I guess this was a bit premature.
So here’s what happened:
On Friday, Writer Guy told me about a pretty big thing that’s going on in his life right now. It is something that is deeply troubling for him, and he obviously thought that it would be a problem for me. It isn’t, but nevertheless he thought it best that we stop seeing each other until he gets it sorted out. I’m thinking to myself that this sounds like a gentle let-down until he says “I really hope this doesn’t change the way you feel about me” – and then asks if we’re still on for our Tuesday-night routine. Huh? I kinda thought the whole point was that he wanted to change the way I felt about him (from, you know, Guy-I’m-Getting-a-Little-Squee!-About to Dude-I-Hang-With-On-Tuesdays).
Anyway, we talked again yesterday. I wanted to be as honest with him as he was being with me. I wanted to tell him that the problem he was talking about was something I had some experience with, and that it didn’t turn me away from him at all. I tell him straight up that if he’s just not interested in me to let me know; the last thing I want to do is be a pest and have him eating his words about it. There was more I wanted to say, but I didn’t make it past the first bit. He didn’t really respond, and it was super awkward. He said that he’d been losing his voice – he’s been sick for the past couple of weeks – so wasn’t, quote, “as loquacious as usual”. We agree that we’ll get together Tuesday (today) as is our routine, except, I guess, we won’t make out.
So I go to work, interview some awesome applicants for our summer internship program, come home, make dinner, get ready – and right as I’m walking out the door get a call from Writer Guy. He really has no voice, he says (sounding remarkably like he usually does), so there’s no point in getting together.
Ok, fine. I get it. You’re not interested. But, shit – just tell me. I can take it. At the very least? Give me a clean brush-off. (Alternatively, if you’re actually too sick to go out? Give me more than 15 minutes notice. Call in the afternoon, send me an email, whatever. Just don’t wait until I’ve already gotten ready, abandoned any chance of doing something else with my evening, painted my damned toenails so I can wear my pretty sandals.)
Sheesh. Anyway, I’ve quickly and happily moved from disappointed to cranky. And, as Big Liberty said in this comment, I’m not missing a beat. A new suitor, who shall hereafter be known as Zen Master (’cause, uh, he does Zen meditation – sue me, my nicknames are pretty literal), is waiting in the wings.