MaryB and the City

Couch potatos.

One full month in relationship remission, and I’m starting to feel the detox effects. The extreme anger has subsided, thoughts of imposing physical harm have all but dwindled, and I can’t remember the last time I shed a tear. The final chapter of Mr. Ex escapades is quickly becoming a distant memory in the rear view mirror of my memory.

Can I get an Amen?

All the while, I’ve been steadily, but slowly, incorporating the Quarterback into my passenger seat…while being impossibly careful to make sure he isn’t, nor feels like, a rebound. Shifting into cruise control has been a breeze.

That is, until last night.

Last night I had a teeny tiny, itty bitty meltdown on the Datequest highway. I had been so good about remaining calm, taking things day by day, not overanalyzing things, and appreciating the little butterfly moments.

Recently I wrote about my past angst while we briefly dated last year…and how I wished he’d be more proactive as far as planning. These days, with my head screwed on tighter, I’m actively taking everything in stride and respecting his busy work schedule during this hectic sports season. I’m not lowering expectations by any means, just being more realistic at this crammed calendar time period.

However my manic turned mellow mindset experienced a temporary relapse.

“When do I get to see you again??” came through my text inbox on Monday when he returned from out of town. “How about tomorrow?” I suggested.

Then when push came to shove, and his grass had to be cut and laundry needed to be folded, I suggested we reschedule. “You’ve been traveling and have things to do.” Translation = take me out, damnit.

“But I want to see you and hang out. Come over and let’s have a beer.”

I literally sat there for twenty full minutes, starring at my cell’s screen, deciding what to do. Then it hit me. OK he isn’t a mind reader. He isn’t a douchebag either, taking advantage of spending time with me @ his convenience [a major red flag from my past].

Furthermore, the fundamental reason I’m paying to sit on a comfy chair across from a for-hire friend with a PhD is because I don’t want to sabotage future relationships with perfectly healthy men…by putting up walls in a lovely shade of jade[d] green. So I said to myself, “Just go over there and tell him what the deal is.”

That’s what I did.

And it was great. We chatted for over two hours, sitting on opposite sides of the sofa under a blanket with our feet at each other’s hips. I explained my hesitation on having a low-key, couch potato session and how I didn’t want to skip over the traditional courting part – simply because we’ve dated before and we’re so comfortable around each other. But that I also understand things are crazy right now and not having a formal Tuesday night on the town wasn’t necessarily a deal breaker.

Every single solitary time I see him, layers are peeled away and I learn more about how incredibly authentic he is. How he is a solid communicator. What his fears are. What matters to him. What his goals are.

Consequently, every single solitary time I walk away respecting him more. Appreciating his honesty. Gawking at his gigantic smile. And being surprised by unexpected, mature, and candid sentiments he shares. I’m still having a hard time swallowing how open he’s been with me as far as relationships are concerned. Dating Peter Pan previously, the “M” word was always so taboo. But with QB, the desire & readiness to be in a committed lifetime partnership practically drips from his pores.

It seems like I’ve spent years and years driving in cluster-filled circles behind a pace car, waiting for the crash to be cleared, so I could go on about my business. And now the romance-binging roadblock is out of the way. After all, they say some doors have to close in order for others to open…

I’m not in a race against time, but if it feels this good along the laps to love, I can’t imagine what it’ll feel like to finally cross the finish line.