Today was the kind of day that I would normally love.
I woke up early with the sun and without an alarm, after a good night of slumber.
My morning was productive. I spoke to Tess, cleaned the shower from the muck and grime in corners and crannies, drank a nice cup of coffee and did some reading, attended virtual church and hand sewed up a ripped sleeve of a cardigan that had been on my to-do list for ages.
On the drive to yours, I listened to John Green's soothing tone and insightful thoughts in his latest podcast episode, The Anthropocene Reviewed, Reviewed. We went for a short walk to grab lunch, had some tea, went for a nice long walk in nice-ish weather. Then on the balcony, we had nice pastries and more tea and my favourite kind of conversation with Charlie - about whether crime is a product of a person's situation or innate traits, how our perspective/identity/friendships have changed during COVID and the character of Mrs Maisel.
And then you ask, "What time are you going home?"
Ah, such a simple, innocent question.
But my mind, overly eager to jump to conclusions because of some... let's call it emotional baggage, interpreted the question as a hint that I had overstayed my welcome, that you had enough of me and it was time to go. It was probably not all true, or at least not with the same harshness. But I felt like maybe there was the tiniest pinch of truth. The kind of pinch that stings.
And I can take a hint and I hate being where I'm not wanted. So I left. Maybe in a bit of a distracted way because of the influx of negative thoughts that I was trying to mentally fend off.
Perhaps I was a being overly sensitive and I overreacted - probably. But what preceded today was a conversation yesterday - where you told me to come later because you wanted to sleep in. I thought it would be nice to have a morning coffee session together, but your request was reasonable, so I relented. But what preceded that was you not wanting to spend weekend evenings together because you need alone time. We only see each other on weekend days now, but again, your request was reasonable, so I understood. Precede that with your easy acceptance that we might not have been able to see each other in person for six weeks when Stage 4 restrictions were first announced. And overlay all of that with your increasing workload and COVID restrictions that are seemingly never-ending.
Ah such petty thoughts, I know. How ungrateful too, I know. I have become, ugh, a tightly wound ball of insecurity.
So what can I do with your reasonable requests, my desire to be a good girlfriend and give you what you need, my refusal to stew in further neediness (again, ugh) and my prideful nature (to never want more that I am wanted)? I can only move myself to a place of cool indifference, where I am grateful (happy?) when (if) we get to spend time together, but it doesn't phase me if we don't. A mental exercise that I have yet to master.
I find these parts of love so very terrifying angst-inducing - the part that brings out my most hidden insecurities, the part where someone else's actions (intentional or not) can unsettle my usually settled state of being, and the part where I feel helplessly torn between needing something from the other person and being what the other person needs.
I will be okay. Just gotta keep revising my narrative till I find one that fits.
At least I came home to the most gorgeous sunset-tinted sky.
