Sliding Doors/Awkward Conversations
I have learned some things, and there are some things I am still trying to figure out. I have learned I cannot take my anti-anxiety medication right after taking my anti-psychotics because it makes me too sleepy. I have also learned that if I take my anxiety medication in a situation I will eventually become comfortable in and drink I will get very sleepy. I have also learned that I should perhaps not disclose being bipolar in early conversations with guys. I should probably not act bipolar in early conversations with guys, either...but it's not like you can catch it. I am still trying to figure out how to stay awake after taking my anti-psychotics. I do like saying anti-psychotics. Even though, I feel in the grand scheme of things, I am not particularly psychotic. Perhaps a little paranoid. Maybe delusional. I am not out there stripping, grabbing people, licking things and talking obsessively about the marmots coming for your wires (because we are all actually cyborgs)...even if that's what's going on in the back of my head. I think if I already was able to contain these impulses that should mean something. I'm also trying to figure out how to start conversations. I'm trying to figure out how to make new friends. Finally, I'm trying to figure out how to not be so needy I alienate my current friends. And how to live so far from my current friends without letting that generate extra loneliness which then becomes neediness...
We'll see how that last one goes. So far, I send everyone like 150 messages a day. I'm too much.
Anyway, at the end of the last semester I finally felt as though I had some time again. Time to catch up on painting, writing and clear out some of my watch lists. The queues are awfully long. Longer than perhaps I will be able to manage in this lifetime, as they only get longer. I find that I perhaps have more fun adding things to these lists than clearing them. So, I finally felt up to re-watching something other than Hannibal when I saw that Amazon Prime added Sliding Doors. This movie was on the regular rotation as kids (by which I mean like, teens- not actual children.) Astria and I. Our regular group would come over and we'd watch Sliding Doors, My Best Friend's Wedding, or Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Mica loved Monty Python and the Holy Grail. I should probably get into where all my old group of friends went sometime...perhaps as a way of working out how not to lose this one. However, we've been through some pretty big ups-and-downs, this group, so I think aside of murdering someone or becoming Republican I might be fine. Or, maybe sleeping with someone's SO- but I find that almost as unlikely as murdering someone. I would probably much sooner murder someone. I have been known to play with daggers while quite inebriated. At this point I've also known the girls much longer than I knew my childhood friends before I moved. I should probably worry less. Or more. Can one ever really worry a proper amount? This is something to obsessively mull over.
Anyway, watching Monty Python and the Holy Grail was the one instance of the typical comedy geekdom that I hear my favorite comedians describe when they go on late night talk shows. It was great fun. We'd quote it all the time. Mostly the fight with the black knight. It was just a scratch, after all.
I think I should try harder to be that goofy now. With as much as I love comedy, I do tend to take myself too seriously, I think. It's hard for me to muster funny voices or impressions. I'm not good at being intentionally awkward. It just comes naturally.
I'm getting way off track, though.
I decided to re-watch Sliding Doors, which probably no. 2 in the top 3 Gwenyth Paltrow movies of all time...because I don't think I can really stand her as a person anymore, and I really only saw 3 of her movies before I realized this. (For the record, the other two are Emma and Shakespeare in Love- Emma is no. 1.) I was fully prepared to find that the movie was no where near as charming as I remembered it, and perhaps even a little problematic as most things are now. All previous media has not aged well, this is a fact I have learned from many comedians that are not aging well. However, this has remained, at least to my untrained probably not nearly woke enough eyes, pretty good. I realize now that the central catch phrase of the better love interest is a little -a lot- cheesy...but other than that it's still fairly interesting. Also, I think the fact that Mindy Kaling and the Broad City girls enjoy it might reaffirm my conclusions. If you don't know the premise of the movie you can watch the Season 4 premiere of Broad City. Or, read the following explanation:
Gwen is a sort of sad British person, I am not sure if her sadness comes from being British or from a particularly bad British accent because, honestly, I'm not great a clocking British accents. Still, she exudes the sort of wry blunt somber attitude that we Americans associate with the British quite well. Please be advised that as this is a movie from the 90s and I generally don't care about spoilers the rest of this summary will definitely contain spoilers. I'm sure by now the Wikipedia page does as well, so again, no guilt to be found over this in my heart. Guilt must be reserved for all the affairs I'm going to start when I decide to burn it all down and salt the earth. The movie "starts" with Gwen getting sacked because she took some vodka from the office that was meant for office guests. (Here please note how I crave the life that leads to office vodka.) She calls the team out for using this as an excuse to finally get rid of her, I think it's a boy's club situation, but this is not really the point of the movie, even if I guess it is kind of pivotal. The real pivot comes as she is on her way back from the office. The story splits into two possible tracks- one in which she catches the sliding doors of the subway and one in which they shut in front of her. In the life where she catches the train she gets home early enough to also catch her shitty "novelist" boyfriend cheating on her. On the train she met a short balding guy who is charming enough you ignore that he's not particularly attractive, or perhaps we are still coming off the Billy Crystal/Tom Hanks era of rom-coms where the male lead doesn't really need to be that attractive, but he's sort of annoying to her at the time considering she had just been fired. After pushing her boyfriend out she runs into this sort of charming sort of annoying guy at the bar she goes to drown her sorrows in, and he tries to cheer her up. This somehow leads to him ingraining himself in her life, eventually winning her over, and they sort of develop a happy and healthy relationship. She's a little damaged from the novelist cheating on her, so at some point she suspects this guy of doing the same and they have a little tiff, but it's resolved sort of easily when he remembers she likes to hang out alone on a bridge when she's feeling sad. Then she gets hit by a car because she stopped to say "I love you" in the middle of the street and she dies. Surprise! Oh- she also loses a baby, but I feel like the pregnancy is another one of those kind of throw away ideas just added to spice up the drama, like the possible misogyny in the beginning, so I'm not that worried about it.
Right- so, the other reality: The doors slide closed, and she does not meet this somewhat charming somewhat annoying gentleman. She doesn't catch her cheating boyfriend either. She is almost mugged and hits her head on something in the struggle, so she has to go to the hospital. When she gets home the mistress has recently left, her boyfriend does kind of a bad job of covering his tracks, but she's so tired, sad and disoriented she lets it go. She has to take weird jobs, including running sandwiches to offices. This particular job gives the mistress an opportunity to kind of bully Gwen when she makes up that one of the sandwiches got a colleague sick. Gwen starts to suspect her boyfriend is having an affair, but is not aware it's the woman who was sort of randomly excessively mean to her. She follows him at one point and he realizes he's being tailed so he breaks off his meeting with his mistress. The mistress eventually gets really annoyed and they break up. Then, of course, it turns out that both Gwen and the mistress are pregnant. Gwen never says anything, but the mistress uses the opportunity to bring everything to a head when she calls Gwen in for a pretend interview and cattily explains she'll have to postpone because she and Gwen's boyfriend are trying to decide if they're going to keep the baby. Gwen turns to rush off, justifiably upset at this news, but her boyfriend grabs her hand as she is leaving. This trips her up and she falls down the stairs that are conveniently positioned just outside of the mistress' door. She has to be hospitalized, loses the baby (of course), and when she wakes up from her coma she tells her boyfriend to fuck off. The movie ends with her running into Mr. Too Much in elevator. She looks quite grim, understandably, and he asks how she's doing (I think) as people politely do when they really ought to be quiet because the social transactions of an elevator ride need not be so complicated. She responds poorly, as one often thinks of doing to get a rise out of the people foolish enough to complicate elevator transactions, and he offers his, I have come to realize, pretty annoying catch-phrase: "Well you know what the Monty Python boys always say..."
Apparently, most people do not know. Apparently, there are quite a few answers to this, but none, we are to assume, quite as impishly charming as the answer he has. Apparently, he is quite clever and trips everyone up with this completely original offering of what the Monty Python boys always say. And, when he asks her this for the first time in the timeline where they have met and fallen in love, she, being quite uneducated in the most unexpectedly amusing quips of the Monty Python boys, of course answers incorrectly. So....
This time...
In perfect unison with him...
As though she had absorbed the lessons of the other timeline...
She says...
"No one expects the Spanish Inquisition."
Which- now that I've typed out the conclusion, I might actually find cute again. I am unsure at this point. All I know is that I definitely loved, and still love, the moment they turn to each other in surprise that she answered correctly and seem to realize there's something to pursue there. Being almost toxically romantic I am a complete sucker for this type of situation. Top 3 ways two people can be paired together, for sure. (The other two being: childhood sweethearts separated then brought back together, and childhood friends who kind of pined for each other, but maybe unconsciously? Maybe they thought not seriously? Or did not realize it was reciprocal?...I'm really into epic love stories and epics are usually long, I think. So I'm very very into childhood relationships. Unfortunately, I have no childhood romance options. I was deeply unpopular. Like, cellularly unpopular.)
The primary difference between my fascination with this movie as a child and my continued adoration with the concept as an adult is the fact that I have now had relationships of my own. More significantly, I had a relationships with men who cheated on me. So, this time at the end I felt both a little more and a little less damaged. In the back of my head I constantly ponder what life would have been like if Scott had told me early on that he wasn't happy and we had just broken up and stayed that way. I wonder what would have happened if I caught Stassney in the house, maybe even in our bed. The conclusion the film has given me, in it's very scientific depiction of a known formula of existence, is that I would be dead. Quite quickly, tragically, painfully across all possible ways to feel pain, dead. Dead dead. Hit by a bus dead. Perhaps I would have been really loved first, but then I'd be dead, so was it really worth it? Probably. I really desperately want to be loved...so yes, probably. But! I would also have not been completely sure of the relationship...so...trust issues...mucking things up. So, perhaps it will end up being for the best that I went through ages of deception that give me little anxiety pains to think about- because I didn't get murdered to keep from having a happy ending. And there's potential I could still have a happy ending. Or just walk out of an elevator creeped out by a strange coincidence and never see the love of my life again...
************************************************
The last thing I did on this computer was look up a hedgehog patronus so that I could make a gift, because I am cheap and moderately talented. Also, Jack had recently mentioned that he loved having obtained the knowledge that his patronus was a hedgehog, a statement to which I appropriately rolled my eyes. It has been a long hard road from shaking off the label of "The Harry Potter Crew" and I refuse to be sucked back in. I'm staying out of this business, dammit!
This matters because my computer now has small specks of paint on the screen I keep forgetting to clean off. There are things that take up and distort my line of vision everywhere. I have been driving with a large crack across my windshield for months. I am certain another pebble will hit it and finish the job of assassinating me that the first one started. Alas, there is no child for me to lose in this tragic ending.
I have two new Instagram followers because I have been going on a few dates. And this is where I have been holding the awkward conversations...
I've been dating and messaging people probably way too much, but I guess I have been bored. And I have been too willing to distract myself from my scholastic workload. It's hard to constantly justify being alone when one is bored. However, perhaps I should, because I have been driving the girls crazy. I have ventured recently into the state of mind that requires constant reassurance that I am able to communicate like a sane person. Truthfully, this is probably a place I've resided prior to these interactions, but did not feel the need to consistently, endlessly, voice.
There's a red string hanging down from the ceiling, a balloon likely just out of eyesight, and I want to jump off the staircase to grab it. This would be disastrous. Yet.
Right. The dates.
I had a Dutch girl who moved from England for work, but she sadly disliked being far from her husband she had just married, and didn't really like her job, so she left. All our conversations went no where, but I still liked her. She looked a little like Jodie Comer, and I felt #blessed to have made an acquaintance from across the sea. It validated a sense of self-importance that makes me think I could survive in Europe even though I had a complete meltdown when I first moved to Austin. And then again when I moved back to Houston. I am far too dependent on my social circles. Still, much like taking the train, making European friends makes me feel cosmopolitan. So I miss her, even if we didn't entirely click.
My next connection was Bastien, who is a cute Swiss guy I am sure is catfishing me. He's back in Switzerland right now, but he's supposed to travel back and forth often for work. He won a competition for a medical start-up, and again this feeds my low self-esteem. He speaks French. I want to be more fluent in French. We haven't met because I was on my period when we started talking, and like all gentlemen it was fairly obvious he wanted to have sex at his hotel after buying me a drink from the hotel bar. Period sex is a weird thing to negotiate, and I don't think I really like it anyway... So we talked almost every day and promised to hang out next time he was in town. Which will be very soon. And he's checked in every weekend, so I am sure he is serious about meeting, but I wonder if he'll keep me as his lone Houston girlfriend. I am sure he won't. Nor do I intend to be exclusive with any one. No one expects the Spanish Inquisition after-all, but one must be vigilant just in case. My cold dead heart won't allow me to be that truly vulnerable ever again, anyway. Fuck that noise all the way. Fuck love. Fuck the Spanish. Fuck the Church.
It can probably be argued that it would be healthier to be open to a real relationship...like, there's no damage, or I can get over the damage, but the teacup can never come together again. However, there was an annoying situation...
A strange time-warp that happens, it seems, when two similar but opposing waves of crazy crash into each other. It wasn't a whirlwind romance so much as diving into a whirlpool of reasons both of us were single. A complete divorce of reality, logic, and then the divorce from the situation itself.
As always, though I was the instigator of the situations that led up to this parting, I did not choose it. As always, though I did not choose the ending, I have come to realize that it was entirely necessary and I am much better off for it. My hindsight is laser focused while my current perception is always clouded.
Robert has pretty eyes. They're hazel, I think? They're striking. Maybe they're green...they're kind of hard to describe beyond being sort of mesmerizing in a way I haven't seen since middle school. This kid with a shaved head had hazel eyes and it was the coolest, I was so envious. It was probably the only thing that made him attractive, but it did make him quite attractive. Robert, however, is very clearly unarguably attractive. He has a warm smile, slightly mischievous- possibly because of how young he looks. It's a little disturbing. A lot of things about him were a little disturbing. I am full on disturbed. I was on the cusp of vulnerable, but I felt the line-up of other dates and men I'm talking to formed a protective barrier of sorts? It did not.
He's also finishing school. He took off for similar reasons. He's in PoliSci and acts, which is what the male lead in my novel does/did. Julian also has a computer science degree, though...so it's not as creepy a coincidence as it could have been. He likes Hannibal and Sufjan Stevens, which are major points. He started finishing Killing Eve after we sort of started watching it in bed... He laughed at my jokes. It's probably a stupid reason to like someone. Very heteronormative, although, usually probably from the male perspective. It's nice to have a sweet looking kid pretend to find you funny. I liked his weird monotonous voice. Mostly, I liked that he seemed very kind. He asked before touching me at all. In fact, he checked in a lot. Almost excessively, but it was so nice to have someone ask if they're doing something that makes you uncomfortable and then stop when you say yes. It's so uncommon. He offered to buy me a drink even though he wasn't drinking. He actually offered to buy a drink for himself if it was making me feel weird that he wasn't drinking. It was probably just the novelty of someone seeming so genuinely nice that made me almost want to be vulnerable.
Of course, nothing is so straight forward or simple. The conversations were always a little stilted. Probably a result of us both being very emotional and yet very conflict averse. We apologized to each other a lot. He constantly needed reassurance...and was completely obsessed with his ex, who he had only dated for a month. I found out probably much more than was appropriate for a week-and-a-half long dalliance. I know less about Bastien and we've been talking somewhat regularly over a month. Of course, that has it's own complications now...
Back to Robert, though. I think, essentially, he was actually pretty kind. Just under-medicated? Troubled seems like a rude way of putting it. Very judgmental. Stigmatizing. He used the term "lewd"...and sent a thousand diagrams of sexual positions he wanted to try. Honestly, the conversations outside of my own jokes and assurance that my taste in media was impeccable, were fucking awful. We had two large arguments. TWO. OVER A WEEK AND A HALF.
I'm convinced if this had continued one of us would have ended up dead. As usual, I was probably much more attracted to the idea than the person. Having someone share my taste in television was a good feeling, especially because of how obsessed I am with it. As of now the only people who do like the same media and have the same sense of humor are my girlfriends, most of which have significant others and all of which have vaginas...two points that make it very difficult to fulfill the particular type of intimacy I'm interested in at the moment.
In bed he looked at me with that same quiet disingenuous awe that Scott summoned. This probably should have been the first warning sign. Did I find it charming in the moment? I have no idea. At least it was better than the guy who messaged "To be honest I just want to eat out your pussy and your ass"...a proposition I probably considered as equally as I did developing a relationship with Robert, but I ultimately unmatched that guy. I feel that was the best decision. I don't know why I didn't cut ties with Robert as easily.
I abandoned a guy for mentioning Louis C.K. was his favorite comedian. I do not regret this at all...
If I had to say, it was probably because of the sex...and that's really terrible...because the sex was pretty terrible. Not that this was entirely his fault, he was basically a virgin, so I guess he needed more guiding than I knew he would. Or, maybe, than I should naturally be voicing? I'm starting to think I'm not entirely sex-positive. I feel like I'm very progressive...but maybe being so conflict averse I can't be super sex-positive...because I'm not really giving myself enough agency. I've only successfully started sleeping with one person with absolutely no risk of attachment, and that's entirely because he's not actually my type...and that sex is terrific. So- maybe I should be aiming for less pretty kids? This feels like it's become much less about conversations...
Which, I assure you, were truly awkward. Indescribably awkward.
Even the way we ended things was entirely awkward.
After a day of violent illness brought about by food poisoning or some sort of stomach flu, I sent a long apology for blowing up at him kind of abruptly. He had been nice enough to accompany me to my sister's birthday party, which I did not realize would be a big ask.
I explained our family isn't really that sentimental. Or, maybe I'm just not that sentimental. He was just going to be a shield from her older friends feeling they needed to include me because I'm the little sister. I did not realize at the time that my nephew would be there and end up filling in that role. Had I known I would not have invited him, as he ended up being pretty superfluous. And I was really obnoxious about making him drive us home. Which is probably the start of things unraveling...from the complete tangle of unconnected strings that it was. I was fantastically unabashedly obnoxious. I spent the whole time insisting I was fine to drive but I wanted to see him do so, and making fun of him for being so fucking anxious. Still, he soldiered on pretty well that night. We cuddled and watched more Plan Coeur. I admitted, to my horror, that I wanted to impress him at karaoke. He said I did. This was probably the height of our relationship...my completely wasted vulnerability.
And it had turned out that for everyone involved other than myself this was a much more important event than I had insisted it be. My sister pulled me aside to approve, seeming to confirm his fears. I have no idea if I divulged this. But, when he left he kissed me goodbye, it was also a little stilted...everything...everything...was just slightly off. I don't know why I thought this wouldn't be the case, though. As I mentioned, he didn't drink...I didn't know he was so completely hung up on his last relationship (he talked about it almost every day during the WEEK AND A HALF that we knew each other), he was Christian and I am a godless harlot. There was no real connection beyond the passing attraction and appreciation of Hannibal. Still, he did kiss me goodbye. And I sent him a text about maybe doing brunch or something next time he slept over. He agreed.
And then he started bugging me about the videos of his karaoke performance not having sound. I didn't know why this was the case...and I had another engagement that afternoon, as well as work. So, I was a little short, but apologetic. Then I got into a spectacular argument about education (I have previously documented) and when that was over I got a text about him rewatching Plan Coeur, which I responded to with the heart eyes emoji Google suggested...because Google has no idea what is appropriate at that stage in our relationship, and Google has no qualms with making me look like a psycho that's definitely catching feelings. And then he asked me about the videos again, and as I stacked up pastries at a corner store to bury my feelings in, I completely lost it. I only remember one statement of venom, his apology, my deleting the thread and then complying with his request without another word.
And there was literally not another word.
For two days.
And after being so sick, and realizing there's probably a market for people coming by and babying you like a significant other might when you're feeling absolutely miserable- I gave in and apologized. And he was short. Or terse. Perhaps terse is better? He didn't even mention my illness, but said he was sorry about things with my friend. And again, there was silence...and again, I bit.
"I probably shouldn't ask, but we're never hanging out again, right?"
To which he responded:
"No. Thanks for clarifying."
And it was honestly the worst thing I could never have considered a human being responding with. I didn't respond. How does one respond?? Such an alien phrase. What is a natural response to the unnatural? You turn your ass around. When the doll starts moving on its own, you just leave. You don't try to reason with it about continuing this relationship.
The ultimate ending I think is that this really was a curse. Perhaps a week later, quite past the relationship, though I may never be passed the strangeness of the text that sealed the coffin, I got another text.
"I'm sorry if I hurt you with the way things ended."
And again, there was silence.
Deleted the message and walked into the next date. Same venue.
We'll see how that last one goes. So far, I send everyone like 150 messages a day. I'm too much.
Anyway, at the end of the last semester I finally felt as though I had some time again. Time to catch up on painting, writing and clear out some of my watch lists. The queues are awfully long. Longer than perhaps I will be able to manage in this lifetime, as they only get longer. I find that I perhaps have more fun adding things to these lists than clearing them. So, I finally felt up to re-watching something other than Hannibal when I saw that Amazon Prime added Sliding Doors. This movie was on the regular rotation as kids (by which I mean like, teens- not actual children.) Astria and I. Our regular group would come over and we'd watch Sliding Doors, My Best Friend's Wedding, or Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Mica loved Monty Python and the Holy Grail. I should probably get into where all my old group of friends went sometime...perhaps as a way of working out how not to lose this one. However, we've been through some pretty big ups-and-downs, this group, so I think aside of murdering someone or becoming Republican I might be fine. Or, maybe sleeping with someone's SO- but I find that almost as unlikely as murdering someone. I would probably much sooner murder someone. I have been known to play with daggers while quite inebriated. At this point I've also known the girls much longer than I knew my childhood friends before I moved. I should probably worry less. Or more. Can one ever really worry a proper amount? This is something to obsessively mull over.
Anyway, watching Monty Python and the Holy Grail was the one instance of the typical comedy geekdom that I hear my favorite comedians describe when they go on late night talk shows. It was great fun. We'd quote it all the time. Mostly the fight with the black knight. It was just a scratch, after all.
I think I should try harder to be that goofy now. With as much as I love comedy, I do tend to take myself too seriously, I think. It's hard for me to muster funny voices or impressions. I'm not good at being intentionally awkward. It just comes naturally.
I'm getting way off track, though.
I decided to re-watch Sliding Doors, which probably no. 2 in the top 3 Gwenyth Paltrow movies of all time...because I don't think I can really stand her as a person anymore, and I really only saw 3 of her movies before I realized this. (For the record, the other two are Emma and Shakespeare in Love- Emma is no. 1.) I was fully prepared to find that the movie was no where near as charming as I remembered it, and perhaps even a little problematic as most things are now. All previous media has not aged well, this is a fact I have learned from many comedians that are not aging well. However, this has remained, at least to my untrained probably not nearly woke enough eyes, pretty good. I realize now that the central catch phrase of the better love interest is a little -a lot- cheesy...but other than that it's still fairly interesting. Also, I think the fact that Mindy Kaling and the Broad City girls enjoy it might reaffirm my conclusions. If you don't know the premise of the movie you can watch the Season 4 premiere of Broad City. Or, read the following explanation:
Gwen is a sort of sad British person, I am not sure if her sadness comes from being British or from a particularly bad British accent because, honestly, I'm not great a clocking British accents. Still, she exudes the sort of wry blunt somber attitude that we Americans associate with the British quite well. Please be advised that as this is a movie from the 90s and I generally don't care about spoilers the rest of this summary will definitely contain spoilers. I'm sure by now the Wikipedia page does as well, so again, no guilt to be found over this in my heart. Guilt must be reserved for all the affairs I'm going to start when I decide to burn it all down and salt the earth. The movie "starts" with Gwen getting sacked because she took some vodka from the office that was meant for office guests. (Here please note how I crave the life that leads to office vodka.) She calls the team out for using this as an excuse to finally get rid of her, I think it's a boy's club situation, but this is not really the point of the movie, even if I guess it is kind of pivotal. The real pivot comes as she is on her way back from the office. The story splits into two possible tracks- one in which she catches the sliding doors of the subway and one in which they shut in front of her. In the life where she catches the train she gets home early enough to also catch her shitty "novelist" boyfriend cheating on her. On the train she met a short balding guy who is charming enough you ignore that he's not particularly attractive, or perhaps we are still coming off the Billy Crystal/Tom Hanks era of rom-coms where the male lead doesn't really need to be that attractive, but he's sort of annoying to her at the time considering she had just been fired. After pushing her boyfriend out she runs into this sort of charming sort of annoying guy at the bar she goes to drown her sorrows in, and he tries to cheer her up. This somehow leads to him ingraining himself in her life, eventually winning her over, and they sort of develop a happy and healthy relationship. She's a little damaged from the novelist cheating on her, so at some point she suspects this guy of doing the same and they have a little tiff, but it's resolved sort of easily when he remembers she likes to hang out alone on a bridge when she's feeling sad. Then she gets hit by a car because she stopped to say "I love you" in the middle of the street and she dies. Surprise! Oh- she also loses a baby, but I feel like the pregnancy is another one of those kind of throw away ideas just added to spice up the drama, like the possible misogyny in the beginning, so I'm not that worried about it.
Right- so, the other reality: The doors slide closed, and she does not meet this somewhat charming somewhat annoying gentleman. She doesn't catch her cheating boyfriend either. She is almost mugged and hits her head on something in the struggle, so she has to go to the hospital. When she gets home the mistress has recently left, her boyfriend does kind of a bad job of covering his tracks, but she's so tired, sad and disoriented she lets it go. She has to take weird jobs, including running sandwiches to offices. This particular job gives the mistress an opportunity to kind of bully Gwen when she makes up that one of the sandwiches got a colleague sick. Gwen starts to suspect her boyfriend is having an affair, but is not aware it's the woman who was sort of randomly excessively mean to her. She follows him at one point and he realizes he's being tailed so he breaks off his meeting with his mistress. The mistress eventually gets really annoyed and they break up. Then, of course, it turns out that both Gwen and the mistress are pregnant. Gwen never says anything, but the mistress uses the opportunity to bring everything to a head when she calls Gwen in for a pretend interview and cattily explains she'll have to postpone because she and Gwen's boyfriend are trying to decide if they're going to keep the baby. Gwen turns to rush off, justifiably upset at this news, but her boyfriend grabs her hand as she is leaving. This trips her up and she falls down the stairs that are conveniently positioned just outside of the mistress' door. She has to be hospitalized, loses the baby (of course), and when she wakes up from her coma she tells her boyfriend to fuck off. The movie ends with her running into Mr. Too Much in elevator. She looks quite grim, understandably, and he asks how she's doing (I think) as people politely do when they really ought to be quiet because the social transactions of an elevator ride need not be so complicated. She responds poorly, as one often thinks of doing to get a rise out of the people foolish enough to complicate elevator transactions, and he offers his, I have come to realize, pretty annoying catch-phrase: "Well you know what the Monty Python boys always say..."
Apparently, most people do not know. Apparently, there are quite a few answers to this, but none, we are to assume, quite as impishly charming as the answer he has. Apparently, he is quite clever and trips everyone up with this completely original offering of what the Monty Python boys always say. And, when he asks her this for the first time in the timeline where they have met and fallen in love, she, being quite uneducated in the most unexpectedly amusing quips of the Monty Python boys, of course answers incorrectly. So....
This time...
In perfect unison with him...
As though she had absorbed the lessons of the other timeline...
She says...
"No one expects the Spanish Inquisition."
Which- now that I've typed out the conclusion, I might actually find cute again. I am unsure at this point. All I know is that I definitely loved, and still love, the moment they turn to each other in surprise that she answered correctly and seem to realize there's something to pursue there. Being almost toxically romantic I am a complete sucker for this type of situation. Top 3 ways two people can be paired together, for sure. (The other two being: childhood sweethearts separated then brought back together, and childhood friends who kind of pined for each other, but maybe unconsciously? Maybe they thought not seriously? Or did not realize it was reciprocal?...I'm really into epic love stories and epics are usually long, I think. So I'm very very into childhood relationships. Unfortunately, I have no childhood romance options. I was deeply unpopular. Like, cellularly unpopular.)
The primary difference between my fascination with this movie as a child and my continued adoration with the concept as an adult is the fact that I have now had relationships of my own. More significantly, I had a relationships with men who cheated on me. So, this time at the end I felt both a little more and a little less damaged. In the back of my head I constantly ponder what life would have been like if Scott had told me early on that he wasn't happy and we had just broken up and stayed that way. I wonder what would have happened if I caught Stassney in the house, maybe even in our bed. The conclusion the film has given me, in it's very scientific depiction of a known formula of existence, is that I would be dead. Quite quickly, tragically, painfully across all possible ways to feel pain, dead. Dead dead. Hit by a bus dead. Perhaps I would have been really loved first, but then I'd be dead, so was it really worth it? Probably. I really desperately want to be loved...so yes, probably. But! I would also have not been completely sure of the relationship...so...trust issues...mucking things up. So, perhaps it will end up being for the best that I went through ages of deception that give me little anxiety pains to think about- because I didn't get murdered to keep from having a happy ending. And there's potential I could still have a happy ending. Or just walk out of an elevator creeped out by a strange coincidence and never see the love of my life again...
************************************************
The last thing I did on this computer was look up a hedgehog patronus so that I could make a gift, because I am cheap and moderately talented. Also, Jack had recently mentioned that he loved having obtained the knowledge that his patronus was a hedgehog, a statement to which I appropriately rolled my eyes. It has been a long hard road from shaking off the label of "The Harry Potter Crew" and I refuse to be sucked back in. I'm staying out of this business, dammit!
This matters because my computer now has small specks of paint on the screen I keep forgetting to clean off. There are things that take up and distort my line of vision everywhere. I have been driving with a large crack across my windshield for months. I am certain another pebble will hit it and finish the job of assassinating me that the first one started. Alas, there is no child for me to lose in this tragic ending.
I have two new Instagram followers because I have been going on a few dates. And this is where I have been holding the awkward conversations...
I've been dating and messaging people probably way too much, but I guess I have been bored. And I have been too willing to distract myself from my scholastic workload. It's hard to constantly justify being alone when one is bored. However, perhaps I should, because I have been driving the girls crazy. I have ventured recently into the state of mind that requires constant reassurance that I am able to communicate like a sane person. Truthfully, this is probably a place I've resided prior to these interactions, but did not feel the need to consistently, endlessly, voice.
There's a red string hanging down from the ceiling, a balloon likely just out of eyesight, and I want to jump off the staircase to grab it. This would be disastrous. Yet.
Right. The dates.
I had a Dutch girl who moved from England for work, but she sadly disliked being far from her husband she had just married, and didn't really like her job, so she left. All our conversations went no where, but I still liked her. She looked a little like Jodie Comer, and I felt #blessed to have made an acquaintance from across the sea. It validated a sense of self-importance that makes me think I could survive in Europe even though I had a complete meltdown when I first moved to Austin. And then again when I moved back to Houston. I am far too dependent on my social circles. Still, much like taking the train, making European friends makes me feel cosmopolitan. So I miss her, even if we didn't entirely click.
My next connection was Bastien, who is a cute Swiss guy I am sure is catfishing me. He's back in Switzerland right now, but he's supposed to travel back and forth often for work. He won a competition for a medical start-up, and again this feeds my low self-esteem. He speaks French. I want to be more fluent in French. We haven't met because I was on my period when we started talking, and like all gentlemen it was fairly obvious he wanted to have sex at his hotel after buying me a drink from the hotel bar. Period sex is a weird thing to negotiate, and I don't think I really like it anyway... So we talked almost every day and promised to hang out next time he was in town. Which will be very soon. And he's checked in every weekend, so I am sure he is serious about meeting, but I wonder if he'll keep me as his lone Houston girlfriend. I am sure he won't. Nor do I intend to be exclusive with any one. No one expects the Spanish Inquisition after-all, but one must be vigilant just in case. My cold dead heart won't allow me to be that truly vulnerable ever again, anyway. Fuck that noise all the way. Fuck love. Fuck the Spanish. Fuck the Church.
It can probably be argued that it would be healthier to be open to a real relationship...like, there's no damage, or I can get over the damage, but the teacup can never come together again. However, there was an annoying situation...
A strange time-warp that happens, it seems, when two similar but opposing waves of crazy crash into each other. It wasn't a whirlwind romance so much as diving into a whirlpool of reasons both of us were single. A complete divorce of reality, logic, and then the divorce from the situation itself.
As always, though I was the instigator of the situations that led up to this parting, I did not choose it. As always, though I did not choose the ending, I have come to realize that it was entirely necessary and I am much better off for it. My hindsight is laser focused while my current perception is always clouded.
Robert has pretty eyes. They're hazel, I think? They're striking. Maybe they're green...they're kind of hard to describe beyond being sort of mesmerizing in a way I haven't seen since middle school. This kid with a shaved head had hazel eyes and it was the coolest, I was so envious. It was probably the only thing that made him attractive, but it did make him quite attractive. Robert, however, is very clearly unarguably attractive. He has a warm smile, slightly mischievous- possibly because of how young he looks. It's a little disturbing. A lot of things about him were a little disturbing. I am full on disturbed. I was on the cusp of vulnerable, but I felt the line-up of other dates and men I'm talking to formed a protective barrier of sorts? It did not.
He's also finishing school. He took off for similar reasons. He's in PoliSci and acts, which is what the male lead in my novel does/did. Julian also has a computer science degree, though...so it's not as creepy a coincidence as it could have been. He likes Hannibal and Sufjan Stevens, which are major points. He started finishing Killing Eve after we sort of started watching it in bed... He laughed at my jokes. It's probably a stupid reason to like someone. Very heteronormative, although, usually probably from the male perspective. It's nice to have a sweet looking kid pretend to find you funny. I liked his weird monotonous voice. Mostly, I liked that he seemed very kind. He asked before touching me at all. In fact, he checked in a lot. Almost excessively, but it was so nice to have someone ask if they're doing something that makes you uncomfortable and then stop when you say yes. It's so uncommon. He offered to buy me a drink even though he wasn't drinking. He actually offered to buy a drink for himself if it was making me feel weird that he wasn't drinking. It was probably just the novelty of someone seeming so genuinely nice that made me almost want to be vulnerable.
Of course, nothing is so straight forward or simple. The conversations were always a little stilted. Probably a result of us both being very emotional and yet very conflict averse. We apologized to each other a lot. He constantly needed reassurance...and was completely obsessed with his ex, who he had only dated for a month. I found out probably much more than was appropriate for a week-and-a-half long dalliance. I know less about Bastien and we've been talking somewhat regularly over a month. Of course, that has it's own complications now...
Back to Robert, though. I think, essentially, he was actually pretty kind. Just under-medicated? Troubled seems like a rude way of putting it. Very judgmental. Stigmatizing. He used the term "lewd"...and sent a thousand diagrams of sexual positions he wanted to try. Honestly, the conversations outside of my own jokes and assurance that my taste in media was impeccable, were fucking awful. We had two large arguments. TWO. OVER A WEEK AND A HALF.
I'm convinced if this had continued one of us would have ended up dead. As usual, I was probably much more attracted to the idea than the person. Having someone share my taste in television was a good feeling, especially because of how obsessed I am with it. As of now the only people who do like the same media and have the same sense of humor are my girlfriends, most of which have significant others and all of which have vaginas...two points that make it very difficult to fulfill the particular type of intimacy I'm interested in at the moment.
In bed he looked at me with that same quiet disingenuous awe that Scott summoned. This probably should have been the first warning sign. Did I find it charming in the moment? I have no idea. At least it was better than the guy who messaged "To be honest I just want to eat out your pussy and your ass"...a proposition I probably considered as equally as I did developing a relationship with Robert, but I ultimately unmatched that guy. I feel that was the best decision. I don't know why I didn't cut ties with Robert as easily.
I abandoned a guy for mentioning Louis C.K. was his favorite comedian. I do not regret this at all...
If I had to say, it was probably because of the sex...and that's really terrible...because the sex was pretty terrible. Not that this was entirely his fault, he was basically a virgin, so I guess he needed more guiding than I knew he would. Or, maybe, than I should naturally be voicing? I'm starting to think I'm not entirely sex-positive. I feel like I'm very progressive...but maybe being so conflict averse I can't be super sex-positive...because I'm not really giving myself enough agency. I've only successfully started sleeping with one person with absolutely no risk of attachment, and that's entirely because he's not actually my type...and that sex is terrific. So- maybe I should be aiming for less pretty kids? This feels like it's become much less about conversations...
Which, I assure you, were truly awkward. Indescribably awkward.
Even the way we ended things was entirely awkward.
After a day of violent illness brought about by food poisoning or some sort of stomach flu, I sent a long apology for blowing up at him kind of abruptly. He had been nice enough to accompany me to my sister's birthday party, which I did not realize would be a big ask.
I explained our family isn't really that sentimental. Or, maybe I'm just not that sentimental. He was just going to be a shield from her older friends feeling they needed to include me because I'm the little sister. I did not realize at the time that my nephew would be there and end up filling in that role. Had I known I would not have invited him, as he ended up being pretty superfluous. And I was really obnoxious about making him drive us home. Which is probably the start of things unraveling...from the complete tangle of unconnected strings that it was. I was fantastically unabashedly obnoxious. I spent the whole time insisting I was fine to drive but I wanted to see him do so, and making fun of him for being so fucking anxious. Still, he soldiered on pretty well that night. We cuddled and watched more Plan Coeur. I admitted, to my horror, that I wanted to impress him at karaoke. He said I did. This was probably the height of our relationship...my completely wasted vulnerability.
And it had turned out that for everyone involved other than myself this was a much more important event than I had insisted it be. My sister pulled me aside to approve, seeming to confirm his fears. I have no idea if I divulged this. But, when he left he kissed me goodbye, it was also a little stilted...everything...everything...was just slightly off. I don't know why I thought this wouldn't be the case, though. As I mentioned, he didn't drink...I didn't know he was so completely hung up on his last relationship (he talked about it almost every day during the WEEK AND A HALF that we knew each other), he was Christian and I am a godless harlot. There was no real connection beyond the passing attraction and appreciation of Hannibal. Still, he did kiss me goodbye. And I sent him a text about maybe doing brunch or something next time he slept over. He agreed.
And then he started bugging me about the videos of his karaoke performance not having sound. I didn't know why this was the case...and I had another engagement that afternoon, as well as work. So, I was a little short, but apologetic. Then I got into a spectacular argument about education (I have previously documented) and when that was over I got a text about him rewatching Plan Coeur, which I responded to with the heart eyes emoji Google suggested...because Google has no idea what is appropriate at that stage in our relationship, and Google has no qualms with making me look like a psycho that's definitely catching feelings. And then he asked me about the videos again, and as I stacked up pastries at a corner store to bury my feelings in, I completely lost it. I only remember one statement of venom, his apology, my deleting the thread and then complying with his request without another word.
And there was literally not another word.
For two days.
And after being so sick, and realizing there's probably a market for people coming by and babying you like a significant other might when you're feeling absolutely miserable- I gave in and apologized. And he was short. Or terse. Perhaps terse is better? He didn't even mention my illness, but said he was sorry about things with my friend. And again, there was silence...and again, I bit.
"I probably shouldn't ask, but we're never hanging out again, right?"
To which he responded:
"No. Thanks for clarifying."
And it was honestly the worst thing I could never have considered a human being responding with. I didn't respond. How does one respond?? Such an alien phrase. What is a natural response to the unnatural? You turn your ass around. When the doll starts moving on its own, you just leave. You don't try to reason with it about continuing this relationship.
The ultimate ending I think is that this really was a curse. Perhaps a week later, quite past the relationship, though I may never be passed the strangeness of the text that sealed the coffin, I got another text.
"I'm sorry if I hurt you with the way things ended."
And again, there was silence.
Deleted the message and walked into the next date. Same venue.
Comments
Post a Comment