One of my main preoccupations (as in all the live-long-day) is wondering when he’s going to get this incredible new girlfriend who’s all the things that I could never be and is fundamentally more supermodelesque than I am. I obsess over this all day long. There is a teeny, tiny part of me (less than a millionth of 1%) that thinks “ha! just you wait… going out with HER is only going to make you realise how fantastic I was”. The remaining majority thinks “he’s going to think she’s amazing and i will feel like a worthless worm. oh my oh my oh my”. It’s ugly, I tell ya.
Now, I have kinda, sorta heard from him a couple of times in the last week. Sorta. As my shock revelation yesterday revealed, he and I work together. And occasionally we have cause to contact one another with Vital Work Related Queries. Which you can imagine is a whole circus of pain for yours truly. So anyway, we’ve twice engaged in super-brief non-work chat as a result. And I mean brief; maybe 2 or 3 mails in the chain, if that. This is not because I am a Strong Independent Woman Who Does Not Need To Speak To Him As She Is Doing Very Nicely Without Him Thank You. No, it’s because I am a Doofus Who Is Pursuing A Policy Of Non-Response To Make Him Miss Me And ThereforeLove And Adore Me And Therefore Want Me Back. Pitiful, isn’t it?
So… the last time (yesterday) I got the distinct impression that he definitely wanted to strike up some kind of longer conversation. Again, about a millionth of 1% of me thinks that this is becuase he wants us to get back together *thrill* but, when I got to thinking (a habit I need to cure myself of), I decided either a) he was just being nice because he feels guilty about having a new girlfriend already or b) he wants us to be friends so he can tell me about his new girlfriend without guilt which are actually pretty much one option. (“are one option”? can that possiblybe correct grammar?)
Before you shake your heads at my sheer insanity, let me share with you a moment longer… And before I share, I swear that I am not a weirdo stalker type. Really. He used to leave me alone in his flat and I never took the opportiunity to go through his stuff. For one thing, that episode of sex and the city hit me pretty hard and for another, I’d always be too scared of what I might find. Ignorance is bliss. Anyway, I digress. Whilst I’m not a weirdo stalker, I have, of course, indulged in the super fun game of just-who-is-this-girl-that-my-boyfriend-is-friends-with-on-facebook-who-he-has-never-mentioned-but-doesn’t-appear-to-be-wearing-very-much-in-her-profile-picutre-let’s-hope-that-bitch-catches-pneumonia-and-dies. We’ve all played that, right? And there are no winners, just a big fat loser getting all bent out of shape over some bitch perfectly innocent girl. So whilst we were still together, the first time, a period nicknamed “blissful times I will never forget” I saw this girl in his friends list. And she is your basic nightmare of a facebook rival: young, pretty, blonde, tiny, scantily clad, silly name – let’s call her Mitzy. That’s not her name, but it’s not a million miles off and implies the kind of unintelligent abandon I associate with her. All this based on a one inch-square photo… I did the usual “hmmm… she’s probably a friend of a friend’s sister or something” but no, she wasn’t friends with anyone else he knew. So who the hell was she? I didn’t ask, because outwardly I like to pretend that I’m cooler than that. Only you know better… (don’t tell anyone.) Also, for all his many flaws, more of which to follow soon, he really wasn’t the cheating type (whatever that is) and I was pretty secure in us (these were the “blissful times I will never forget” remember) so it only kept me awake one night in every fifteen or so. Then we broke up (read: he callously dumped me. Yeah, I’m still on that.). I did wonder whether he was looking to ride Mitzy into the sunset but he was really cut up about the whole thing (my friends and I actually felt pretty sorry for him. The first time. Fools that we were.) so it didn’t seem likely. Plus, as much as I like/love/adore him, even I could see Mitzy could possibly do better ifyouknowwhatimean.
Then came Project Reconciliation. One night during PR, I was at his flat, he was on Facebook and I leaned over and said “look, I poked you”. And then, I saw, so had Mitzy. Random hot Mitzy who appears to have been airlifted into his life by-passing all his other friends and family. Now. I don’t know if I’m way off-beam and a madwoman or whether I am super-astute and intuitive but I think he looked kind of guilty. He closed Facebook down very soon afterwards and I missed my opportunity to say “soooo… who’s Mitzy?” in oh-so-casual-fashion. In what may be a wholly unrelated point, he never actually poked me back. Ever again. Again, there could be a fine line between mental and inutitive here. But i do wonder… A couple of weeks later, when Project Reconciliation was rapidly turning into Project Nightmarish Car Crash, I asked him whether there was anyone else and he denied it vehemently – and I’m inclined to believe him.
So the Mitzy mystery persists and a huge part of me thinks maybe now she’s the one who’s… Well, I don’t even really need to finish that sentence with a verb. Part of me thinks, fears, that she’s The One. And I wasn’t.
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