Yeah. It’s over with me and Phil. I’m not exactly sure what happened. It’s like we were in this slow motion cocoon bubble for a couple months where things were cozy and warm, and then someone came in and popped it and time sped up and Phil started to avoid the cocoon bubble and before I know it, I’m getting texts and emails that are hours too late to be the regular check ins and are actually messages backing out of seeing me and sound more like something you’d send to a gimpy second cousin twice removed who you don’t like very much and are just trying to get out of visiting. That kind of thing.
[Warning: Post is epic. But everyone loves break ups. Except for the break up-ee, of course.]
And then there was the phone call…that I had to make because my brain had started to misfire and crazy adrenaline pellets were going off everywhere because I knew exactly what was happening. It was kinda like that time during my first job that I had to make an appointment with my boss so he could fire me. That was really fun.
That’s the thing that kills me: Even worse than the sting of rejection and the sadness that follows with loss, is realizing you’re just not important anymore without any explanation. It was an important lesson though because I will never ever again change my behavior without telling the person I’m dating something about why I’m avoiding him. At least I don’t think I will. I hope I don’t.
But Phil apologized for being a jerk the next day when we met at Tryst (and sat three feet away from the table where we had our first date) to just kind of talk about it all in person and not on the phone. And he tried to tell me why it just wasn’t working for him: We’re just not compatible; in some ways, a lot alike, in other ways, different; our ideologies are too different.
I feel cheated because, the thing is, I don’t know that I really know what his ideologies are. He never told me. He heard me out as we were getting to know each other, but never offered his own thoughts. He didn’t feel like he could, which totally makes me sad because I wish I could have been more empathetic. Or something. I never got the chance to understand that it actually wasn’t going to work out between us. I just have to take his word for it. Which is hard, because I don’t know that different ideologies are a dealbreaker for me.
Sitting in the void of the unknown, I came up with my own reasons why Phil doesn’t want to date me (even though he said it wasn’t anything I did, I’m going to go ahead and pretend that’s not true for the sake of entertainment):
10. He didn’t like my winter weight (always those damn 5 pounds puffing up the muffin top).
9. He met someone else. (This one actually isn’t funny but it just occurred to me that it certainly was a possibility.)
8. He’s Jewish and I’m not. This is what my mom said. She thinks everyone has a religion problem because her and my dad did. She tried to convince me that this was the case even though religion doesn’t exhale a single peep into either of our lives. At least I don’t think it does with Phil. Maybe I misunderstood him. Maybe even though we don’t practice religion, growing up in different religions makes us too different?? Who the hell knows. I need to move on.
7. My short-term memory has been whittled down to nothing for some undiagnosed reason, and he hated repeating himself and hated it even more when I suggested this repetition was actually a good way for him to learn what he’d read that day for school.
6. I don’t really understand the subjects he studies. At all. Even though I really, really tried.
5. I’m turning 35 soon, so maybe my eggs have actually started to deteriorate like my gyno told me they would two years ago and Phil detected this through pheromones. (This is my favorite one.)
4. I didn’t play hard to get. At all.
3. My seasonal affective disorder makes me not that fun to be around November through March.
2. I like Hannah Montana. Wait—I don’t think he knew that. Wait—I wasn’t going to tell anyone that.
And the #1 reason Phil doesn’t want to date me:
He hated the fact that, instead of getting up in the middle of the night to clean out the liter box when Bart took a crap, I’d light a zillion matches to kill the smell. Which never really worked.
It doesn’t really matter. None of this. I mean, yeah, I wish I could reach a greater understanding, but maybe the fact that he didn’t feel comfortable revealing such essential things to me should be my reason for not wanting to be with him. I don’t want to date someone who’s not comfortable with me. And I guess I wasn’t totally comfortable with him because I couldn’t tell him I was concerned that we weren’t in the same place and worried that if we did continue our relationship down the road, I was going to have to wait until I was 40 when he’s done with school to move forward. I don’t even know if he really wants to get married and have kids. I said I did, but he never told me what he thought. Maybe that was the “ideology” that wasn’t compatible.
All this thinking and wondering makes me tired. I’m gonna let it go. After all, I had a great positive spin on all this on Saturday. All the lessons I learned and all that. And Phil and I did find nice, decent closure. In fact, he seemed more open (he actually seemed relieved, which kinda blows but whatever, I’ve felt that way before, too), and despite his vague explanations, I felt like I understood him better than I did before. It will all be okay really soon after it stops sucking. I just really liked him. And the way he smelled. (Stupid pheromones.)