Dear Sweet, Smart Scientist:

I'm beginning to doubt the moniker I've bestowed upon you. I mean, you're a scientist, yes. But the other two adjectives? Hm.

Case in point: I went to your place last night after dinner with friends (and mind you, we had sort of agreed to have dinner together, but then you wanted to go running and wouldn't have had dinner til 8, and I was trying to be agreeable but also was indecisive, so -- whatever, I had fun at dinner with my friends). I'm walking in the balmy spring evening air, the trees are blooming, it's nice and verdant and fresh, and I feel pretty chipper when I call to tell you I'm on my way. At your front door, I call up, and you tell me you've just jumped in the shower, so you'll be down in 3 minutes. Eight minutes later, when I've determined that my phone tells the time in 53 different capitals of the world and has 28 possible pictures for the background screen, you open the door. You're apologetic, I'm forgiving, you kiss me on the cheek, it's nice.

Small matter, of no moment. Yes. But I was a humanities major, and I see parallels everywhere. You kept me outside, you see? You didn't open the door. And when you did, I was all nicey nice and accepting and shit, and that is -- I don't know. Not ... acceptable.

You don't know what I'm talking about? Okay, you're a scientist, you need things to be spelled out for you, fine.

I told you the story of how I might be staying here for another year. I did this carefully, you know, because I didn't want to freak you out. I started from the beginning, and explained how The Turtle approached me about staying, and blabitty blah blah blah. You asked me about the funding, how that was going to work. I answered. And then we looked at each other, and you smiled and said, "I'm really happy for you." And you patted me on the shoulder.

Patted. Me. On. The. Shoulder.

The whole reason you've been conflicted and crying this whole time is because I was going to be leaving. But you didn't want to detach from me because you liked me. You really liked me. And so I tell you this piece of news, and -- okay, I'm getting a little ahead of myself. Let me recount for you what happened next.

So, kind of stunned at your lack of reaction, I masked my own feelings, and we started talking about something else, and eventually, we wind up in bed, and after all's said and done, I started crying. And you were sympathetic and nice, as always, and you didn't let me get away with not explaining myself, which was good, but all I could think to say was: "I just want you to be happy to be with me. I don't want you to be conflicted." Because that is what I want.

So then you brought up the news. It's big news, you said, and I agreed. But -- "you didn't have a reaction," I pointed out. "You don't have to be happy about it, but I expected you to have some reaction."

"It takes me a while to process these things," you explained, "and it was a big piece of news. It changes things." Uh, YEAH it does.

"I didn't do it for you."

"I know."

I explained that you were part of the mix, as was the advent of spring, and that was exactly why I took a couple days to think about it, and only decided to do it after I went to my meeting last week and realized that I was having fun in my lobbyist, project managerist role. And I knew that it was the right choice because when I decided to do it, I was just... happy. I had been dreading my job in New York. I had been having a good time with my project. This was a very, very good thing.

I was pretty upset by this point, Sweet, Smart Scientist. Because in the hour since I had delivered the news that I might be staying, you had not expressed one reaction to me. Nothing! You kept trying to hold me and reassure me in your own way, I guess, but I physically kept pulling back from your embrace because I was mad, I was frustrated, I was disappointed, I was sad.

"Look," you said, "you clearly have a lot of expectations and hopes, and --"

"Stop it!" I think I actually screamed this. "I do not. Want. To talk about it!" And I literally struggled with you for a second, trying to get up and out of bed, because how dare you tell me what I am feeling? And phrase it in a way that makes it seem unreasonable? How dare you make it seem unreasonable that I should want you to have some kind of reaction to this big news, this news that could change everything? How dare you put me in the role of ... supplicant, or whatever? It is not strange for someone you have been dating for 2 months to expect something from you. It is not strange for someone you have been sleeping with and calling and seeing a couple times a week to have hopes.

Yes, Sweet, Smart Scientist. I have expectations. I have hopes. I hope that the man I am seeing will be happy -- overjoyed, even! -- that I will be in the picture for longer than he expected. I hope that I can be with someone who is fully present in a relationship with me. I hope that I won't settle for someone who can't respond to happy, joyous news with happiness and joy. And yes, I expect things. I expect more from you.

After I calmed down a bit, you said "hk," and the thought came spiralling out of nowhere that that might be the first time you've called me by my name since I met you. "hk. I am happy when I'm with you. I'm not conflicted about that. I like you." But I called you on that bullshit, because you like me, sure, but you don't want to like me. Therein lies the conflict, Freud.

You said, "I am happy that you're staying." And you looked at me earnestly with those big blue eyes and repeated: "I'm happy that you're staying. But ... I have commitment issues."

"Hey," I said sharply. "I have commitment issues too! And my commitment issues might be even bigger than your commitment issues, but we'll never get to my commitment issues because we're too caught up in your commitment issues."

"You're not very forthcoming about that stuff."

I sighed.

"Don't be frustrated with me," you said. "Be patient with me."

"I'm trying," I replied. "But it's hard." And a moment later, I blurted out: "You know what you are? You are the classic nightmare. You're the guy who calls and says he likes you and sleeps with you and wants to see you, but then says he can't commit."

That may have been the point when you sighed. I don't know, it's all kind of a blur, because I didn't get much sleep afterwards at your house because I never sleep well at your house, and I was going to leave, but then you asked if I wanted to stay, and I said, "Well. Yes and no," and I asked you what you wanted, and you said, "I want you to stay. If you want to stay," which is again such the classic non-commital answer, but you know, you opened the door, and were apologetic, and I was forgiving, and so I stayed.

And this morning? When you offered breakfast? I actually wavered about it for a moment, but then I decided I was still upset and mad and I just wanted to leave, and so I said, "No, I think I'm just going to go." And you said, "Oh," in that cute, disappointed way you have, but ... but ... don't you see how mixed your signals are?!?

"I'm a commitment-phobe!" "No wait, don't leave!" "I can't react to your news because it's such big news and changes everything!" "No wait, don't leave!"

God, I'm getting angry all over again just thinking about it.

So here's the thing, Scientist dude. I do have expectations. I do have hopes. You had that right. I'm not going to give them up, and I kind of hate you for making me feel so shitty about them. But I like you. Despite all that. Considerably less than, say, two weeks ago, but ... yeah, I still like you. So sack up, Scientist man! Get a fucking clue! 'Cause eventually? I will get a fucking clue, and drop you and your nonsense.

Cordially yours,
hk