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- He says he needs soup and a good woman to take care of him. Aw.
- He says raw emotion is lame. Double aw.
- Sweet is good, he says.
- Sarcastic is good, he says.
- He shrugs his shoulders when called Pookie.
- He says we walk into his jokes like a blind man walking into an invisible tree, which makes us laugh but try not to analyze it too much because it gets confused.
- He’s not Hitler.
- He just needs to reflect a little.
- He’s willing to soul search. Awwwwwwww!
- He’s selling us in the most fun way, we adore his technique.
- He is diligently trying to decide whether to drive his truck or his car to meet us next week. He asked what our preference was.
- He’s in the motherfucking AIR FORCE!
Oh, I hope he responds. It’s true. I’m anticipating a fight. I’m anticipating starting and fanning the flames of a fight. It’s entertainment. Plus, he’s just some guy. I have been used in most of my relationships with men (not all), so why shouldn’t I use some guy who wants me to be someone I’m not?
Oh, cynicism. When people call me cynical, I say thank you. It’s quite the compliment.
(Go ahead, say it. I’ll be beaming. You’ll make me a happy girl. Don’t you want me to be a happy girl?)
Now, I do feel as though the above comment is slightly sexual in nature and I don’t know you like that (as my sugar daddy, dear reader) so I really should take it down a notch.
What I’m saying is I find it frustrating when a man is stubborn about not wanting to argue with me. Hmmm. I know I can find a soft spot to poke; I just have to think. Think!
You know how it goes
girl meets boy
boy games
girl obsesses
boy reschedules but calls everyday
girl decides to let it go but is mindful
girl is reunited with another guy who’s in Afghanistan
girl contemplates sexy texts
girl has no idea what text sex is
boy who games asks girl out on another date
girl says sure
girl says let’s get something healthy
girl suggests Jason’s Deli
boy says that was what he was thinking
girl privately admits Jason’s Deli isn’t that romantic
girl receives flirty text from Afghanistan man
girl forgets about Jason’s and the original boy momentarily
girl and boy and boy carry on until all ends in either tears or apathy
I wrote this some time ago about the heat of texting I sometimes feel. It’s a love/hate relationship I have with technology, though I can admit underneath it all, it has nothing to do with technology. (Note: I feel as though I might have posted this before but my glance-through revealed nothing…but I didn’t look that carefully. If this is a repeat, apologies.)
Anticipation gives way to relief gives way to wanting more gives way to frustration give way to anger gives way to giving away. I cannot become a slave to the man and technology ever again. I am not sure how to do that, but it’s a necessity. I can’t care. It becomes not about him but validation. It becomes about never getting my fill. If I for once got my fill, got my feel…
I’m three texts in with no response. He says he’s stressed. He says he is flying on Monday and the pressure is on. I believe him. I honestly do. It’s me that ruins it all. Constantly looking and waiting for my cell phone to give me tangible proof that he’s been thinking of me.
I want to hold onto this pleasant feeling. I don’t want it to slip away into the obscurity of insecurity. Does that make sense? Of course it does. If I doubt him, I doubt myself. I worry that I won’t see him again or touch him or kiss him. I won’t ever know the satisfaction of making him sigh or feel good or feel special, and I won’t have that from him. I want to be made to sigh. I want to be made to feel good. I want to be made to feel special. Wanted, care for, safe. It’s too much. Too much to ask.
I’ve told myself, you must wait until you leave work to even look at your cell phone. So that’s 66 minutes from now. On one hand, I’m trying to go for more discipline, to stop looking constantly at my cell. On the other hand, it just makes the disappointment of not receiving a message from him that much more acute. So what can I do? It seems I’m destined to lose….because I really can’t expect him to give me what I want, can I? And then the horribleness of getting a message, hoping/praying it’s from him and then finding it’s from someone else. I’m tired of roller coasters again.
Oh, Air Force John.
How you’ve helped me this week.
My time of need and all.
You have provided ample distraction from real-life tragedy.
Your silence is better than your hi’s or highs.
Perhaps I would have liked to consider you a distraction in the flesh but no matter.
Oh, Air Force John.
For you, I’d avoid eating Doritos two hours before seeing you.
For you, I’d not resent leaving a third of my peppermint mints at your abode, not to mention two of my bobby pins.
For you, I’d diet.
For you, I’d murder Bryan’s murderous interpretation of me as sad.
Oh, Air Force John.
We have something oh so special.
I do not have your cell phone number or your email address anymore.
I knew what would happen.
But oh, Air Force John, to say, hi again.
Ramblings of a Medicated Lady: Words of Woe by Loria Taylor 
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