Checking in

I went out for a drink with two lovely acquaintances last night, and afterwards, although it was super late, decided in my buzzed and tiramisu’d state to head over to Sweet, Smart Scientist’s house. I called him on the way down his street, and while he sounded reluctant to see me (because he was tired, he said), I persuaded him to let me up for a few minutes. Which of course turned into three hours.

I really wasn’t going to bring up the state of the relationship, but he sort of seemed to expect a reason for my semi-forced entry (I’m so good with passive aggressive persuasion techniques; for instance, saying “So you’re saying I should turn around and walk home?” and then responding to his “Well, I don’t want to say that!” with “Great, I’ll be at your house in 2 minutes”), so although I was prepared to leave after my pre-stated 5 minutes, I sat down again with him.

"You seemed kind of upset last night when you got out of the car," he observed.

"I was really tired," I said, which was true. "And ... I have some things on my mind that are kind of stressing me out, things that I need to decide soon."

"What are they?"

"I don't really want to talk about them now. And... I kind of feel like I should check in with you and see how you're feeling about ... stuff."

He still feels the same way, since the intractable problem still exists. So he explained that, and I took it in and then I said:

“I’m confused about the sex.”

“Well, sex is something that happens between a man and a woman, and it’s for procreation purposes…“

“I’m confused when the man tells the woman he doesn’t want to have sex with her because he needs to get clarity on certain things, and the woman says okay, and then they have sex anyway.”

“It wasn’t a matter of me not wanting to have sex with you. It was more a matter of whether I could resist my desire to have it so that I could get some clarity.”

“So, did you get clarity?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“And what’s clearer now?”

“I think – I guess I came to the realization that I can’t imagine this going anywhere. I can’t imagine this as a long term thing. And if I were advising a friend who was in my position, I would say that he should end it, because it's not a healthy situation.”

Wow. Okay. That’s new. I sat dumbly for a minute.

A bit later, we had this exchange:

“This isn’t a unilateral thing, you know. I mean – what do you want? Do you want to have a sexual relationship?”

“Um -- yes.”

“Do you want it to be monogamous?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want us to date exclusively?”

“Yes.”

“The thing is, I can’t commit to – I feel like I’m not letting myself be in a situation where I could find someone who has more long term potential –“

“Oh. Okay. So, I’m preventing you from finding –“

“It’s not you, it’s me deciding to see you –“

“Fine. So your deciding to see me is preventing you from finding a wife. Life partner. Soulmate. Whatever.”

“You’re oversimplifying things.”

“No, I don’t think I am. It’s a logical progression. You want a relationship with long term potential, and you don’t think this is it. You want to make healthy choices for yourself, and you don’t think this is healthy. So… why are you doing this?”

“Because I really like you. But I’m not – I don’t think I can give you what you want.”

“How do you know what I want?”

“Because you just said you wanted an exclusive relationship.”

“Okay, wait a second. You’re – I think we’re operating on different definitions here. You asked me if I wanted an exclusive relationship and I said yes, because I think if I knew you were dating other people, I would feel hurt.”

“I think I would feel hurt too, if I knew you were dating other people.”

“So, okay. Normally? When two people feel that way? It usually means that they feel a connection, and enough of a connection to date exclusively. Which, you know, is kind of the definition of monogamy.”

“Are you sure you didn’t do debate in high school?” (He was on the debate team in high school.)

“It’s just not a great place to be – knowing that I’m the unhealthy choice.”

“That’s not really –“

“Yeah, okay, so it’s your choosing to see me that’s the unhealthy choice. That sounds to me like I’m the unhealthy choice.”

Pause. He took both my hands in his.

“Can’t you see that the reason I’m having such a hard time with this is because you’re wonderful and sweet and funny and brilliant and attractive?”

Aaaaaand … my insides sort of turned into a gooey mess. “Thank you. For saying that.”

“It’s just what I feel.”

So what do I do with this? It was a serious conversation, but it was also punctuated by laughter and jokes about getting married and caresses on the cheek and touching my hair and holding hands. But get this – he asks me: “So what does this mean?”

“Well,” I said slowly, “I think for you it means that you’re trying to be healthy about your romantic life, and you know you should break things off, but you don’t want to face the immediate hurt, so you’re putting it off. And for me, it means that I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’m open to anything, including a long-distance thing, if we decide to do that. And if it doesn’t work out, then it means that I at least was pretty happy for four months.

“But – can you do me a favor? If you are going to break things off, can you please wait until after May 7, or preferably after May 18? ‘Cause I really need to concentrate on finals. No, seriously.”

He laughed, I laughed, and after that, we didn’t do much talking. And two hours later, I turned down his offer of a ride and walked back to my dorm in the cool-ish spring night, high on pheromones and – predictably – confused.

Sing it, Shonda Rhimes

On Grey's Anatomy last week: "The ones who suffer the most are the ones who don't know what they want."

Tell me about it.

Not knowing what I want #1
I met with my supervisor on Wednesday to go over my clinical project and strategize, and at the end of the going over and the strategizing, he folded his hands, exhaled, and said, "Now. All that's left is your future." And proceeded to suggest that I ask my firm to wait 6 months to a year for me to start, and instead fund me to continue working on my project into next year.

And I somehow found myself agreeing to feel out whether that would be possible.

I have mentioned a couple times to The Turtle that I'll be sad to leave this project, and that I have really enjoyed working on it -- I liked gathering information, lobbying people, setting the wheels in motion for something that might actually help poor people. But his suggestion still took me aback.

I love The Turtle, and I loved working on this project, but maybe it's time to move on from this place? I don' t know!

Not knowing what I want #2
This summer, after the bar exam, I have two months before I start work (if I'm still going to the firm and not asking them for time off to do this project with The Turtle, that is). I could drive across the country with friends, which I've always wanted to do. I could go off on another thrilling adventure with The Ringleted One, which I always want to do. I could go take cooking classes in Tuscany with a friend here, which sounds incredibly relaxing.

Or, I could try getting an internship to set myself up for the next career move.

I have a couple of leads I could follow, and I even know someone here who, last summer, did exactly what I want to do. My loans don't kick in until late fall, it's two months of entirely free time, and it would be the ideal time to try something crazy.

But maybe I should just go to Tuscany and relax? I don't know!

Not knowing what I want #3
This is partly about what I want, but also about what someone else wants, and that someone else is Sweet, Smart Scientist, who last night apparently decided that he's gotten to know me well enough without the complications of sex to move back into the non-celibate arena. Rowr!

But also: Rowr? (Cat scratches head.)

This is without any discussion of the state of the relationship, nor any other action or comment that might hint at ... anything. And afterwards, when he drove me home? Well, I bolted out the car before either of us had a chance to say anything.

Undoubtedly, this nice state of notsayinganything will not last for long.

He's still sweet, he's still smart, but ... his period of indecision changed the way I feel. I don't know.

That is why, instead of starting my 20-page paper on North Korean human rights violations and how to solve 'em, I am going out to drink.

Ah, winter, we hardly knew ye... NOT

Finally! 80 degrees and breezy, the way life should be.

This is my final week of class in law school (I go into finals mode next weekend), and I'll be busy finishing up my clinical projects. For one, I've been trying to get a screening and referral system set up for people who've been discriminated against in their jobs in this area -- for that, I've talked to lots of lawyers and the state agency that handles these kinds of complaints, and it seems like it's actually going to happen. And for the other, I've been trying to expand my existing clinical to include students helping people without attorneys who go into mediations at the E EOC.

It's been good, doing these projects instead of the usual case work. I've been a little of a researcher, a little bit of a lobbyist, and it's been fun. I like feeling that I may have helped the antidiscrimination cause a little (which my supervisor, The Turtle, assures me I have), and I actually liked talking to all these folks, gathering information, letting them know what's going on, getting support for the project.

It'll be a nice way to end my law school career, laying the foundations for these projects to take off in the fall.

I feel very little about the end of law school, only that I wish it were over already, as I'm tired of going to class and listening and taking notes on things I don't really care about. I went to Student Org #1's end-of-the-semester "graduation" tonight, and it was little sad, thinking of everyone going on next year when I'm not here.

Ooh, but you know what? I went to this talk today about international employment law, and it sounds just up my alley! I didn't even know such a practice existed! I think a talk with career services might be in order...

Sorry I'm being so jumpy tonight -- had a beer with the French King at 5:30, whom I bumped into serendipitously after class today, and then wine with Joiner and Resident Evil while watching Heroes and Dr. 90210. It's a jumpy sort of time, what with the weather changing so drastically, and things ending and plans for the next six months afloat but not secured.

In Sweet, Smart Scientist news: he called and asked if I wanted to go for a walk yesterday; we went to dinner instead. He put an arm around me as we walked back and, at his street, kissed me on the cheek. It's kind of like we're 10 years old. I'm not sure how much more I can take of this.

Keeping fingers crossed that my advisor gives me an extension on my third year paper...

Hello, sunshine

We've missed you. But you come at an inconvenient time -- I really need to get work done, and all I want to do is sit outside and bask.

Last night, we had elections for Student Org 1, and I feel horrible about them. Because my co-director and I had information about some of the candidates that no one else did, we ended up (by request) speaking about them and our views on them, which essentially turned the election around. The tide was strongly in favor of these candidates, until I spoke (my co-director and I shared the same opinion, but I happened to go first) about my strong reservations about their qualifications. Because I generally don't state my opinion about most things (usually because I don't care), and because my co-director is a forceful personality, we definitely swayed most people.

We were stuck in a hard place -- as supposed neutrals, we should not have spoken at all, technically, but we were asked to, and we felt we had to relay this information. But it doesn't feel good to have essentially dictated the outcome, and to have done so in a forum where the candidates couldn't defend themselves.

I went for a drink afterwards with my co-director, and she asked how I felt about the past year. You know, I said, I don't know how I feel about being a leader of an organization. I'm glad to have been so involved and to have gotten to know everyone that I have, and I don't think that would have been possible if I hadn't been a leader, but I don't think I'm generally comfortable in a leadership position.

My co-director is definitely the opposite -- she's a brisk, decisive, opinionated person who enjoys directing the process. I'm much more of an observer. I'm happy to be part of it all, and I'll state my opinion on things that I feel strongly about, but I hate talking about policy and I hate deciding things.

Still, as we turned off the lights in the room we held elections in, and walked out of the building, I felt a real pang. Being part of this organization has been one of the two shining lights of the past three years. I love the people, the principles, and the things we do. I think my co-director and I have made a real impact on the organization (one of the many effects we've had is that more people ran for positions than in the past two years), and though it's probably more from the energy my co-director had, I'm sure I too had an impact in the personality of the organization.

I still feel shitty about the elections, but overall, I'm so glad to have been part of this org.

And in Sweet, Smart Scientist news? Saw him last night, had essentially the same conversation as on Tuesday night, and it's still all up in the air.

Awwww....

Last night, inspired by a conversation I had with a fellow mediator who gave me the great compliment of "you are a great facilitator, hk," I thought to myself, "Well, am I a mediator, or am I a mouse?", and I called Sweet, Smart Scientist and had the brief exchange outlined here (at the end of the entry).

Providing proof that you reap what you sow, I got an email later in the night from Sweet, Smart Scientist that said: "I was just walking home and thinking what a really lovely person you are. Good night, [from Sweet, Smart Scientist]."

Aw, shucks. It weren't nothin'.

(Although, I definitely am awesome.)

Reactions
(yeah... still not safe, bigbro)

So Sweet, Smart Scientist doesn't want to sleep with me anymore. Well, he does, but he thinks he shouldn't, because he's not ready for that level of intimacy and he wants to take a step back and get to know me without that complication. Which -- yeah, maybe he should have thought of that before the actual, uh, sleeping together? Just a thought.

When I told Joiner about last night's conversation, she had this to say: "That's not a straight man talking. That's his shrink telling him what he should do."

Hee! And then this gem of an exchange with Mr. Rocks:

Mr. Rocks: It sounds like he doesn't want to use you for sex. If he's a nice guy.

hk: Actually, I think it might be more that he's afraid that I'm using him for sex.

Mr. Rocks: Are you?

hk: Well ... maybe.

Mr. Rocks: So you're just upset because you're not gonna get laid anymore.

hk: Well, yeah!

Mr. Rocks: Look, just don't date rape him, okay?

hk: Look, I like him too! I think he's a great guy! I just don't think that it realistically has a shot of working out. How do you create a foundation of intimacy in four months strong enough to build a long distance relationship on? So, what would you do?

Mr. Rocks: Well, maybe you can go along with it, and just have ... lapses. And then be all, yeah, I'm sorry about that.

Double hee!

After a day of pondering the possible interpretations and wondering what I wanted, which ran the gamut from breaking it off completely to completely acquiescing and being part of the therapy process, I called Sweet, Smart Scientist a few hours ago. After a few pleasantries, I said, "Hey, I didn't feel so good about how I left things last night, so I just wanted to say that I respect the fact that you're trying to work on stuff and make things better for yourself and for others. And ... I'm glad that you want to get to know me better."

"I do want to get to know you better," he said, "because I like you. And I'm glad you called."

And so the dance continues, no doubt until next Tuesday, when we check in again. What new therapy trick will he pull out of the bag then? And what the hell am I doing, being part of this guy's emotional exploration process?

Things fall apart
(not safe, big bro. not safe)

Tonight was the weekly check-in with Sweet, Smart Scientist, who wants to communicate openly and step back and clarify things for himself and take things a little less seriously, which for him means no more sex.

Yes, that's right. The man wants to stop having sex, so he can figure out what he really wants, and get to know the woman better, without the complicating automatic intimacy from sleeping together.

I don't know what it is with today -- the terrible, terrible news about VA Tech? the third day of constant rain and wind? the lack of sleep? -- but I veered more into frustration and anger than sadness and understanding upon this conversation.

"You don't have anything to lose," he pointed out in the car when he was dropping me off. "And it's -- I don't want to waste time -- not that it's a waste of time, but that's four months -- Do you understand?"

"Of course I understand!" I said, voice rising. "You want to find someone to have a long term relationship with. And if you weren't dating me, you'd have the time and energy to try to find someone who you could develop that intimacy with, so that you could go to the next place together. I get it. I'm not stupid, you know. "

I tried to pick a fight, challenging him on his assumption that there WAS anything to clarify. "It IS clear," I said, exasperated. "You don't want to do long distance. You want a long term relationship. And I. Am. Leaving." He demurred on the long distance, saying that he'd rather not, but he wouldn't rule it out.

His mild manner and earnest face made me sorry for trying to pick the fight. What was I doing, anyway? Trying to convince him to break it off now? That wasn't what I wanted. So I took his hand and apologized for bringing it up again, at 2:30 in the morning, after we had talked about it for an hour at midnight. "You don't have to be sorry," he said, and I burst out, "I'm just frustrated--"

"With what?"

"-- at you! At your indecision!"

At that, he finally got riled, and replied, "Would you rather me make a decision now and not try to figure things out?"

Well, of course not. And that's just it. I like him. I like the -- some would say -- false intimacy that comes from having sex, because in truth, I probably don't want anything more. The false intimacy is easy, it's biologically based, it doesn't require the work that real intimacy demands. But it makes me happy, and I just want to be happy for the next couple months.

It's not to say that I don't genuinely like Sweet, Smart Scientist, or that I don't genuinely think that he's a great guy, a real keeper. (Throughout this conversation in the car, and the conversation in his apartment, he held my hand or otherwise maintained constant contact with me. While we're having a pretty troubling state of relationship talk!)

But my reaction to his desire to step back and cut out the physical intimacy is telling. In his view, the sex led to a level of intimacy he wasn't ready for, and taking that out of the equation lessened the seriousness of what we are doing. In my view, the sex is the less serious part of the relationship. Trying to get to know each other better, which is what he wants to do, is far more serious. On one level, it's not worth it for me, as I've only got 3.5 months left here. On another level, I don't know that you can build enough intimacy in that amount of time to launch a long distance relationship, so ... why even try? Why not just enjoy the false intimacy and be happy? It's that spectre of ultimate and inevitable failure that makes me doubt that Sweet, Smart Scientist is even serious.

I don't know. I left the car dissatisfied, unhappy with myself and with him. Half an hour earlier, before all that troubling talk, he'd given me a hug and said, "I'll see you soon? I mean, if you want to see me." Of course I do, you idiot. I'm afraid that YOU don't want to ME soon. And my behavior isn't likely to tip the scale to yes.

VA Tech Shooter

Those poor kids. My god. And the shooter himself -- so clearly mentally disturbed, so clearly disassociative, so clearly fallen through the cracks.

Fun things about having bigbro crash with me last night

5. Getting back from the gym just as he got to the dorm, and having a cigarette outside while still in my sweaty gym clothes. Nothing like nicotine to enhance the exercise endorphins!

4. Calling our dad, who is crashing at bigbro's and J1's place in NoCal while they are away, and hearing him say, "Well, I ate the rest of the soup. And the rice. And some crackers. And cookies. And the rest of the pizza. Um, your pantry will be pretty tidy when you get back."

3. bigbro sharing a text from J1 that said: "Your son pooped three times in three minutes."

2. Sitting in a bar where a Wine for Dummies book was lying on the back counter, bigbro sharing the following story: "When [my company] was starting out, we had a copy of Consulting for Dummies sitting out on a bookshelf in the office. Our CEO walked in and said, 'You know, it's probably not good for clients to see that' and we put the book away," and, 30 seconds later, watching the bartender pick up the Wine for Dummies book and put it away in a back room.

1: Showing bigbro a picture of Sweet, Smart Scientist, which elicited this comment: "He's cute! Hey, he might be a keeper!" (And after my uproarious laughter: "What, I can't appreciate a cute guy when I see one?")

April is the cruelest month

... at least in terms of weather around here. Rain and wind for the next few days -- blech.

Nathan Fillion's new show, Drive, premiered tonight, so Resident Evil and Joiner and I watched over pizza and French fries. Mmm, Nathan Fillion. Tasty. The show wasn't too bad -- it has promise. You can never quite tell with pilots, I think. More often than not, a series takes a few episodes to find its footing, for the actors to feel out their characters' identities, for the premise to get comfortable with itself. For my 3L paper, I'm trying to write a television show pilot, and while it's terrific fun, it's not as easy as I thought it might be to create believeable, likable characters with dilemmas that an audience like me and my friends might care about. But it really is amazingly fun. I talked tonight to Resident Evil and Joiner about some problems I've been having with the storyline and characters, and Resident Evil gave me a great idea for the central conflict of the pilot. Whee! So much more fun than law.

I slept about 13 hours last night, which I really needed to do, and under the influence of Benedryl, which my doctor recommended as "the number 2 sleep aid in the country." It definitely knocks me out, but the problem is that in the morning, I'm so groggy, it takes several hours to regain any semblance of coherence. In order to catch up on the sleep I need, though, I've been taking it about once a week, on the weekends. Sigh. It's a bitch, not being able to sleep well.

I went to bed last night without calling Sweet, Smart Scientist. I was annoyed, but decided to interpret his "feel free to call me" comment in the most neutral and generous light possible (I've gotten good at this through mediating disputes in small claims court), which was this: he sounds like he needs a little space, so fine -- take the space you need, and call me when you're ready, dude. And lo and behold, he called tonight, and we talked for about 45 minutes. I told him about the networking thing and prom. He said he was in the lab until 10 last night. I refrained from asking, "Why the hell were you so cranky yesterday?" since my generous interpretation appeared to be correct. It was nice. I like telling him about my day. He listens well.

It's kind of weird to be dating someone so formally. I see him once during the week, and then one night on the weekend. We talk on the phone two or three evenings. There might be some email contact the other days. It's very ... orderly. Somewhat of a formalized dance of interactions and communications. I am not very formal, so it's a bit bizarre. But there's a certain comfortable predicability to it, I suppose.

Networking and noxiousness

I'm going to the 3L "prom" tonight, mostly because Joiner demanded we go. The idea of going to anything called a prom is amusing, to be sure, but also slightly undignified, somehow. The main attraction for me and Resident Evil, whom Joiner also enticed into going, is dinner at a nice restaurant nearby. And the prospect of an open bar at the prom isn't too shabby either. Although in my current sleep-deprived state, I'll be down for the count after about one drink.

Which, funny enough, was the situation I was in last night, after about half of a vodka martini. I must not have eaten enough dinner, because halfway through my drink, I could barely focus on the room around me, or what Sweet, Smart Scientist was saying. Did manage to stumble home with him and have a very nice night, however.

This morning, I went to a Crimson College undergrad networking thing with people from media and entertainment sectors, including a filmmaker, a DJ, a PR exec, a couple advertising guys, and several journalists. I didn't really want to go, but felt that I should, so Sweet, Smart Scientist gave me a ride and I'm glad I did go, because it reminded me that there are so many possibilities out there. I forgot that in college, the management consultant firms and investment banks descend on the senior class like the corporate law firms descend on the 2Ls here, and that it takes some courage to skive off on a different path. The amount of joy on that panel was impressive -- everyone loved their jobs, and their jobs sounded so cool. So cool.

I talked to one of the journalists afterwards, and mentioned I was in law school, and he said he knew someone who had graduated from law school and is now an editor at Foreign Affairs
-- and that you didn't necessarily need a lot of journalism background to do something like that. He offered to take a look at my resume, so -- what the heck. Maybe I'll email him.

(Okay. I've refrained from mentioning Sweet, Smart Scientist for a whole paragraph. Whoo hoo! Of course, that ends now.)

So I have to say -- I mentioned this morning that I'd probably just have a drink or two at the prom and then be free ... and all dressed up with no place to go, if he wanted to go somewhere. And what does Sweet, Smart Scientist say? NOTHING. That's right. Absolutely nothing.

Right, so I say nothing back, and later, when he's dropping me off at this networking thing, he says, "Feel free to call me after your thing tonight, but I might be really tired."

Damn, that is COLD. I mean, is it so weird that after dating for four weeks, I might assume that he'd be interested in seeing me more than twice a week? That he might be interested in seeing me on -- gasp! -- two consecutive days?

I was kinda stung, which is why I am so proud of what I actually responded with. I considered saying something like, "I sure will, with such a rousing show of enthusiasm! Thanks!" but, in the hopes that the semblance of normalcy might someday lead to actual normal, well-adjusted behavior on my part, I took a moment, said cheerfully, "Okay!", smiled, kissed him goodbye, and left the car without looking back.

WhatEVER. Maybe he has a date tonight, in which case, he could just say he's busy. Maybe he's actually tired, in which case he could say he'd like to see me, but he just needs to get some sleep. Maybe he doesn't want to see me again so soon, in which case he should stop calling and emailing every other day. Whatever the reason, that was a crappy ass way to indicate non-availability. Humph.

Okay. I kind of get it now.

'Cause he calls at 8:30, and I call him back at 10, and we talk for an hour about emotional baggage, family dysfunction, and trust issues. He's got a habit of getting involved with emotionally unavailable people. Like, for example, people who are moving away in a few months, perhaps? I point that out, and he admits that was part of the reason why he brought it up on Tuesday.

So Sweet, Smart Scientist is working on some issues. He's getting help. He's trying to understand some destructive patterns. It's all very earnest and pretty damn admirable. And he says I'm a better therapist than his therapist. Of course I am.

By the way, I know these pages have been very Sweet, Smart Scientist-heavy lately. There are other things in my life besides Sweet, Smart Scientist, some of which are pretty damn interesting, and I will write about them eventually, I swear, but for now, my head's filled with sweet sciencey smartness. Sorry.

And after all that…

…Sweet, Smart Scientist writes an email to me at, like 3 am last night, being all, “hey, so much for my plans to switch to an earlier schedule! How was your meeting on Wednesday morning?”

So maybe it’s like what Mr. Rocks said (when I called him at 2:30 am on Tuesday night all upset about The Talk) – maybe I just need to ignore the whole thing and proceed as I have been doing.

And maybe, when Sweet, Smart Scientist said he wanted to talk to me about something, he actually meant he wanted to talk about it, not just deliver a decision wrapped in the guise of open and actual communication. What a concept! Talking about something that bothers you! To figure out a solution! Sometimes I wonder about my so-called communication skills.

On the other hand, maybe he’s just being nice now so that he can break things off without warning this weekend.

(No, I will NOT let go of my paranoia. It’s too dear to me.)

And in other, non-sweet, non-smart, non-science-related news, my clinical supervisor, The Turtle, told me today that he had nominated me for a national student clinical practice award. Each school can only enter one student's name for consideration, and I didn't end up getting it, but he thought I deserved it more than the person who did get it. That made me feel fuzzy inside. Validate me!

hk in despair

Okay, it’s not despair like the despair of the first year of law school, or the despair of ever finding peace in my family, or the despair (sometimes) of ever finding a career I truly want. I am not hiding in bed in a darkened room, crumpled tissues around me, wishing that the earth would open up and swallow me whole.

Nevertheless.

We had The Talk last night.

I had dinner with Neener last night, where she said I looked radiant, and I told her, you know, this guy is pretty great. She cheered. ACK. Right then, I should have known I was jinxing myself. Sweet, Smart Scientist’s house was the on way back home, so as we planned earlier in the evening, I stopped by to hang out, catch up about our days, and, you know, maybe get some.

He was coming back from the gym, so we crossed paths on the street, went to his house, where he made dinner, took a shower while I read, and sat down next to me on his couch. Where, as he had his arm around me, he said, “Can I talk to you about something?”

Oh, god, no.

I must have had a stricken look on my face, because he laughed apologetically. Said, "We don't have to talk about it now."

"No, no," I said resignedly, bracing myself.

He’s concerned. He likes me. He likes spending time with me. I’m leaving. He doesn’t want to get hurt. He doesn’t want to hurt me. He’s not good at long distance relationships – the last woman he dated moved to New York, and that didn’t work out well. He doesn’t make very good choices in relationships. When he was in his mid-twenties, he might not have had these second thoughts. He knows what he should do, but isn’t sure what he wants.

At that, I clarified: “You mean, you think you should break things off now, but you don’t know if you want to.”

Um… yeah.

"Then why did you call me after the first date?" I asked, frustrated.

He passed a hand over his eyes, sighed. "I ... liked you. I enjoyed spending time with you. And our emails. I just ... I didn't think things through."

I looked down, thinking, trying to be honest, trying to say the words that would get me what I wanted. "I like you," I said finally. "I like you in a way that I haven’t liked anyone for a long time." (Rather oddly, he said "thank you" to that.) "But I don’t know what to tell you. I am leaving. And if you don’t want to get hurt, and you know you don’t want to do long distance, then I guess the smart thing to do would be to end things now."

There was a silence, in which many things were said and unsaid. We had all the facts. There was only a decision to be made. And that decision would be his.

I looked at him. Pulled myself up from my supine position, settled myself into his lap. “I want you to be happy. I want me to be happy. And I’m happy when I’m with you.”

“The problem,” he said, “is that I get attached easily.” He took my hand in his. “And I’m already attached to you.”

“So don’t … un-attach,” I said. “Capture happiness while you can.”

A little later, I said, “Have you already decided, and you just don’t want to tell me? Or do you really not know?”

He closed his eyes and said in a distressed tone, “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

I couldn’t leave it at that. “Will you decide soon? Because it’s kind of hard, having a ticking time bomb over your head. And when you do decide, you’ll tell me, won’t you? You won’t just stop calling.”

“No,” he said, reassuringly. “I wouldn’t just stop calling.”

A few hours later, he drove me back home. Parked outside the building. “The last time we were sitting here, it was snowing,” he observed. “Yes,” I replied. “It was a moment.”

We sat close, foreheads together, for a moment. He looked at me. I looked at him. There seemed to be an infinite sadness in his gaze. I’m sure I had the same look on my face. “Let’s keep talking about it, thinking about it,” he said softly. “Okay,” I replied, resignedly. What could I say?

It’s only been three weeks since I met Sweet, Smart Scientist. Miracle Gro warned me from the get-go to please remember that it was a time-limited affair. I knew that. I know that. And yet.

What I really want to do is direct?

I've lost count as to how many career shrink sessions I've been to now, but today I felt hopeful again. Yes, I'm going into a corporate law job now, but I'm working on figuring out what it is that I really want to do, and with some more work and some help from the career shrink, maybe the next job will be one that I actually want to do, one that won't cause me to sigh in resignation.

I asked the career shrink, "Is it all going to make sense in the end? Does this all lead to something?"

He said, "Take this in the most positive way that you can, hk, but your life isn't something that's happening to you. You'll make it mean something. It'll make sense because you make it make sense."

"Okay," I said, properly chastised. "I'll be the actor."

"No," he gently corrected me, "be the director. Be the producer. Go out and do something fun."

"Right," I replied, "I will be my own cruise director."

-----------------------------------------------
Haze

I guess it's not that strange, but I find it disconcerting that I want to see Sweet, Smart Scientist today. I wanted to see him yesterday, too.

It's not that I am THAT enamored. I think it's really that hormonal thing that intimacy triggers, similar to the ache that new mothers feel from being separated from their infants. A bunch of synapses firing, a mess of chemicals activated, and you walk through the day in a moony haze of memory-triggered half-smiles and this vague feeling that you're missing something.

It's nice, in its way. But ... I only want to feel this way if he's feeling this way! And I can't know that! That is not so nice. But I suppose it's the nature of these things.

Status report

I told Sweet, Smart Scientist last night that I had gone on a date last year with someone who was clearly looking for someone to get married to, and that even if we had hit it off better, I wouldn't have been a good choice for that guy, since I wasn't looking to get married then. And what does Sweet, Smart Scientist ask?

"What about now?"

Has a way of cutting to the chase, don't he?

I took a while to answer because I was thinking about it, and he apologized for asking an inappropriate question. No, no, I said, I didn't mind the question, I just wasn't sure what the answer was. Finally, I said, "I just want to be with someone and see where it goes. I don't have an agenda. I don't have a timetable. I don't have a schedule in mind."

I didn't want to ask him what his thoughts were on the subject, but you kinda have to, don't you, in that situation? And I was curious. So I asked, in a light tone, "What about you? Do you wanna get married?"

He smiled and said, "Maybe we should wait a bit." Hee! I immediately backtracked, of course, and said I meant in general, did he want to get married in general. "I know," he laughed. "Yeah, I want to get married eventually. I'd like to have a family someday."

And that is where we left it.

Public displays

This afternoon, Sweet, Smart Scientist walked with me out of his building, and, halfway down the block, put his arm around my shoulders. I put an arm around his waist, and we walked back to my dorm this way, which caused me some slight anxiety, since it's well traversed by Crimson law students.

Isn't it always weird, the first time you show the world that you're a twosome of some sort? Being unclear on our status myself, I felt kind of preemptively defensive, like I would have to explain to any curious acquaintance that well, we've only known each other a couple weeks, and we both know this is likely to be over at midsummer, and we've just decided to go with things, and no, we haven't had the state of relationship talk, but I like him, and he -- well, he made me chocolate chip pancakes and scrambled eggs and sausage and coffee this morning, while bidding me to relax or continue sleeping, so he appears to like me too. Either that, or he was really hungry. Mighta been both.

Anyhoo. Last night we went to a fancy bar across the river and drank fancy drinks, and it didn't seem so weird for him to put an arm around me in a bar full of drunk office workers, but today in the cool gray light of a cloudy Saturday afternoon, it felt ever so slightly momentous to walk down the street, so clearly a pair.

Falling

So this is what Sweet, Smart Scientist said to me last night: "I almost didn't call you after our first date. I mean, you're leaving in a few months. But ... I liked you."

This is after he asked why I went on match.com and replied to my same query, "I'm looking for a long-term relationship. Not a fling."

We both backed away from the conversation like it was a snarling Rottweiler straining against its leash. A bit early to have it, no? But the prospect of having to have that discussion left me with a sinking feeling.

I like Sweet, Smart Scientist. He really is sweet. He really is smart. And funny. And curious, straightforward, self-deprecating, responsible, and just a tad bit weird.

It doesn't hurt that he's tallish (5'11") and has pretty blue eyes.

So what to do?

Thinking out loud, I said last night, "I guess I was willing to have a fling. But I might be constitutionally incapable of having one." I thought about that for a minute. "Well, I don't know. And you don't know. So let's just ... not know." He seemed to agree. Later, parked in front of my building, he asked about getting together on Friday night. We'll probably have dinner. I'm looking forward to it.

And then we sat in his car for a long while. I rested my head on his shoulder. We watched the April snow fall, thick and fast, onto the empty streets.

You've got to be kidding

Snow? Really? On April 4?

Why do people live here?

Freaky deaky
(Or: "Of Wounded Bats and Wandering Uteri")

So I come back from watching TV in Joiner's room at 11 or so, and lean against my bed to get my pajamas, when I feel something wet on my shin.

"Huh," thinks I, as I look at my leg. "That looks like blood."

There's a smear of red liquid on my shin. On closer investigation, it appears to have come from my bedspread, hanging over the side of my bed, which has a red stain on it.

"Holy shit," thinks I. "Is that blood?"

So I do what anyone would do, which is -- drop to my knees and look under the bed (nothing), and open both closets and poke around (nothing there either). And then I call Joiner: "Uh, so there's something in my room..."

She comes up.

"See?" I point out. "That's blood, right? And it's fresh -- I brushed up against it and it was wet. And I haven't been in this room for 2 hours. So what the hell?"

We confirm that I'm not bleeding. I mean, I am bleeding, insofar as I am having my period right now, but I'm not hemorraging anywhere.

"Maybe we should call the campus police and have them take a swab and do a DNA test," she CSI's.

"Maybe I'll call Resident Evil," I say. So I do.

Resident Evil comes up and is not impressed. "Yeah, that's weird." She pauses for a second. "Maybe a wounded bat came in through the window."

Joiner, upon inspecting the stain, says, "You know, this does look like period blood. Maybe it was, uh, some ... inadvertent use of, uh, menstrual ... liquid."

"Look," I say patiently, "I did not mistake my blanket for a tampon. I think I would know if I were ejecting blood from my body onto my blanket."

"Actually, it's technically not blood," Resident Evil offers.

"What is it?"

"Uterine lining," Joiner says.

"Great," I say. "Now I'm flinging uterine lining at my blanket? Without knowing it?"

"Well, maybe your uterus took a walk," Resident Evil deadpans.

Joiner looks at the pattern on my blanket. "Well, it looks like you probably caused it to smear when you brushed past it, so it was probably just a small blob of blood originally."

"Yeah, that sounds right," Resident Evil agrees.

"Um, okay. But that still doesn't address the question of HOW DID IT GET THERE?!?" I say.

"The bat," Resident Evil says solemnly. "The bat."

"Or a poltergeist," Joiner helpfully suggests.

"Or Bloody Mary," Resident Evil adds.

"Great," I reply. "So when you find me bloody and bludgeoned in the morning..."

"Knock on wood!" Joiner commands.

Both offer to either sleep in my room with me or have me sleep in their rooms, but I play the battle of the martyrs and turn them down. And now I'm alone in my room again. With the mysterious ... uterine lining on the blanket (now on the floor). Freaky!

The after
(uh ... probably still not safe, bigbro)

7 am: what the hell? Oh, lord. Construction. Grr.

9 am: don't think about it, just go to the gym. Think Posh Spice.

10:30 am: ugh. Law school classes blow. I forgot, having ditched admin law for the entire month of March. Don't even think about calling on me, mister. You will regret it.

12 pm: hm. He hasn't called. But. Not gonna think about it. Not gonna define it. Just gonna go with the flow.

12:05 pm: he's going to call, right?

12:10 pm: not going to think about it.

12:15 pm: [to Joiner] "He hasn't called. What does that mean?"

12:17 pm: "Right, right. Not going to think about it."

1 pm: various clinical-related interviews, very good, very good. But... he hasn't called. Well, not going to think about it.

3:45 pm: huh. He still hasn't called. Is he going to call? Do I want him to call? Of course I want him to call. He's supposed to call. Why hasn't he called?

4:10 pm: global governance class. Check email. Dammit!

4:15 pm: Check email. Dammit!

4:17 pm: Check email. Double dammit.

5:30 pm: meet Joiner in library. "He hasn't called! What does this meeeeeaaaaan?"

5:35 pm: "Right, right. Inner calm."

6 pm: "It's been 30 hours. Why hasn't the fucker called?"

8 pm: Damn. Have I been played?

9 pm: "33 hours, Joiner. What the hell?"

11 pm: "36 hours, Joiner. I have been played! Fucker!"

11:05 pm: [on phone with Miracle Gro, smoking outside] "You're right. If I were in his place, and I knew I was leaving in three months, I wouldn't call either. No one starts a relationship knowing it's going to be long distance in three months." Sigh. "So disappointing."

12 am: [still on phone with Miracle Gro] "I'm going to be alone forever."

12:15 am: [still on phone with Miracle Gro] "Are you sure that it's not worth it, to feel the way I did yesterday morning?"

12:17 am: [still on phone with Miracle Gro] "You're right, you're right. Aw, man. This sucks."

12:30 am: [still on phone with Miracle Gro] "Thanks for talking with me, Miracle Gro." [hang up] What a bummer. And I feel totally sick from the three cigarettes I stress-smoked in 10 minutes.

12:45 am: [check email, see there is one message in my inbox] "GLORY BE AND HALLELUJAH!" [happy dance happy dance]

12:50 am: [on phone with Miracle Gro] "He emailed me!" [Miracle Gro: "Goddamn you, hk!"]

12:54 am: [waking up Joiner downstairs] "Yeah, so I called Miracle Gro, and she said he probably did like me, but just didn't want to get into a situation where he's going to get more invested, so that makes sense, and I would totally do the same thing, and it's disappointing, but -- THEN I CHECKED MY EMAIL AND HE WROTE TO ME! WHEEEEE!"

12:56 am: "But he really should have called earlier." [Joiner: "At least we know he's not a prick."]

1 am: [happy dance happy dance]

1:15 am: Thank god. Now I'm free to obsess about all his faults.

The cat's meow...
(Warning: this entry is not recommended reading for bigbros. Seriously. I mean it.)

...is what hk is feeling like right now. Why? Because she had a third date last night with the sweet, smart scientist, and it went well. Very, very well. So well that hk had to do the walk of shame back to the dorm this morning, feeling like The WO-MAN (add a little '70s blaxploitation boum chicka boum boum music here).

Whee!

No, let's try that again.

WHEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!

Much better.

I write this today with the usual self-fulfilling doubts and anxieties about Sweet, Smart Scientist (age-appropriate! whee!): unsure if we now have a Thing (too soon to tell) or if it was just a One-Time Thing (don't think so), wondering what he's thinking/feeling, worried that he might have an Asian fetish thing going on (jury's still out), unclear what this will all lead to, since I'm leaving town in August, slightly guilt-ridden about slutty behavior. But that's all normal and to be expected.

What wasn't expected: I've joked in the past that it's been so long since I've had sex that I've become a born-again virgin (bigbro, did I not tell you: "DO NOT read this"?). But I didn't really think it would be a problem. Only -- YOW. Dude, it hurt. Like, literally-scream-out-loud-in-shock-and-pain kind of hurt. Which of course necessitated an explanation:

"Uh... it's been a long time. Sorry."

Not unsurprisingly, the response was, "Er, how long has it been? I mean ... of course you, uh, don't have to answer that."

"Um... a long time. Let's just leave it at that."

That kind of conversation is always a real turn-on, I find.

I didn't sleep a wink last night -- but not for the reason you think. Okay, maybe a little for the reason your gutter-filled minds think (bigbro, you canNOT say I didn't warn you), but mostly because I'm a very light sleeper and often have trouble sleeping in my own bed, much less somewhere else, with someone else. But despite the total lack of shut-eye, it was... delightful. He really is very sweet.