Un-Phased

I was feeling pretty sad Saturday night without really knowing the reason why. I think it had something to do with my confusion about my friend, the Saint. I secretly wanted him to be a little more than a friend, and was a little wounded when it seemed like nothing was ever going to develop. In between his dramas with his ex-girlfriend and random moments of pinned up aggression, he seemed to cast me aside to focus on other things, and to tell you the truth, I kind of did the same thing. I like to give off the impression that everything is always okay that I’m always unphased by what’s going on around me when that’s really so far from the truth. I felt so conflicted and full of chaos on Saturday that I was annoyed by the quiet and peaceful serenity of my apartment. I simply had to get out and go somewhere noisy and busy, so my internal state could match my environment. I, of course, wound up at the only place in Nashville that I ever seem to go these days Ibiza.

It started off being a very dull night, filled with bad dancers and menacing Hondurans who were only good for buying me drinks. I was about the leave early in order to save myself from any further embarrassment when I met someone. He’s just my type with long dark curly hair, and I couldn’t believe how easily the two of us came together. It didn’t take any effort. I didn’t have to stop and contemplate anything. It just felt meant to be. I nearly forgot that the Saint existed when the devil himself finally strolled in the club, complaining that I didn’t call him to let him know that I was coming tonight. He seemed happier then usual to see me, dancing freer than he usually does. When he saw how happy I was with the new guy, he acted unphased and even joked, “Am I invited to the wedding?” I wondered if he ever felt anything for me at all or if my imagination got the best of me once again. Whatever the case the Saint did not show one hint of emotion. He even lovingly named my new beau the Rock Star because of his long unruly hair. It’s such a good nickname that I think I’m going to have to borrow it for this blog. From now one, he’ll be know as the Rock Star (R.S. for short).

Anyway, R.S. promptly called me yesterday afternoon. I was a little disappointed in our conservation. We only talked of simple things like work, apartments, how we met. I wished I knew how to get more substance out of him, but I really don’t think that he’s the intellectual type that ponders to meaning of existence or anything like that. I wonder if we truly have anything in common at all, however I have a feeling that knowing R.S. is going to be an all consuming type of experience. He’s already calling me twice a day and wanting to plan frequent dates throughout the week. It’s nice to get all of this extra attention, but I don’t know if I'm ready for all of this. I always get scared off by men who are so forward and demanding, but I’m thinking that maybe I should give it a shot this time. At least from all the extra time that we’ll be spending together, I’ll be able to tell that much sooner if he’s the right one for me. Plus, I’m sick and tired of pretending to be unphased. I want someone to get to me. I want someone to make me feel something, and I want it to be okay for me to show those emotions. It’s so hard to trust people with how you really feel, and bad relationships with the Neighbor and the Columbian definitely do not make it any easier for me to open up, but the past is a shallow excuse that I use to often. I don’t even think that it’s the past that is truly haunting me. Sometimes I feel like my identity is so wrapped up in wondering what my great life is going to be like, that it frightens me to ever come close to finding an answer. I am a wonderer. Maybe I’m never supposed to figure it out.

The Difference 6 Years Makes

I’m quickly approaching my 24th birthday, and I find myself in a relationship conundrum because I’m still young enough to want to be as wild and reckless as a teenager, but I’m also just old enough to want to settle down and start a family. My dating pool is quite plentiful, but somehow I’ve wound up caught between two very different men, one who has the fresh face of 18 years old, while the other who has the maturity of 30 on his side. Both relationships are in their beginning stages where nothing is too serious and nothing is expected, but we are soon approaching the time when I must chose between the two, and I’m completely clueless about the decision I will make.

When you date a man 6 years your senior, no one even bats an eyelash, because it’s only “natural” for a woman to choose someone older. However, if I even begin discussing dating a younger man with friends or family, I get nothing but “are you crazy looks.” I know that everyone is just trying to be helpful, providing me with a slew of logical reasons why I shouldn’t waste my time with a younger man. They, of course, mention his natural immaturity, saying that there’s no way that he can give me the support that I need because he has to finish school and establish himself first. What frustrates me is that it’s perfectly acceptable for women to support their older boyfriends as they finish their law degrees or complete their medical residencies, yet if a woman wants to support her younger boyfriend through his undergraduate years, then it’s considered mothering. It infuriates me that anyone would call the support that I would offer him mothering, as if that is a negative thing. All good relationships are based on support, and if we are successful in providing support to one another in a relationship then that can only speak positively of how supportive we would be as a married couple. Why shouldn’t I offer him the kind of support a family member would, especially if I want to make him my family in the future. But alas, I’m getting ahead of myself, I can’t even be sure that my feelings for this younger man are true. Maybe my attraction for him is just as shallow as the freshness of his youth, and maybe knowing that he is straight out of high school, straight from under his mother’s wing is an exhilarating taste of something almost taboo.

I have nothing but respect for my 30 year old beau, but he just doesn’t excite me in the same way my 18 year old does. The 30 year old would be a rational choice because he has so much going for him. He’s attractive, well established, and has lead a good life. His experiences truly fascinate me and when he speaks he exudes confidence and an overpowering intensity that only comes with age. I feel like there is so much that I could learn from this man, but I’m unsure if I could ever learn to love him, which is truly the most important lesson of all. It’s still too early to know that for certain whether or not love is an impossibility with the 30 year old but it’s something that I would have to work harder at with him and that I might not be successful in achieving.

If these two men were both the same age, wouldn’t this choice be a lot easier. It’s clear who I currently favor, but my obsession with this arbitrary numeral is keeping me from going after the one that I truly want? I really don’t understand why I’m trying to conform to what everyone expects of me because there is no benefit in playing it safe, no special reward given to the woman who plays by all the conventional rules of man and society, because in matters of the heart, 6 little years mean nothing at all.

Is There a Bitch in the House?

I’m not a violent person, but over the last two months I’ve had an overwhelming desire to kick somebody’s ass. It’s not that I have some generalized anger issues to work out. My anger is all directed to one of my co-workers in particular, the Doctor. In fact, this woman is even too bitchy to be called by a title of respect such as doctor. Instead, she will forever be named the Bitch in my mind and in this blog. This woman has the worst attitude that I’ve ever come across, truly believing that she has the right to shit on everyone beneath her without any consequences. She already made me cry once, but I’m not letting her get to me like that again.

Today, I had some small satisfaction of finally getting to her. I wasn’t even trying to be malicious. I simply prepared a data report for the lead study doctor of the research department that analyzed the Bitch’s patient caseload, organizing who is currently in research and who is ineligible for research. It was a very good report that everyone was impressed with, but the bitch thought that it was attacking her recruiting skills. The Bitch got so defensive that she raised her voice in staff meeting and to the lead study doctor. She acted as if she was on trail for a crime without truly knowing what my data report was about.

Whatever yelling that she did not finish in the staff meeting, came out after the meeting. She literally exploded at me and walked away before I had time to give her my response. I tried to explain to her very logically how the data speaks to her abilities in a positive light, showing that she is very successful in recruiting people into research, but she didn’t want to hear it. She continued her same rant about her feelings, as if she were a broken record. She even said herself that she just reacts to her feelings without thinking. Isn’t that the very thing that we advise against in the mental health field? Don’t we recommend impulse control especially in a profession setting? I’m out of patience with her and I’m finished with trying to make her happy. She and her feelings can go to hell for all I care.