Thursday, 17 May 2018

I change my plans for him. He doesn't ask me to. But I do it anyway. Because I am the one who wants it more. I am the one who spends the day thinking "Oh, I know he has something on every Wednesday so the chances of seeing him tonight are slim. Don't text him." or "He's usually free on Tuesdays and if I don't see him today I won't get another chance until Thursday and that's practically forever away." So instead of working late and going to yoga like I planned I go home early to clean things and wash things and make food and shave things. I do it all on the off chance. On the thinest of hope.
I delay sending the casual text message as long as I can. A message I have been planning and perfecting since 8 am, around the same time when I started wondering what he might like for dinner and what I would have to buy from the shops to make it happen.
I send the perfectly crafted "casual" text and I wait. I wait and I count how many minutes have ticked by and I wonder what he might be doing that would have kept him from looking at his phone for so long. It occurs to me that he might have looked at his phone and not bothered to text back, but giving that thought air is taking the first step down the path to the crazy place. And even this mess is miles better than the crazy place. So I wait and I calculate how much time I might have left to do the things I need to do before he gets here, because of course I haven't done all the things I need to do. I have left some things out. Left myself slightly unprepared so that if I need to I can tell myself that I hadn't really shaped my whole night around the chance of seeing him. I can say I did it all for me. Just a typical Tuesday night vacuuming and food prepping and dusting and dressing up.
And while I am doing all of this he is oblivious. He is going about his day doing the million things he has to do and then at some point late in the evening I guess I cross his mind and he checks his phone. Or he checks it for something else entirely. Who the hell knows. Whatever the reason, he messages. He says he is busy. No sorry for the late reply. No regret that he doesn't get to see me. Just a statement. Just the facts. 
When the message comes through I am a mix of relief and fury. Relief because in the time he's taken to reply I have stress eaten everything in the house and my sexy jeans no longer fit comfortably. And fury at myself for being stupid enough to once again give up my plans for him when he never seems to do the same. I reprimand myself with the memory of the men I have dated before and how it was always vaguely repulsive when they were so quick to give up their plans for me. How pathetic they seemed. I tell myself that I'll never do it again, fully conscious of the fact that I absolutely will at the very next opportunity. And comforting myself in the face of that fact with the sad suspicion that if I don't give up my plans for him, I would see him far less because he probably wouldn't do it for me.
All this is entirely unfair of course. He doesn't know I did this. He doesn't ask me to change my plans. This drama is my own.
It's not his fault. It's not mine either though. It's just how it is. Someone always has to want it more. It's just that in the past that's never been me...

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