Dating in mid-life is not easy. As much as we like to pretend we're strong, happy individuals without any baggage, the truth is at this point in our lives we're all a little damaged in some form or fashion. And it affects how we process and deal with dating issues, like last minute cancellations.
Last week with Les was pretty good. We had a bump, but we were able to work through it. It was simply a case of miscommunication – or rather, poor communication. We got through it with flying colors – and important first step was conquered.
We had a nice date on Thursday at the drive-in, and then on Friday night we rented a movie to watch at his place. I simply don’t know why we bothered – we only saw about ten minutes of the movie, and before I knew it, I was excusing myself at 1:30 a.m. so I could go home. I had the option to stay, but the truth is I wasn’t feeling all that great, and when that happens, my own bed is the best remedy.
We had tentative plans to try watching the movie again on Saturday night. I had a busy day ahead of me, and he had plans to meet with friends for Street Vibrations. My day consisted of getting up far earlier than I wanted to in order to drag my butt to DMV to get my car registered. After a four hour wait and running some errands afterward, I honestly didn’t feel like going to Les’ to finish watching the movie. So when I got home and saw he had emailed me from his phone asking if we could postpone until Sunday, I said yes. He actually gave me the option – he said we could still do Saturday night as planned, or move it to Sunday. I opted for Sunday, as a nap was calling out my name.
Sunday morning, my toilet tanked out on me again. Instead of paying every spare penny I have to a plumber, I decided to fix it on my own. I went to Lowe’s to get a snake, and while I was out, ran a few more errands. I got home, tackled the toilet, took a shower, and then sat down in front of the computer. I found an email from Les, stating he either partied too hard with his friends or was coming down with the flu – either way, he was feeling unwell and said he would have to cancel out on the movie for Sunday. He said he was going back to bed and would call me later.
Later never came.
Now, perhaps later never came because at some point, me being me, I emailed him the following: Do you realize that we haven't even been seeing each other a month, and you've used that excuse three times already? Either that's your go-to excuse, or you, my friend, have the body of a 72-year-old. Hope you feel better soon.
When I wrote it, I thought it sounded light-hearted, but later when I never received the promised phone call, I decided I probably sounded bitchy. The fact is, I felt a little bitchy. And this is where my past with Mr. Kim catches up with me.
See, for the most part I believe I’m being honest when I say I’m healthy and happy and ready to date. And when I say I’ve got baggage, but it’s safely stored away, that is true – at least for the most part. But, see, something about that last “I’m sick” triggered something in me – that feeling that perhaps he wasn’t sick, or maybe he was simply sick of me.
No matter how far I’ve come and how much I’ve conquered, the truth is I’m still that 16-year-old who was cheated on by her boyfriend. Repeatedly. And I’m still that twenty-something who didn’t have a relationship last longer than six months. And I’m still that thirty-something year old who thought she found the love of her life, only to discover that there are some hurdles love simply can’t jump, like distance. And I’m still that 46-year-old who discovered that the man she considered her life partner was looking elsewhere for a partner.
In other words, while I think and believe I am a great catch, there is evidence to prove otherwise – that is, if that’s how I choose to look at all the failed relationships I’ve had. Oh sure, I know that in most cases, the fit just wasn’t right. My boyfriend in high school loved me, but his hormones had trouble being true to a girlfriend who lived in a different city. And the relationships that didn’t last over six months in my twenties didn’t last longer for reasons that had nothing to do with who I was, rather than who I picked. And the long-distance relationship I had in my thirties didn’t stand a chance in the first place – it was just a hopeful romantic heart that hoped it could. But the last one, yes that last one was supposed to last. And it didn’t. And I’m still recovering, even though for the most part I think I’m over it.
So now I’m in this brand new something (I hesitate at calling it a relationship because it’s only a month old), and I question things. Does he really like me for me? Was I too easy? Should I have held out? Is he really sick? When he says he can’t take me out because finances are tight, is that the truth? Are we moving forward or is it just an illusion?
I have no answers – and that frustrates me to no end.