On Tuesday, I had dinner with The Ex.  It wasn’t the high point of my week – I wasn’t sure I wanted to “catch up.”  I think I was concerned that I was deluding myself that I had finally moved on, that the musical chairs of work flirting was just a distraction.  I hoped, of course, that that wasn’t the case, but I wasn’t raging to find that out.  In anticipation of a meltdown, I arranged with KSP to meet me for a drink after dinner (just in case).

Ultimately, the meltdown didn’t happen; it was nice seeing The Ex, but that relationship is over.  We’re friends, but more of a theoretical friendship – we were simply too close in the past to retrofit the relationship into a working, practical friendship.  I even found out that he has a girlfriend (he wasn’t going to tell me, but I had asked a question and to pretend that there was no girlfriend involved would have been a lie, so he told the truth), which didn’t affect me in the way that I thought it would.  Yes, there is a little part of me (the petty part of which I am often ashamed) that wishes he would still be single (not to reunite, but for my pride’s sake), but ultimately it doesn’t matter.  I didn’t pry, because I felt it wasn’t really any of my business (and surprisingly, I wasn’t that interested).  How was I affected though?  An interesting question, and one that I am trying to figure out.  I’m interested in how people seem to start up new relationships much more easily than I do.  I seem to be, at heart, a self-contained unit.  And I am okay with that, but I’d like to think that I can be part of a couple when I want to.  I wonder if I emit some sort of solitary vibe, or if I become interested in men who also emit the solitary vibe (as though it were some sort of homing signal), or other theories which are simply too half-baked to write down here.  And yes, I am not in a place where I want to be in a serious relationship.  But a frivolous one would be okay by me.  Except I might not project that sort of persona.  I think a lot of this relationship crap starts with how other people perceive you, and I have no earthly idea how I am perceived by men.  I would kill (well, maybe maim) for that sort of information.

When KSP and I met for our drink, I was reflective and told her about some interesting thinking I had done about my past relationships/hook ups.  We whiled away a couple of hours laughing about the weird/funny things that had happened in our romantic pasts, and it was all good.  However, my overanalytical nature had gone into overload with all of this data, and I had a hell of time sleeping.  I wasn’t troubled or upset, but the hamsters of my subconscious would not stop running in their little wheels, and I slept fitfully, if at all.

So I go into work the next morning, vague and foggy as all get out.  I managed to help people, but when GSS rolled in (late, but I’ve already discussed that in other posts), I wasn’t as sharp as I have been known to be.  He strolls in, greets me with the Czech equivalent of “what’s up?” (which is similar enough to the Polish equivalent of “what’s up” that I knew what he meant).  I responded in English (as I no longer speak Polish, but can only spit out a handful of phrases and count to ten), and we talked.  Mr. Math came by and the two of them spoke Spanish, and at one point referred to me.  GSS asked me if I understood what they were saying.  I said that every so often, I could grab a word, but for the most part, no.  I added that if it had been written down, I would understand most of it.  (When they referred to me, it was merely a discussion of whether I could understand them – that much I could gather.)  Mr. Math left and GSS told me that he was trying to show off.  I told him I was impressed, and he said that I shouldn’t be – he had screwed up a lot.  I told him that I thought he was great at not letting his concern of making mistakes stop the flow of conversation.  We both agreed that was essential to being able to speak a foreign language.  But I wasn’t carrying my end of the conversational load, and one of his regulars came in, so we parted company.  I can’t be sure, but I thought he looked a little disappointed.  But I was so tired, I couldn’t even explain that I was dead-ass tired.  But there you have it – over one man, obsessing over another.  That’s life, or so they say.

A semi-related anecdote:  I was waiting for the bus downtown last night, when some guy comes up and starts talking to me (bus stops: the new meat markets).  He wasn’t repellent or anything, but I wasn’t interested.  He makes some slight on me not being a conversationalist, which has the desired effect (at least from his point of view), as I started participating in the conversation – even though he was clearly stealing his delivery from the late Mitch Hedberg.  But the effort of talking to some guy who is not all that interesting to me (what is it with these guys who think that broadcasting their theories about what kind of person you are is somehow appealing to women?) took it’s toll, and I stopped participating.  Look, I don’t want much when it comes to men.  But is it too much to ask that the one guy I am interested in asks me out, and that the random oddities on the city streets leave me alone?