Well, yet another month or so has gone by without an update, hasn’t it? Perhaps I should come to terms with the fact that my blogging days have passed. I even thought that paying for the site would compel me to use it, but no luck there! I’m failing at being frugal. :p
So what to talk about?
I won’t lie. Heartache has been taking up most of my emotional energy.
The unexpectedly close and intimate friend with whom I had an abrupt falling out is still on my mind. He said we would discuss things like grown-ups — instead of throw fits like we seemed to have been doing — when I got back from Egypt, but apparently, he wasn’t serious about it.
“Maybe, maybe, maybe…no.”
I’ve never understand the goal of such games.
Let your yes be yes, and your no be no.
And I wonder if women play it as often as men do. I almost hope that we do, that I do, because I don’t want to accuse these men of being cowards.
No one wants to be a coward.
I can imagine that if a woman does this “maybe, maybe” game, it’s to get the guy, to give him a bit of a challenge to see if he’s willing to struggle for what is, hopefully, worth struggling for. But then it only matters if there is a chance she’ll say yes. If not, then she’s the coward.
But when men go on and on for however long we let them, it’s to lose the girl, because he’s afraid to simply say no. Occasionally, rarely, I’d say, it’s for some graver, more complicated reason. But that’s…super rare. He’s not into her, and for some funny reason, he can’t voice that.
You have to wonder why. And you’re stuck wondering, because as fearful as these blokes are of saying no, they seem even more afraid to tell you why they’re afraid to say no.
Phobophobia — the fear of being in fear?
And they — phobophobes — never seem to see the irony, do they?
We women are not particularly dangerous overall. People that can’t be crossed shouldn’t be crossed, for sure, but generally speaking people — women — don’t go around stabbing each other — men — because that spark just isn’t there, because they got rejected. Honestly, it’s usually not the topic of the conversation that sets people off, but the insensitive and jerky behavior of the person doing the rejecting.
10% of arguments are about a difference in opinion. 90% of them are about a tone of voice.
“But, Prin”, you say, “It’s these WOMEN who need to do this talking thing.”
Well, darling, since you can read my mind…
I posit that it’s actually a matter of respect….respect for the limitations of our understanding of another extremely complicated human being.
He and I had become super close, closer than we thought was likely to happen, and I believe that out of respect for the process and time and effort and energy and love that exists, we could have treated each other with more selflessness than we did. In the dusk (?) of our relationship, I thought that respect had been regained, but then he snatched it away, and the sun set.
I don’t feel respected and I don’t think I am respecting a person if intentions and the reality of the situation are not communicated. I don’t want to be a coward. I want to face all of this head-on. And I want to give others the chance to do the same thing. They deserve it. They — men and women — deserve to know the truth about me, who I am and how I feel and what I want and need. This man whom I love — so much more.
Yet here we are.
He thinks he’s doing me some kind of favor by being secretive and selfish about what — from what I know and understand about him — isn’t that much of a secret.
Here’s the difference between that guy you went out with on one or two dates, and the guy who put off being with his girlfriend to spend more time with you: the latter should be able to tell you, fearlessly, what his fears are, because he should be able to trust you.
And I guess that’s really where the betrayal lies. Actually, the most painful part of this drama.
He doesn’t trust me.
I thought he did. And I think he did. Or perhaps it was a partial trust. A trust that somehow didn’t extend to this issue he’s struggling with. Maybe if he didn’t know me from Eve, I could understand his distrust. Maybe if I’d betrayed him in the past, I could understand this distrust. But I don’t know where it comes from. I wish I did. I can only assume it has nothing to do with me personally. And to top it all off, he’s the type who doesn’t seem to trust himself, and that self-flagellatory attitude is probably the real culprit. These two theories are my only consolation. And as I sit here, alone, lonely, they still seem like weak consolation at that…
One day he’ll stop this nonsense. Maybe one day he’ll realize that the answer isn’t within his own self-admittedly-confused-and-inadequately-equipped mind! Maybe one day the prodigal friend will return, shouting “Damn the consequences!!!” Maybe one day he won’t be afraid to to the dangerous and uncomfortable things that could very possibly end in his happiness.
God, that would be nice.
In the meantime, here I will be.