bar. Then we all ended up at a club. I really did my very best to enjoy myself. I danced with lots of girls. And I have to admit I danced close with them to see how she would react. I saw her glance over a few times, sort of with a dark face. But she didn’t come up to me even once. At one point I had to leave the dancefloor and there she was just at the edge, asking “Where are you going?”. I just said to the bar. I so wish I had stopped and talked with her. As I’m writing this my heart hurts. I danced with A Girl Called S – and Spanish Prosecutor exercised her very best match-making skills to make me and A Girl Called S hook up. But it failed. I think the fault was on both our parts, not only mine. I saw la parisienne dance, waving her arms in the air as I have seen her do so many times when she’s out drunk. Focusing especially on some tall, Palestinian looking guy. Eventually, I had had enough. I don’t know if they left together. I spoke with Spanish Prosecutor a bit, and by then I was very sad, and a bit angry. Angry at myself for being such an incapable shit, not even being able to pull any girl, even if my effing life depended on it, just to have a good time and forget the pain. I was angry at myself for letting myself go through this and not realise before I was too deeply into the relationship that la parisienne is not for me. But as I write that every fiber in me disagrees with that statement. I know I have feelings for her still, deep feelings. This has become clear from seeing her today. God I miss her. Spanish Prosecutor said “What makes you believe that every woman should desire you?” Very good question, but I said that’s not the point. The point is that I would like this one to want me. Who knows maybe she one day will. But likely not. She also said that my problem was that I tried and tried again with la parisienne instead of breaking off before I got too into it. Perhaps that’s a lesson to be learnt: know thyself and what thy wants and when you see signs that you won’t get it, break off, break off fast and run, run your ass off because odds are you won’t get it even if you try real hard once, twice or even thrice. But can you blame me for trying with la parisienne? I think not. I’m at that point in life when I go into a relationship fully, because who knows, maybe this one will be the one. I won’t fiddle about and not take it seriously that a girl likes me; rather I will give my all. I don’t have the time to waste on rubbish relationships. And so I did go in, guns blazing and giving everything. And therefore I’m sitting here now, at 4.30 a.m. writing about how utterly useless and incapable I feel. I blame fate, in a way, for not giving me a break, for making her come back and not give me the time I need to get over her, which I definitely would have had, if she had returned in August as originally planned. I blame fate for putting Barbie in front of me at this point in time – the girl I desired so much before la parisienne. The girl I felt I could fall for, and I mean really fall for. And I blame fate for having blinded me with la parisienne and having made me believe – rightly or wrongly – that she is the one for me. I feel useless for seeing her with someone else, believing that it should be me. I feel awful imagining what she will do with that person. I feel incapable, in fact, completely handicapped by the fact that life is so unfair and inequal between men and women when it comes to sex, the one thing at this point which could in some way validate me, even though I know it would only be for a while. But God how I need that victory now. But won’t have it. And the fact that I know that she could at the flick of a finger, truly infuriates me.
Fuck I hate it all.
It is the 21st of March – spring equinox – and according to the latest information available la parisienne’s back from Africa since two days. I haven’t seen her though, mainly because work remains crazy. But even when I’ve been in the office I haven’t run into her either. As I write this, however, a détente is being exercised on Skype: I’m online and available and she’s logged on but with the little moon icon to indicate that she’s “unavailable”. I’m not going to even send her a “welcome back” chat message.
Man, why can’t things ever be easy? So I’m sitting yesterday in a drafting meeting with my team when an email pops up from la parisienne, the first one since I asked her not to be in touch:
Hi [a.b],
I’m sorry to break the silence… I have to inform you (before you hear it from someone else) that i’m going back in Mid-March. I’ve been offered a six-month position [in the same unit you work]. I start on the 18th.
I hope you’re fine.
Bises
[la parisienne]
My reply, sent at 2330 hours in the evening:
Hi [la parisienne]
Thanks for letting me know. Congratulations.
[a.b.]
On Sunday, Barbie and I went skating. You know, indoors at one of those tracks where you go round and round. I had brought hot chocolate in a thermos and some gingerbread cookies. The while thing was way cool! I haven’t skated for probably two decades. But I still remembered how. Barbie was very good and even managed to go backwards. I noticed a very clear competitive streak in her, and that she was comparing herself with me. When I showed that I could brake in that very cool way of skidding sideways, much the same way as one does when skiing, she was appeared upset until she figured it out herself. I’m sure it’s only acting though, but to be quite honest even if it isn’t I don’t mind, in light of la parisienne’s eternal inability to decide on anything.
Afterwards, we went home to her place and cooked dinner. Then we spent two hourse snogging on one of her big sofas. This was the first time we had something even close to “the talk”.
Adventure boy: *lying with head on Barbie’s tummy, not looking in her eyes*: When did you and your ex break up?
Barbie: In November. Why?
A.B: Just wondering. So did we. Do you feel you’re ready to start dating again?
- pause – Yes, stupid question, I mean she’s doing it, right? But my question was more in light of my own perceived inability to do so freely. Anyway, we continue.
B: Yes, I think so. Are you?
I replied that I think so, not wanting to appear as if I’m wasting her time.
Then some more snogging and she got excited but interrupted with “Do you mind if we take it slow with this?” I looked her in the eyes and said, honestly, “No I don’t mind at all”. And you know what? I actually don’t. There’s a reason (apart from the fact that I find her attractive) that I’ve snogged and kissed her on several occasions and that is that I want her to see me as a sexual individual and that I don’t want her to think I’m not interested or that I am hesitant in light of my own fear of not being entirely ready to start something new. So yes, I’m very happy to take it easy with her because I think my point, so to speak, has been made towards her. Anyway, soon after this I shipped myself home in a taxi.
You know what really bugs me (and this really concerns me)? It is that during these five dates we’ve had, I haven’t felt that she’s attracted to me physically. Don’t get me wrong, I know she’s kissed me and played with my hair (saying, in a surprised voice, “wow how soft it is”…), but all this has been when I have initiated contact. There has been no contact from her of her own motion. She’s never taken my hand. I feel as if she’s not crazy about me and that I’m alone in keeping the connection alive between us. It’s a weird feeling, but it boils down to not feeling that she reciprocates my interest. And, quite simply, I need that reciprocation, I need more proof that she’s with me because likes me, than just the fact that she’s in time and place where I am. I need that recognition or validation.
Is it normal after five (5) dates that we haven’t moved further than this? And yes, I mean physically speaking, as well as in terms of confirmation from her that she’s interested in me. Maybe I’m asking too much after a short time? Does it have to do with her being a year or two over 30 and so more choosy than other girls I’ve dated, who’ve been, let’s say, more eager? Or wasn’t she honest when she said she’s ready to date? I’m very confused.
Add to this the email from la parisienne. I still find her incredibly attractive, though the jury’s still out on whether it is because I perceive I can’t have her or if it is because I still have genuine feelings for her. If it is the former, then I get confused because in a way the situation is similar with Barbie and so I should, on that basis, feel a stronger interest in Barbie. I’m lost.
I sat at work today listening to music while working and caught my thoughts having wondered off in the direction of what Spanish Prosecutor told me at BiertjeMan’s birthday party:
“When she’s back [...] you fight for her, you fight with nails and claws, and all you’ve got”.
Well, I certainly didn’t follow that advice very well when sending that reply email to her. Perhaps I screwed up. But I have resolved to be strong and not buckle under the pressure with la parisienne. I will not email her and when she’s back I will just be happy and cheerful. I will focus my entire energy, to the best of my abilities, on Barbie and see where it may lead. I’m just afraid that in doing so, I’m building something with Barbie which is based on false premises, in order to lure la parisienne back. Damn, I’m sick.
[drafting break]
And just now, I’ve returned from having seen Blood Diamond with Barbie. It’s set in Sierra Leone, which is where la parisienne is. And Jennifer Connelly is in it and would you believe it, she’s wearing a very similar type of blue top that la parisienne always wore, complaining that her boobs looked too big in it. And Jennifer C’s dark haired and looks slightly similar to la parisienne. And they’re all hanging out on the beach in some bar, just the way la parisienne told me she spent Friday and Saturday nights. From that perspective, the film wasn’t great. But in all other respects it was a really good movie.
Barbie and I kissed, as has become our custom. She smiled a lot and contrary to what I wrote above, she now seemed to show more interest in me by glancing over to me in the cinema. Still no touching though and the kissing is not hot or crazy. It’s all so veeery controlled. I’m wondering if she’s afraid of launching into something. I used to be that way but since my father died I’ve changed quite a bit. I’m also wondering if I will have the patience to stick around to find out. So many thoughts. Now it’s adventure boy’s bedtime. Thanks for reading.
Heck if I know. I mean I should be happy that things have moved a little with Barbie, but it’s like my memories of la parisienne form an impenetrable veil in front of my eyes. As much as I know intellectually (based on my recollection of my feelings from a year and a half ago before la parisienne and I met) that I am interested in Barbie and find her ridiculously attractive, I still have problems mobilising my feelings. It’s like I’ve gone numb! How does one let go? Is it like the Reverend Robbie says “Given time, we’ll forget”? Is time the only cure or is there a faster way? And if so, have I moved too fast forward? I would hate to screw this up just because there’s a girl lingering in the past.
Oh my what a long post. Here’s an executive summary: BiertjeMan’s birthday dinner, wine, wine, wine, mid-dinner breakup of London and Tall Oz, painful reminder of la parisienne, pubbing and everyone’s there, major success with Barbie, and clubbing. Or something.
Friday was a quiet night. Shocking, only a one-party-night-weekend for adventure boy?! That’s a first in a long time. But considering Saturday’s events, it really didn’t matter. This is what happened.
BiertjeMan’s 34th birthday dinner with Da Gang at Fancy Spot in Town. Everyone was there. Well except London. And Musical Lawyer, who’s left the country for a new job elsewhere. Good food, good wine and plenty of merriment. Laughing Tyrolean and Mrs. Tyrolean were an hour late because of babysitting trouble for Little Tyrolean. When they arrive, Mrs. Tyrolean ends up next to Tall Oz and says “Hey, we just saw London outside on the street”. Whereupon Tall Oz’s eyes well up, her face goes a whiter shade of pale, and she stands up and staggers to the ladies’ room. Obviously Mrs. Tyrolean thought that that would not be a very dramatic statement. And clearly it isn’t to the unaided eye, but for Tall Oz it was pain because she and London have broken up. Or rather, she dumped him because he wanted to follow his dream and take up a Really Cool Job in Cambodia. So buh-bye she said. Kind of a tough ultimatum, follow your dream or follow me. Broke his heart, poor sod. Mrs. Tyrolean was shocked: she had no idea they had broken up (that’s life married with children – the changing and fluctuating romances of your unmarried friends are difficult to follow). And Tall Oz had no idea London was back in town. He was last seen in the city that bears his name, mending his heart with his friend JD. But on Saturday there he was, cruising the street exact same street on which said Fancy Spot is located. And just at the time we are there. I don’t think it was chance that drove him there at that time. Mrs. Tyrolean felt bad obviously.
Much traffic out and in of the restaurant entrance begins. BiertjeMan, who knows London the best, goes out to speak with him. Then comes back. Then Basque Princess, who knows Tall Oz., goes to her in the loo and then to London and then comes back. This continues over the course of an hour. Other restaurant guests are starting to wonder what’s going on. Then Assyrian Babe starts advocating “communication”, calling this behaviour of London and Tall Oz “childish” and saying that they need to talk. Easy to say for someone who’s found The Right One and has never really been dumped. Ever. I decided to remain silent as I chosen to be happy and positive and promised myself not to make the evening’s goings-on remind me of how la parisienne dumped me (but inside Assyrian Babe’s words hurt).
Now and again, BiertjeMan returned with news of how incredibly sad London was, explaining that he’s crying his eyes out on the street corner. Eventually Tall Oz left to go and see London. For the rest of us the whole event was pure theatre, like something that could happen in OC or Grey’s Anatomy. We drank more wine, listening attentively to the little bits of news we were served with our food by BiertjeMan. Of course the topic of the evening’s dinner conversation become relationships and breakups. Mrs. Tyrolean confessed that she and Laughing Tyrolean broke up once (wow, we all said, that must have been sooo tough).
Then, when we’re into the Xth bottle of wine, Spanish Prosecutor leans in to me and says “I never understood why you and la parisienne broke up – you seemed great for each other and looked perfect together”. I was silent for a while but eventually managed “Do you really think so?” Why is it that those of your friends, who know you well, always say that you’re great with whomever your with? Then again I do trust Spanish Prosecutor so if she says so regarding me and la parisienne she definitely means it. And she also saw me with Scottish Lass, my ex before la parisienne, so she should know. Anyway, bygones I told myself. But then she added “When she’s back in August, you fight for her, you fight with nails and claws, and all you’ve got”. This surprised me a lot. Those who know Spanish Prosecutor know that she’s the kind of woman who would break off a relationship in a heartbeat if she’s unhappy: she’s not the fighting kind but cuts her losses and moves on, seemingly without regrets. And she most definitely would not fight to get someone back. So you can imagine my surprise. Of course it got me thinking. But then I had another sip of wine and saw my life in a more rosy and pleasant light and forgot all about it.
After dinner we went to the Irish-Scottish Pub where someone had organised a massive party just for the heck of it. It was ridiculous how many people I knew there. The Gang and I hit the party at its peak and so made a suitably glorious entré. After what must have been half an hour of cheek-kissing I manage to go to the bar. Just as I turn around, Barbie, of all people, comes up the stairs. She smiles broadly, walks straight up to me and kisses me on the cheek. I was stunned but remained cool. I didn’t expect her to be there, but more importantly I really didn’t expect her to be so forthright considering we haven’t actually spoken for a year but have only smiled and said hi in the corridors at work. Truly bizarre, but oh, oh so nice.
Irish was there as well and she knows Barbie’s ex, who also was there. It was all rather weird in some almost incestuous way. Then suddenly lights go on and we have to leave because the pub is closing. Quick, quick, where to now?! And how ensure that Barbie ends up where I go? Irish was quick and cornered Barbie’s ex while I slid up to her and proposed a suitable club. Then I added in an assortment of other people from those who stood around, some friends of hers, some of mine, I broke up groups of friends, picked cherries from other people’s cakes and to make my own. Truly Alpha, which is not normally how I choose to behave. But lo and behold if I didn’t manage to create a magnificent evening at said club. Again we hit it at the perfect time, music is great, much dancing ensues and drinks are flowing freely. Barbie is visibly interested and insists on dancing next to me all the time. I move to another group on the dancefloor and, whoop, there she is. After a while, one of Barbie’s friends grabs me and starts to salsa. I’m taken aback and sees the shock on Irish’s face as she fears that all my plans with Barbie will now go down the drain. So she positions herself right in my way and through some cunning dancefloor trick manages to bounce my dance partner off and send me right into the arms of Barbie. Whoa, heck if I know how she did it but there we are, dancing salsa, feeling great for the first time since we laid eyes on each other more than two years ago. That big ocean of lost time now seemed tiny. Then as I spin Barbie around I see that her ex is also in the club! I hadn’t seen him before and started wondering why he was there in a dark corner of the dancefloor all by himself. Highly suspicious. Later I see them talk a briefly before she comes over to my group again, but it’s as if there’s no display of feelings, neither good nor bad. I’m starting to wonder how serious their relationship really was and who broke up with whom. Perhaps it was mutual? Great for me in that case.
Anyway, dear reader, nothing happened with Barbie and me that evening. I didn’t want to do anything right in front of her ex’s eyes, incidentally a guy I also know and even if it had not been a problem from his or her side. But the evening was a success because rarely have I received so many IOIs from a girl in one night, and from a girl I’m really interested in. So while the evening started dramatically and for me also quite sadly, as I was reminded of the pain of losing la parisienne, it ended with nothing short of spectacular fireworks. I will return with more info after our first date 
The previous post was obviously connected with la parisienne. Today she emailed her response to my email of Saturday which broke off contact as a “friend” (see Bonne année on your ass, too). And this created that dreadful feeling of mediocrity in relation to her. This is it, verbatim apart from the expunged names:
“Dear [adventure boy],
I read your email yesterday. I knew that something went wrong otherwise you would have replied earlier to my email.
I’m glad that you spoke to me honestly. Please, don’t be sorry. It’s my fault: I’m asking too much from you. I understand that it hurts you to be in touch with me. I won’t email you any longer – at least for a while.
Don’t worry for me: I’m ok. I’m stuck here until August so I have to accept it and start trying to make my life a bit better ([A] quit. She’s leaving in February. She’s been offered a position in Liberia where a boyfriend lives so of course she wants to go. Both [X] and [Y] are very disappointed. I don’t think they’ll be happy if i tell them that i’m thinking of earlier too. I’m so sad she’s leaving). I have plenty of books to help me going through this weird period of my life and even…. a “doctor” in France whom i talked to during the recess. I can call him. Things are not that bad anyway. I’m just sometimes very fed up with myself. I guess it happens to everybody. I’m a happy person by nature so i’m sure my good mood will come back soon. I kind of know where the problem is; it’s just a question of dealing with it – so let’s do it!
It makes me extremely sad to think that I might lose you. But I want you to be happy so I’m ready to offer you a long period of silence if it’s what you need.
I will miss you.
Please, have a very good day.
Kisses.
[la parisienne]“
You know what, I won’t even comment. Well, perhaps one. Bitch. Oh and go see your shrink.
I had a nightmare on Friday morning, the day after I received the email from la parisienne. I was in a fairly small rectangular room with white walls, which was divided in the middle and for almost the whole length of the room by a huge, tall bookcase packed with volumes. Along one wall (and parallel with the bookcase) was a white sofa in which my father was sitting, wearing his white bathrobe. My father died in March 2005 but here he was clearly alive. My mother was standing next to the sofa, and me as well. Dad was holding up his left ring finger saying that it hurt like crazy and that he had to remove it. He asked mother for an axe. Mum was quiet. I pleaded with him, trying to argue intellectually with him that cutting off his ring finger would result in lots of pain and, eventually phantom pain which is even worse. Dad wouldn’t listen and mother then produced a kitchen axe. I couldn’t watch and went around to the other side of the bookcase. I could hear how father whacked once with the axe into his finger, then a muffled sound from him. Then the sound of bone breaking as he was wiggling the axe to make the finger break off. At this point, I walked around the bookcase to watch, disgusted. Dad wasn’t even crying or anything and Mum was still quiet. Everything had a weird surreal tint. And the ease with which the finger broke off, and the lack of real pain, made me think of how zombies in movies are somehow made of some almost loose and fragile material and not human flesh. Then I woke up.
What do we make of this? What is the finger, la parisienne? Was my subconscious perhaps telling me that I needed to break off? I’m going through a very hectic period at my work – does the bookcase represent my work? Possibly – as a lawyer I read a lot for work. Mother (and I should point out here that she doesn’t have an impact on me when it comes to relationships) has been against my relationship with la parisienne from early on, mainly due to la parisienne’s young age. In the dream, mother didn’t oppose the amputation at all, but even aided and abetted in it by providing the axe. That I went around the back of the bookcase – am I, using work as an excuse, trying to hide from the inevitable reality that la parisienne and I must break off completely (which I eventually did with the email on Saturday)? This doesn’t make sense, because I’ve been working more than usual lately, though I suspect that’s coming from tomorrow as we’re starting a new project…So maybe I did the right thing writing the email to her the other day.
Or it is like my Polish friend said last night. A certain type of wind blows through much of Europe’s mountainous areas this time of the year and this wind is known to cause weird dreams. It is pretty windy here. It’s just that there are no mountains…
I received an email from la parisienne the other day when I was at work. Subject: bonne année. I was in a good mood that morning because I had just learnt that Barbie is single and I was generally feeling well. Then her email arrived. Shit. Fuck. Shitfuck. Just a simple one really, asking how things are now that I’m back here at my undisclosed location in my second country, telling me about how things are in Africa now that she’s returned (not great, is what she always says, referring to how she’s doubting herself personally and professionally). She said she would write longer this weekend. And asked if I’d like that she skype instead. This completely broke my mood and I’ve felt like crap for two days.
We broke up – and I’ve been telling myself it was a mutual break-up – because she was unsure about her feelings and because I could not accept having to face a challenge from her every few months. It happened several times that she wanted to discuss feelings, trying to weigh how she was feeling, saying that she was expecting more of her own feelings etc and that she would hate to spend a lot of time with someone when it wasn’t perfect, thereby wasting time. This comes from a then-23-year-old. Look up immaturity on Wikipedia and you’ll see her picture.
Every time these challenges occurred, I only went deeper into the relationship by trying to show to her that we were, in fact, great together. Add to this the fact that I, being a fairly established bachelor, take time to fall for a girl. I mean I take months. In fact it was only after six months of being together that I actually realised I had a girlfriend and developed deep feelings for her. Anyway, she’s insecure and unsure of her feelings, expecting to feel so much more and not realising that what a relationship is really built upon is not that fleeting butterfly sensation or passion, but on trust and security resulting from the knowledge that the other person has chosen you and will put you first always. Or something.
We had decided to try to be friends. I mean we know each other so well and our friendship is something neither of us wants to lose. I thought I could do it, though I’ve never managed before. This situation was, I told myself, different in that I wasn’t actually being dumped, which happend both previous times. But I’ve realised that I can’t just change from “boyfriend” to “friend” at the flick of a switch. And I have realised that I have actually been dumped. A third time. In a row. It’s taken me since November to figure this out.
So hence my feeling crap. I need time for, I guess, forgetting her as a girlfriend. So I sent her an email today which read as follows:
“I’m sorry you’re not doing well but I’m also happy to hear you’re learning and growing as a person. You’ll get there eventually I hope.
But, honestly, it hurts me to much to be in touch because I still have the same feelings for you. I have been thinking so much about this since we saw each other before Christmas. Being in touch reminds me of not any longer having you in my life and of how much I miss you. So I would prefer if you didn’t contact me for a while – I need time to become a “friend”. I was wrong when I thought I could go from boyfriend to friend from one day to the next.
I’m sorry for this because there’s really nothing I want more than to be there for you. And I have feelings of bad conscience doing this because intellectually I know that this is not something friends do to each other. In fact, I feel awful knowing that you, who I care so much for, are not doing well and that I cannot support you. But I must see to my own good. Every time I’m recovering from having been in touch with you, starting to see things more positively, opening my eyes, noticing other girls etc, I hear again from you and that brings me back to scratch and I feel sad realising what I have lost.
I do hope you have the ability to understand my situation (and I am realising here that I was more dumped than you).
I’m so sorry.
I so wish that we had met in a few years’ time instead when you would have known better what you want.”
Yukyukyuk. Yes. Anyway. That’s it for now. Like the Reverend Robbie says “It’s Saturday. I’ll go out find another you.” And luckily it’s Russian Old New Year and we’ll drink champagne, dance and shoot firecrackers at Bolsheviks. Fuck, why can’t life be easy.
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