July 1, 2011

"You leavin' again?"

"Yep."

"Where to?"

"Colorado. I'm house sitting for a friend there."

"You should tell that friend of yours... what's the name?"

"Aubra?"

"No, your friend."

"Oh, Jacob."

"Yeah, Jacob. You should tell him he should watch out, you leavin' on all these trips." And my seventy-something year old next door neighbor laughed.

"I would, if I thought he gave a damn," I wanted to respond, but didn't. Instead I mustered a meek laugh and said, "Yeah, right?" and turned to head into the house.

Truth is, I had just left Jacob who said he wants a break. Because not calling or texting or emailing or facebooking or talking to me isn't break enough for him. He has to know on a cognitive level, not just on a shitty-boyfriend-level, that he is free of me. That he's not letting me down by not calling, texting, emailing, facebooking or talking to me... except he is. Every time he doesn't do it.

And we never do it. Twice last month. And I think only twice the month before that. He says it's just that sex is very emotional for him. And his medicine suppresses his libido and, well, he has the right to say no sometimes, right?

It's like being with a woman, except a woman would tell me she loves me when she drops me off at the airport.

"You're still holding on to that?" he exclaimed.

"Yes. Instead of responding that you loved me too, you mumbled something indistinguishable and walked back to the car. How do you think that made me feel?" He rolled his eyes exasperated. That was two weeks ago when he dropped me off at the airport.

And he wonders why I refuse to allow him to drive me there tomorrow when I fly to Colorado. Like I want to experience that again. Even my friends tell me they love me when I leave. But he can't muster the compassion or dare I say it, love, enough to do that.

"I do love you though," he said tonight. "I know you don't feel it and that I don't act like I do, but I do. I do love you."

I don't believe him, but he probably doesn't care. He's vilified me in his mind as this nasty, bitch woman who nags and nags and demands to be loved and allowed to talk to her boyfriend when he gets home from work, and who wants to have sex more than bi-weekly with the man she loves. What a terrible person I am.

It's true, he's disappointed me. And it's probably true that, as he muttered tonight, he's a disappointment at work and in his relationships and to himself. But that's not really my problem, is it? Isn't it my job as a single woman to try and find a partner who will love me and cherish me through the good times and bad and maybe call me on the phone every once in a while or want to take me out on a date?

It's my job to protect myself and choose someone who is supportive of what I do (write, speak, act and sing), and who I am (a liberal, feminist, compassionate, try-to-follow-Jesus-er-person), and who loves me even when I'm needy. And isn't it my job to find someone to love indiscriminately in return?

"We're both just very high maintenance," he said. Except that I try to give to him, in any way I can think of, to tend to that maintenance, and I am rejected. On top of which, none of my maintenance is ever addressed.

I hate it.

But I love him.

So yet again, I will let him put me through this bullshit, I-need-space, thing. I'll let him have his "break" and let him go home and sleep 15 hours a night, and get up and go to work, and come home and watch TV, and drink a bottle of wine, and go to bed again, and never think about me "break." And he'll go out with his "shallow" (by his own admission) friends who will encourage his drinking habit and make him do stupid shit like make vulgar gestures with his tongue and fingers and capture it on camera and put it on facebook, but not tag him, because no professional would be caught dead tagged in those pictures. But we can all see that it's him in the photos, but only I know that, despite the fun he appears to be having with his lusty expressions, we don't have sex.

Maybe twice a month.

And that's supposed to make me happy.

"Tell Jacob he better watch after you."

"I'll tell him!" I respond as I turn toward the door.

Yep, I'll tell him.