I hate the insecurities and self-doubt I carry around. I hate how the first conclusions I jump to are that I'm being forgotten again, pushed aside, or done wrong. I've never really hated Valentine's Day before. But I hated yesterday.
I tried to call Greg on Wednesday and Thursday. I wanted to say - hey, I made it home okay, even though my luggage took an extra day out. I also wanted to make sure something is okay.... When I didn't see him Sunday, and thought I wouldn't, I wrote him another note. After I saw him, I debated if I should give it to him anyhow. Well, he spotted it in my bag and asked about it. I gave it to him. I've worried about it ever since. I need to be sure it was all right, and that we're still cool.
The thing is, I keep missing him when I call. I call too early, then I call too late. I don't want to call too much, or his boss will get pissed. When I called yesterday afternoon, the hostess said, "Just a minute," then came back and said, "I'm sorry. I didn't know he left like an hour or two ago."
That struck me as weird. I got that little chill in my spine when I think something is wrong. Is he dodging me? Did I really manage to make a mess of it already? Would he do that to me, just quit answering calls?
Let the tormenting begin.
Again, I look to the sky and ask, "Really?"
South Carolina told me about his Valentine's Day. He and an old friend went to dinner and to a bar, which turned out to have some bizarre entertainment. He told me about the muffin-eating contest for the guys and banana-eating contest for the gals. "We didn't participate," he said, and added that he hoped none of those people ever ran for public office.
"It sounds like you had a good time," I said.
He was quiet for a moment. "This was just a friend, you know," he said.
I knew it. I am just feel a little beaten up by cupid, is all. Was he picking up on my melancholy mood? I hope not. I didn't want to be that way. I'm just so sick of the ache.
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