Patterns, patterns and more patterns
Jun. 01, 2007 ] 11:22 PM
I need to sort my thoughts out. The Smoking Man returned for his summer break, and announced that he's "dating" someone, but informs his avid audience that "they" are taking it really slow, and things are not firmed up yet. (Am I still typing and thinking in civil-ese? God.)

What was it he said? "I spent two days with a girl." And you could probably hear the plinkplink of my broken heart falling into bits. (I think I just thrive on all this melodrama. It's quite refreshing sometimes, to admit that melodrama is what keeps my life interesting enough to continue.)

To which, a falsely chirpy me went, "Oh WOW, congrats on your girlfriend! Great, now I am the only single person in our social circle."

And then he immediately goes, " Well, we aren't exactly in a relationship. It was too intense, just some weeks ago, and she's recently got out of a bad relationship, and we are taking a break for summer. Maybe afterwards if we can stand the test of separation. But nothing's confirmed yet." (I'm paraphrasing bits of it, and condensing most of the two minute monologue.)

I must admit that the first thought that struck me was, "I have a chance. He's finally out of the morose non-committal pattern over the last few years."

Until I realised that hey, he's sleeping with this girl. They are just testing out the depth of the relationship for now, and he seems genuinely interested in her. And no, dear, you don't want to be the sounding board to test the relationship.

So, the gist of the situation? After two years of dancing around each other, never truly admitting to each other that there was a mutual attraction, he has finally decided to plunge into the dating game again. He got lucky in the last six weeks. He seems happy in this whirlwind passion. And he needs to tie up one last loose end.

While I, in contrast, still remain shell-shocked. I think I was using him as a crutch, a convergence of "what-ifs", an illusion of "happily ever after, if only", never truly facing up to the terrifying spectre of failure, idiocy, denial, guilt and immaturity in the last relationship.

It is terribly unsettling, when the rug is pulled out from under your feet. But I guess, it's a way of moving forward. The fallout with the Beau and the re-emergence of the Smoking Man are so inextricably linked, that to be truly free of the Beau, I have to cut off the ties that bind me to the Smoking Man. A crutch is a sore reminder of the past. And when that past is filled with anger and frustration and betrayal; to walk free, you must toss the crutch away.

I got angrier over the afternoon though. It seemed that not only was he bent on informing me in the most tactless manner that he was going to be taken by some girl, or taken as the case may be, he was being manipulative. He seemed to be constantly provoking a reaction, any reaction. My face just got cheerier and cheerier, as we picked out socks and trunks and shirts and he kept nodding his head whenever I picked what he liked.

Or perhaps, just perhaps, this was his way of tying up the loose end, to warn me off. And the best reaction was to be cheery and oblivious to his tactics. I DON'T know. And it drove me nuts.

The first thing I said in private to another friend when I got home was, "I'm tired. I'm so tired."

Analysing that gut reaction made me realise how infuriating the whole situation is. It is just like the Beau, the Captain and the Other Woman all over again. And, truly, it is truly disillusioning to realise that the Smoking Man, for all his virtues, is in his own way, as self-centred as the Beau was. (Or that he can be provoked by me to unleash the worst aspects of his character) Someone in my head is warning me that I am wallowing in self-pity and hubris again. Argh.

Still, when all is said and done, what truly infuriates me is that I am once again dumped willy nilly into the same situation as it was, back in the winter of '00, which consequently led to the tumultous spring of '02.

Sometimes, I wonder why I attract all these men. Is there something inherently lacking in me that attracts men who view me as some sort of prize, and me, attracted to men that I can never have? Having typed out that last sentence is cathartic. I have finally put into words, what I always speculated on.

It frightens me sometimes. This constant, niggling doubt that I will always be unloved. The need to replicate parental love and adoration is so intense; it borders on pathological.

Anyway, the Lady and the Catwoman felt that the time was right to admit to my (not-so) secret crush and bare my soul, because it seems to them that he wants me to. To that opinion, I add my own spin. I will wish him all the best and let him go. For my sake not his.

Although, I secretly think I am being manipulative.

Maybe it will all backfire on me.

And that goes to show, he's probably not the one.

wax ] wane