A post in which I have apparently been a drama queen all day

I was all het up about the fact that M was supposed to come get his stuff tonight.

He emailed me this morning, asking if I could meet him across town from the house. I just said "No." (Nancy Reagan would have been proud.) I could have if he'd given me some advance warning, but to agree now would mean I had to go all the way home and come all the way back, almost to work, in rush hour traffic. Then I started thinking that Glen had probably advised him not to come to the house, and that he was listening. I thought he's acting like he's afraid of me. I found the thought very depressing.

Following closely on that thought was well I guess we're not ending up in bed tonight. Then I was mostly just frustrated, but partly pissed off, that the toad-id had taken the forefront of my brain to express such a thought. Lordamercy, I just can't believe the things I think sometimes. Apparently men are just sex-stupid to the end. Then I started thinking, what if something had happened? What if he alleged that I raped him or something? I mean, obviously I never knew this guy at all. So I gave myself a stern mental reprimand.

So he emailed back that he would come to the house after all, and I was ridiculously relieved. Enough to give myself another reprimand.

I finished up the rest of the day at work - fortunately busy - and headed on home. dana came by for a minute, and I told her what was going on. On the one hand, I felt kind of like an ass carrying on so - it's been four fucking months since this was ended, after all; but on the other hand I was nervous about seeing him again, and what would happen.

I felt like a big cry-baby. I felt glad that this was close to being all over, and then I felt conflicted about it being finally all over. And I was pissed off at myself for having so much emotion still invested in this dead end. I decided I was not dressing up for him, so I put on my sweats. But the t-shirt I've been wearing at home this week is a big ole eatin' dress mumu thing, and I decided I wasn't having him see me in that. I got out a smaller t-shirt, put it on, and then noticed it had a spot on it. But damned if I was going to be changing clothes like an insecure teen-ager. I left it on. I also decided I was not going to clean house for him. But the coffee table looked really bad, and I wasn't going to have him see me living in squalor. So I dusted the coffee table. But nothing else.

So then I sat down to wait. And 7pm came and went. And I figured he was going to no-show again after all that. I went on in the kitchen to start making supper. I was about half-way into it when he knocked on the door.

And you know what? I was upset about a big ole nothing. I didn't feel anything when I when I saw him. Thank God. So I invited him in, basically to see if he would come in. And he did. He gave me my keys back, and we awkwardly tried to make small talk. He was waiting for a scene or something I guess, but I wasn't about to have one, even if I had felt something. When he realized I wasn't going to scream at him or whatever, he relaxed and we talked about nothing. I told him about the Halloween costume thing with Russ, and my decision process on how to make a comfortable Snoopy costume. My philosophy of costumes is that they shouldn't interfere with my having a cigarette or a drink, and shouldn't be uncomfortable. He started telling me about an elaborate Halloween costume he's planning, and how he's going to spend four hours coating his torso with liquid latex, etc etc. And I'm sitting there thinking, of course you are - because the reason you go to a party is to be the center of attention, not to have a good time. But I didn't say it. I just said "Well, our priorities in going to a party are different."

And even as I'm sitting there, I'm thinking what in the world did you ever see in this vain, vapid guy? How could you be so distracted by a pretty face and a trick pelvis? Apparently it's just like Joan Rivers says. Part of is that I'm so hungry for someone to care about, I know. But I'm confronted, yet again, with the fact that I am more a typical guy than I really like to think I am. And while I'm confronting my own shallowness, I guess I should remark that my objectivity was helped by the fact that he now has (again) icky yellow porno-hair. I had seen pics of him with bleached out hair when we dated, and didn't like them. It wasn't any more flattering in real life.

I later reflected that what I have always believed about gym rats is true. Someone who spends all that time working on a pretty outside to show off has to be neglecting substance on the inside to a certain extent. I guess these thoughts are pretty petty, and I'll admit there is probably a sour grapes element going on as well. I'm still conflicted. Part of me is relieved that seeing him again tonight didn't bother me; and part of me is pretty discouraged by the fact that the most significant relationship I've had in the last three years has been shown to have so little substance. But since I have resigned myself again to just being single at this point, I guess that part doesn't matter so much as it might.