Beer Tab

At A Crossroads

It would appear it tis that time again – time to reassess the relationship landscape and see if they really are all that and a bag of chips.

I’ve seen Crossroads guy every night and every morn, for the last two weeks. Every night I get home from work, give him a call, and off I’d stroll with Irish in tow. He’d have beer on ice, and dinner on the go, and the night would go by, and every day felt full, and god damn it felt good.

Then WHAM! This Thursday I felt worn clear through, and had little to no desire for anything but mindlessly lying in bed watching some doc or other, as I drift off into never never land. Yet I called him anyways, and sure enough, he’s all “come over with Irish, I’ve got a Roast Pork on the barby and green beans and rice”. So I did. Ugh.

It was delicious as always, but I was so f*en tired, when he was out tending the bbq I had to rest my head on the table, as I could barely keep it up any longer. So I decided to go home after dinner alone, and so he walked me back to my place.

Crossroad Man's workshop
Crossroad Man’s workshop
Yes, in so many ways he is quite a wonder.

You know, I don’t even rightly know exactly what my problem was, but I got off early from work Friday, and coming home on the bus the streets where alive with half-naked and happy bodies, streaming all over out-of-doors, enjoying the delightful warmth and the divine sunshiney spring day. So I came home and called him, fully expecting to waltz over with Irish, and I was sooooo looking forward to it.

NO answer. Fifteen minutes go by – no answer. An hour goes by – no answer. Damn it all to hell…Friday fucken night, I don’t have to work the next day, and he’s not around?

Of course he’s not. Of course. Now that I don’t have to worry about how much I drink, or when I should be asleep, of course he’s busy and doesn’t want to come out to play. Asshole. I was so bloody ticked off.

When he finally answered the phone I was all bitchy-wan-konobi, but by 7 we were in his backyard around a beautiful bonfire.

Although as I arrived he made it known he didn’t appreciate being made to feel he was responsible for my happiness…and in no uncertain words.

As he had a right, as bitch face was completely out of line. Moody Menopause Madness? Probably. Oh, and he said “don’t bring the dog”… so my hackles were up even before I arrived last night at his abode. My gut was screaming at me to turn around and go home, as nothing good could come of this.

I guess it’s all too much, too quickly, and again I’m finding that I’m loosing myself.

To be fair, I had every right to expect to be going over there right after work last night, as that had been the pattern every single day for the last two weeks. Although, I suspect dear Crossroads guy perhaps was feeling as hemmed in as I.

We do need to have a serious chit-chat me thinks.

I just have this compulsion to spend every minute I can with him. Yet earlier, when he had mentioned it being the first campfire of the season tears sprung to my eyes, and all those campfires Tim and I shared at the lake were all I could think of.

So I sat there in a sullen quietude, watching the flickering flames, with the starlit sky above our heads, and wondering what the hell was wrong with me?

This isn’t going to be easy Mom. My emotions are such a confusing mess that quite frankly I have a time trying to figure them out myself. So how on earth am I going to express them to someone else? Maybe I shouldn’t have to? Is it suppose to be this hard? It was so easy at first, so simple and natural feeling. Yet now, almost a month into walking along the same path, I don’t know if I’m going the right way. Is he just a crossroads?

I’m sorry I haven’t written more, but it’s been a crazy few weeks, and I’ve been so wrapped up in this crossroads man that I have barely been home. Oh, plenty of inspiration, but I’ve not made any notes, and so all the ideas have vanished back into the ether.

Aligning your life with someone is difficult; far easier to melt into them.



Comments or Otherwise

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.