Summer Love and Marshmallows

So fast forward a few months … It is now mid-September, practically October.  Jesus… Only three months until Christmas…  Oh wait, that’s Jesus’s birthday.  Borderline blasphemous?  Psssh, oops.  Anywhoozle, last time I blogged, Joe and I were on the precipice of our second attempt.  It’s interesting to go back and read the speculation from before, knowing what has now transpired.  I was hopeful it would be a good book.  And also cautious about whether it would end in a horror story.  You almost want to go back and shake that person and say, “Noooooo, run run run from that guy in the mask with the chainsaw.”  So yeah, summer horror story.  Ha.  No regrets though.  Never have regrets.  Anyway, we had the summer.  “It was good.”  Probably one of the best in recent years, as far as boys, and new love, and those bittersweet, endless summer days go.  There were happy hours, lazy Sundays, brunchin, dinners, cooking together, baseball, hiking, camping, parties, movies.  You name it, we did it.  Bliss.  I mean there were a few times that were questionable… but that was towards the end.  In hindsight, I should have seen it was starting to unravel at the seams, instead of burying my head in the sand.

Aside from all the things we did together, we were also getting along better than I expected…  He asked me to be his girlfriend on the 4th of July under the fireworks.  Story book, right?  I was, dare I say, falling for him.  Our puzzle pieces were fitting.  We started out slow as shit… but then all of a sudden we were boyfriend-girlfriend and in a full blown relationship.  The kind where you start making future plans for trips, months ahead of time and you leave the front door open when you know they’re coming over and you’re still in bed.  I thought our (his) past problems were behind us for good.  There was always the conundrum of making sure I gave him enough space.  But I honestly thought he was coming around to being in a serious relationship…   We talked about living together, he said he would probably propose after living together for a year or so.  He said a lot of things that made me believe he was in it.  I mean why would he come back a second time if he wasn’t sure I wasn’t the one or just a time filler until the next lucky dame.  He said he wanted a relationship, that he was striving for it.  He had realized that there was more to life than just work and money.  I can’t tell you the number of times we had that deep conversation.  Albeit, sometimes maybe a little drunk, a little stoned…  But whatever.  I think sometimes the green stuff makes you a little more honest anyway.  Hey it’s legal in this state, so keep your judgment lol… We literally had the best conversations.  You know, the kind where you just ‘get’ the person, you don’t even have to explain yourself, and you feel like it’s been 10 minutes and it’s actually been four hours of non-stop talking and laughing.  We just connected.  Although in retrospect, and even at the time, I didn’t like that I was having such an inner battle with myself of whether I was being too needy.  The fear was real and I kept hoping that part would go away.  Constantly questioning myself was driving me slowly insane.

We went camping mid-July and it was probably one of the best times I’ve had camping.  It was just the two of us and we laughed our asses off.  Even when we got lost in the campground, dealt with a third degree burn, I gave him after sunburn lotion instead of sunblock, and he stepped in dog shit at 1 am (without running water and flashlights), we had the Epic of Epic Times.  I guess that is the weekend that things changed.  In my mind, things were sunshine and rainbows and unicorns.  In his mind, that’s when his panic started setting in (as he claimed later).  The following weekend, I told him that I was falling for him.  I know, I know, I know… I didn’t actually say those three words, I wasn’t there yet.  I was scared, honestly.  But I felt comfortable/confident enough to tell him where I was at.  I knew the risks but I had to tell him.  He said he felt the same and he started bringing up the discussion of moving in together when my lease was up.  Having just lived with someone within the last year and that going OH SO WELL…. I told him that of course I was thinking about it but my guard was up and even if we did, I would put my stuff in storage for awhile.  He made a point of saying that I wouldn’t have to get rid of things.  We would both compromise and make it work.  Then he was worrying that there wasn’t enough time to “plan” the idea of living together.  Always a planner.  Fucking virgos…  At the time, my lease wasn’t going to even be up for another 4 months.  I told him that we would see where we were in November.  If it was a yeah, let’s do it, then YAY.  If it was not yet, then that was totally okay too.  I thought we were on the same page.  We even talked about how things were so easy and good between us.  But then he got into his own head (as I do myself and I even called him out on it), thinking I had these expectations (when I didn’t) and I guess he started questioning the whole, is she the one?

I think some guys have it in their heads that as soon as the honeymoon period starts to phase out…  And it always fucking does…  Life starts settling back to normal, except you have someone to share it with.  But for some, it means she isn’t the one and they run scared.  Or she is the one, and they still run scared.  The after honeymoon phase, that’s really just when two people start settling back into their lives with the relationship.  It’s not a bad thing.  You’re finally past that point of thinking you’ll be ghosted, that you can actually be around this person without wanting to stab them.  Say it with me ladies, yoga pants and messy buns.  You know what’s up.  But you’re in it to win it, you’re in a safe, warm place again.  It still takes work though.  And as my friend famously laid it out for me…  The grass isn’t always greener on the other side, but you have to water the fucking grass where you are.  The idea of the metaphorical grass is that’s it, a mirage. You don’t know what sort of weeds are out there. When it’s actually in your yard, you take care of it. Or it dies. Of course it’s going to turn brown without some TLC and with you pissing all over it.  So that’s what Joe did.  He pissed on our grass.  Of course that plot of grass isn’t going to be the best on the block, when you don’t occasionally water or mow it.  It’s called fucking maintenance.  There’s a dirty connotation to be found in that metaphor, I’m sure.

There was a series of events over about a week, I knew something bad was around the corner.  We talked again and I thought things were in the clear, fixable.  And then Joe showed up (to piss) on my doorstep (grass).  He had my stuff that I had left at his house.  He refused to come in, talk about things.  Long story short, he was worried that I was “head-over-heels-bat-shit-crazy-in-love” And that’s bad?? I know I wasn’t the only one. He was too, I saw the look, I know what was between us. I wasn’t crazy, it was reciprocal. ‘You’re not the one…. You’re an amazing girl… you’ll make someone happy…. Someone will want you, that someone just isn’t me…’  Blabbity blabbity BLAB.  His last words to me:  “It was good.  It really was.”  And he walked off into the setting sun like some horrible western.  No really, he did.  I’m not even trying to romanticize the moment.  The sun was starting to set and he walked up the hill, and literally out of my life.  His soulless ginger head was shining in the sun.  It was good…  HA.  If it was so good, why are you walking away from me, wait come back to me.  I knew there was no going back for a third time.  Things are truly over.  But it does make me sad.  Even over a month later.  I know it’s cliché, but what we had together…  It was beautiful.  It’s one of those ones, you’ll never forget and always get a little sad when you remember them.  I think I’ll always miss him a little.  It’s crazy.  I mean, we dated in sum, four months.  But there were times when it was better than good.  It was crazy love for sure.

Then to tie things up with a pretty pink bow… I texted him later on to ask for all of my stuff back.  I mean, if you’re going to show up like you did, and be so gallant about returning my things.  Then return ALL of my shit.  Geez.  I asked for my beach towels, DVD (what is it, 2002?  I could just buy it digitally…), s’mores stuff, and my contacts solution (seems dumb, but anyone who wears contacts… that shit is expensive and it was a new bottle).  Also, by “s’mores stuff,” what I meant was my fancy schmancy retractable sticks used to roast marshmallows.  Not actual ingredients to make s’mores.  Never heard from him.  I was like cool, whatever, I’m not going over there to get the stuff, oh well, Bye Felicia.  So a week later, I got home on Saturday night and ordered a pizza.   Pizza guy knocks about 40 minutes later.   I open my door to find, pizza guy with pizza and bags of stuff sitting on my doorstep.  I’d like to add I swear I heard something at my door… I sorta wish I had run into him playing Santa on my stoop.

Beach towels:  Check.

DVD:  Check.

Contacts Solution:  Check.  May I also add, he bought new stuff (important later in the story).  So that was sweet, he went to the store to replace it.  I was thinking maybe in his rage of breaking up with me, he threw it away but was adult enough to buy new stuff for me.

S’more stuff:  Not check.  In fact, two giant bags of marshmallows, two boxes of graham crackers, and 4 bars of chocolate (dark too, like I like it).

So here I am, hey dude, bring me back my s’mores shit.  He interpreted it as I guess this chubs wants some marshmallows?  He never texted to be like, ‘are you really that crazy (and petty)? S’mores???’  No.  He went to the store and bought all the fixins for s’mores.  I still don’t have my marshmallow roasting sticks.  So I texted him again, saying thanks but that’s not what I meant.  No response.  Maybe it was also combined with his guilt (I hope he felt guilty) for ditching me on our planned camping trip to California, and thought buying me s’mores stuff would smooth it all over and unbreak my heart???  He should have included ice cream and wine for the just broken up with sad girl.  So two weeks later, I’m on my solo road trip to Deer Camp (the trip he was supposed to come with me).  Feeling a little sad and confused.  I texted him and told him where I was and that I missed him.  I wished that he wanted me.  No response.  Next day, I’m at camp pulling out my air/billow bag (stupidest purchase ever), and out flies the contacts solution and my toothbrush that was at his house.  Of course, the container of contacts solution fell on the ground and the lid snapped off, so I had to throw it away (damn I almost scored an extra bottle of solution).  So in summary, I had my contacts stuff all along but of course I didn’t look in the billow bag because I don’t need to inflate furniture in my windless apartment.  He could have just texted, “contacts stuff in the billow bag, and what do you mean s’mores?”  HARMLESS, right?!  My only hope is that (and knowing him, this is exactly how it will play out), he’s going to come across those fucking s’mores sticks months from now and be like “OHHHHH.  That’s what she meant.”  I hope he feels like a fucking idiot.  I can even see the expression on his face now.  As much as I am sad/mad at him, I almost laugh when I think of that face he makes when he realizes he has misunderstood something and has his AHA moment.  It was hilarious.  Anyhooters, maybe he burns his fingers if he so dares to use my sticks for s’mores again.  Not that I believe in voodoo dolls and pins or anything…  But that would be Karma at its best.

So three months later, I have had some good laughs and times with love and friends, a great summer, and more s’mores than I could possibly eat with a sad heart.  I went camping in my favorite place with the best of friends which ended with practically a flat tire on the side of the road in nowhere, Oregon.  But it’s on the mend, the heart… not the tire (Wal-Mart fixed that).  A new chapter has begun.

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