MaryB and the City

Riddle me this.

Here’s the truth, told through what’s referred to as diarrhea of the mouth.

Exhibit A: I am completely, unequivocally, impossibly terrified…we’re talking borderline schizophrenic style…of getting hurt. I’d almost prefer to jump off a cliff than go through heartache again.

Let me back up for just a moment.

Last night I saw the Quarterback [QB] for the first time in over a week, due to traveling. His busy season (thanks to work) is wrapping up soon…but not quite yet, apparently. When we finalized our day & time reunion over texting, there wasn’t even a discussion as to where we were going or what we were doing — suppose it’s now at a point that those kind of details are understood. And by reunion, I mean sitting on the couch. And by sitting on the couch, I mean I watched TV, played on my phone, and filed my nails while he worked on the computer. For 3 hours.

In the first 5 minutes I was literally fighting back tears [told you, I’m a hot mess right now]. Back to Exhibit A. You see, I’m struggling with…in a major way…finding a balance between compromising and practicing patience, while fostering a fulfilling potential relationship with someone. I’ve yammered away about this very touchy subject on several occasions now on the blog & it continues to randomly rear its ugly head. While I understand there is a lot going on with his job, and standard work hours of 9-5 are not confined to punching off the clock upon leaving the office — I am also battling with my noisy conscience reminding me about what I deserve.

I deserve some romance. I deserve some special outings. I deserve some thoughtful gestures. Especially given the newness of our courtship. I’m not talking a trip to Paris, I’m talking anything outside the confines of a couch.

Mr. Ex was a master romantic. Granted he would generally only pull out the big guns on special holidays or when trying to win me back — but I’ve tasted from the cup of chivalry before and I’m craving it again.

When I get wrapped up in my jaded frantic thoughts, immediately I reach into my “actions speak louder than words” bag and remember that he has *shown up* to every single thing I’ve asked him to do. Not once has he pushed back, sighed, or tried to get out of being my +1. Not to mention every circumstance leaves him in a room full of strangers who are clearly sizing him up. And yes we have had several instances which included meaningful conversations on the patio or curled up on the couch chatting til the sun goes down, but I’m still missing something.

Is that too much to ask? Does that make me stiletto-high maintenance?

And the kicker is — he knows it. Within the first 20 minutes he looked at me tapping away on my mobile mini keyboard and pitifully asked, “Are you texting your friends telling them how much I suck?” Some people wear their heart on their sleeve, I must wear my feelings on my face.

Then a while later said, with what I believe to be his guilty conscience uncovered and in disbelief himself, “So when did it become acceptable that you sit here while I work?” To which I quickly responded, “I believe the word you’re looking for is compromise, not acceptable.” And he corrected himself, “I know this isn’t what you want and I’m sorry it has to be this way. But I really like seeing you, even if this is how it happens.”

My logic tells me to give it more time and hang on until some sense of normalcy arrives.

But Exhibit A has me on the brink of suffocation — if I keep hanging on in the meantime, I could fall for him — face first. Then what if he doesn’t show up in the ways that I need, even after the business agenda has been cleared?

I know, I know: Don’t be afraid, blah blah blah. Enjoy the time you do have together, blah blah blah.

It’s not that simple though. My heart has previously been put through the blender, on high speeds, and the mere thought of having to piece myself together again is, well it’s just unthinkable.

Weighing manfriend pros & cons is a skill I’ve mastered. He is heavy on the front-end, but the handful of cons happen to be sore spots for me. And that is where I get stumped.

Trying desperately to let go of my past while also opening up for my undetermined future is a riddle I’ve yet to crack.