In the largest fulfillment of a cliche I have recently witnessed, my boyfriend broke up with me on Valentine’s Day. He had gotten bored. I’m not surprised since his attention span is suited for shiny explosions every five seconds. I deleted his number from my phone and removed him from my friends online. I’m a firm believer in clean cuts.
He still has my book Hyperspace, so I have to get that back from him some time, somehow…. maybe I can go to his apartment when it’s just his roommate there. I wonder if he wants his Smoothie Factory shirt back? He said I could keep it. It’s pretty much threadbare. He doesn’t look good in yellow. I think I’ll keep ‘er.
I sort of liked the situation of having a boyfriend so that my family would finally think I’m normal, so they wouldn’t worry about me. That motivated me to try to stay with Ryan even as it became clear that we weren’t compatible. Now I’ve decided that I can use this reacquired singledom to fully experience being unfettered and free. I can do all the things I’ve wanted to do but was afraid to do in light of keeping a relationship together. Relationships? At this age? It strikes me now as dangerous if they’re approached in any way other than casual. It could skew your whole formation if you tried to mold yourself to another person’s preferences in the prospect of foreverness.
I’m not frightened of being single. I’m just frightened of the next person I’ll fall for. But I think the severity of these crushes/obsessions decreases every time. I know them for what they are now. In years to come, when my hormones have calmed down, that feeling of bright colors and electric veins will be a more reliable signal of when I’ve met the right person. And even then, I just have to see how it goes. The sadness I felt after Ryan was nowhere near the angst after my first two-week teenage boyfriend.
Anyway, I’m off to eat Indian with my bro. I’m in Houston for the weekend, petting my little Tahoedog and enjoying the company of the fam as a salve for rejectionitis.
