OK so, yesterday I lost it. Or maybe–just maybe, I am starting to find it and expect more in my life. 

I went over to G’s yesterday morning to pick up firewood. He said sure, come and take what you want. He mentioned that I could have the pile of cherry in his driveway, but told me to call first before coming over. And, don’t come too early because I want to sleep in, etc.  And all these other “rules” for me to follow. So, despite feeling put off and used by him lately (he only calls anymore if he needs or wants something), I thought, Fine. I’ll go over there. Get the wood. And be done with it. 

So I get there around 10:30. We chit chat awhile. I load up my truck. He helps. And then, just before leaving, just to extend an invitation and see if he’d feel up for it (despite that he had other plans), I say, “Sure you don’t want to come and sit with me at the kitchen table while I make these apple pies?” 

Well, he looks at me like I have five heads and says, in an incensed tone, “On my day off?!”

Oh. Right. I forgot. Like I’m the worst thing to be around on your fucking day off. 

“What a rotten thing to say to me,” I say.

I burst into tears and walk quickly to the driver’s side of my truck. I hop in and try to lock the door but he jams his body in and won’t let me close the door. 

“Why are you being so sensitive lately,” he asks.

God. I wanted to answer that question so badly but I didn’t. I just kept my mouth shut. Why am I being so sensitive? Hmm, let’s see…I’m coming off prozac, I’m getting my period, the government says I still owe $20,000 dollars in taxes, I practically lost all my pay, my ex refuses to give me child support, my boyfriend dumped me not even two months ago, you want nothing to do with me unless there’s some benefit out of it and I have a fucking cold. Is that reason enough to be sensitive?

“Let go of the door,” I say. And with half-hearted resistance on his part, he lets go. I lock my doors and take off. Tears still streaming down my face. 

The first thing I manage to think on the road is, “WOW! I confronted him. I never do that. I always laugh off his rotten, belittling comments because I don’t want to upset or offend him. But not this time.” This time I have ZERO TOLERANCE for shitty comments like that. 

I thought of D, my mother’s husband. How, if he had the choice to do anything he wanted in the world or be with my mother he’d choose my mother. It’d be a no-brainer for him. I thought about how he sits with her every holiday and helps her make cookies and pies and cakes and how they laugh and listen to music while they bake and how they talk and talk and talk. 

It’s not wrong or unrealistic of me to want that. It’s not wrong of me to wait. And it is certainly not wrong of me to NOT TOLERATE comments like G’s. 

I don’t know why I have such a difficult time believing that G is really a very selfish, uncaring, self-absorbed, empty human being who, lately, seems more stoned and out of it than ever before. WHat benefit do I gain from him being in my life? 

OK. He fixes stuff. He gives me firewood. He brings me food from the diner. If I called while having a panic attack he’d come running to sit with me. But the daily grind is another story. The day to day of our lives is nothing compatible or joyous or loving. It’s blah. If I weren’t so fixated on the *fantasy* of who G is, I’d be able to see the *reality.*

I understand, and I wish to be understood that he and I are no longer dating. I do get that. I dated him for 3 years and it didn’t work. But after S and I split up, I went back to G as a friend, thinking, “he loves me, he will comfort me.” I was wrong. And despite me not seeking out intimacy or any kind of physical relationship (except of course for my little indiscretion last week), I still went after the emotional part of the relationship. He was initially happy that I came back. He was initially very comforting. But I think something was lost. Something was deeply missing. Or maybe, it was never there to begin with.

At any rate, friend or lover, no one says things like “I wouldn’t sit with you at your house on my day off if you PAID ME!” (That’s what I heard, anyway).  Would a friend only call when he needs you to run errands for him or take pictures of this or that, or help him collect wood of his own? And where’s the even exchange of friendship? Friendship is based on love, too. There isn’t any. 

I paid a high price for that wood yesterday. I paid with my dignity. And every time I throw a log on the fire this winter, I will remember what each one was worth.