Freedom of Choice

I am, right this very moment, actively making a choice...a choice just for me.

You may recall (or not), back in September, an old friend/flame/someone-undefinable got back in touch with me after a year of zero communication. Just so we're clear, it was his choice to A) cut off communication to begin with and B) get back in touch with me.

And, at first, it seemed like everything was falling into place like it should have 2 years ago.

Yeah. About that. Um...no. Not so much.

Tragedy struck almost immediately. He needed time to figure his shit out. I gave it to him. And then gave him some more. And then some more. He "forgot" about two dates we were supposed to have. I tried to be understanding and accommodating to his grief.

But even a low-maintenance woman has her limits, you know? And, in the scheme of things, I'd like to think I'm pretty low-maintenance (there are those of you who read who would be able to confirm or deny) - especially when it comes to spending time together.

However, when I hadn't seen him at all in three months, I kind of - no, not kind of, I did - just got over it.

I would have probably felt differently about his inaccessibility if it hadn't always been this way. It's one thing to be in a relationship with someone who is present, accounted for, attentive who then hits a rough patch and needs time to figure shit out. Because really? I'm the kind of girl who will give you all the time and space in the world if that's what you need. I can't promise to wait around forever (I never say forever just generally). But I am really great at finding ways to occupy my time elsewhere when necessary. I'm typically excellent in understanding when it's not about me.

That's not the case here though. In all honesty, he's never been particularly accessible. At least, not to me. And, even though I came to understand that really wasn't about me, it was about me in the sense that he didn't even want to try.

So, right around my birthday, I'd finally had enough. And I was quietly done. Some of my friends (PJ. Matt.) and Lex were glad to hear it...ambivalent but hopeful that I was really, truly done. They'd seen way too much of angsty Jane for their liking. Especially Lex who worries about me the most.

When he texted me and asked me to have drinks with him last week then, I'm sure everyone was concerned when I agreed. What they didn't understand is that I was going to have drinks with him to tell him I wouldn't, couldn't, didn't care to, anymore.

But when it came right down to it, I didn't care enough to even want to go...tonight. I worked a 12-hour day today. I'm tired, cranky, and, frankly, looking most forward to tomorrow night when I get to see someone...wait, no 3 someones...who care about me and want to see me so much that they'd actively seek out opportunities to do so.

So. Tonight. I made the decision not to go. I called him and left him a voice mail. I texted him...twice...to basically tell him I would not be meeting him.


I gave him an opportunity to express the importance of seeing me. He didn't respond.

Actions speak louder than words.

Consequently, I'm at home, in my pajamas, drinking wine and thinking I'm glad to be done. Just done. Because, no really, done. I was done anyway. But this just gives me the excuse to close it without having to have the hard conversation of being done.

He was done before he'd begun.