The Guy Next Door is gone. I finally had the courage the other day to retrieve my flower pots that had wandered into his yard. On my side of the border between our places, he left his beleaguered monstera-y plant, with crinkled-up leaves and bent stems. I'm not a healer of plants or men, so I put the plant at the curb for someone the plant has less baggage with to rescue.
It's lonely without him. (The man, not the poor plant.) Even after we stopped talking, he was kind of an imaginary friend. I liked knowing when his car was home, the state slogan on his license plate felt like a comforting/vexing chime in my head. Whoever moves in next won't be like this, I hope, won't get all tangled up--I'll probably only notice them if they're having a particularly loud conversation or smoking on the patio, or if they have a cute pet.
This guy, I was insane about him and insane with him, but the connection still meant something to me. The door that opened between us, that let two messed up minds find comfort in each other, I still think it's a miracle.
In the cold cold depths of winter, when I was still learning not to go to his door, I lit candles for myself in the window, both to ward off the pain and to show myself love. (Also there was an Indivisible directive about window-candles. Mine can't be seen from the street, but they still count.) I hoped the light gave him comfort too, snowday after snowday, but that really wasn't my business.
I'm still figuring out how to thaw. I'm DEEP in my step work and leveling up my family estrangement, trying how to figure out how to treat myself if I am, as I'm beginning to see, worthy of kindness and care. I took a dating break until at least June, but I'm starting to wish and hanker.
When The Guy Next Door showed up last summer with his red cups of hibiscus tea, I was jagged and at sea from last summer's trauma work, from a lifetime of trauma work. He gave me such a pretty spark and distraction, a (kind of fucked up) way to care for myself until I was ready for the next phase of growth and healing.
I imagine him out and about in some beautiful sex-positive frenzy, having all the fun my codependent ass isn't ready for. I imagine him going home to Think About What He's Done. I imagine him joining the life of some more copacetic and traditionally-shaped girl and hitchhiking that life wherever that takes him.
I'll probably never know. I get to stay here and try to be emotionally sober and not get swooshed into any more distractions while I face myself, while I learn to love myself. I miss my friend, whether he was imaginary or not. He doesn't live in my heart forever, I don't think, but I wish him everything good. And I hope someone is taking good care of that plant.
Friends! I had such a cute rope date on Friday! Maybe I'll tell you all about Dreamy Playlist Angel sometime, but first I want to wrap up another story.
So, a couple weeks ago, I sold my dear red car. It was hard to let go, but she was costing me like 1500$ a repair visit. I need to be saving up and improving my credit in case I need to move (Because rent keeps going up, not because of Guy Next Door) so BFF-Formerly-Sweetie is very generously letting me share her car.
So that meant that, because BFF does poll work on Election Day, I didn't have a car last Tuesday. It was a particularly stressful workday, fun but with lots of moving parts. So I was dazed and a little giddy when I was getting in my Lyft at the end of the day. The backseat door handles were the hidden kind, I still don't understand where they were. I got in the car a little flustered, just wanting to go vote and then take the most emphatic nap ever.
The driver was cute and maybe mid-thirties, and his day job was adjacent to mine-lots to bond about on the short ride. He bragged that (swoon) he'd voted first thing in the morning, and I told him that's where I was headed after home. I put my chitchat on autopilot and listened to his answers, each one more charming than the last. But my head was all swirly from work, from the person who would come to be Dreamy Playlist Angel, about how pretty the bright yellow fall trees were, about how good it would feel to lay down and take my scheduled after-work nap.
When I got in the door, I discovered that my phone was not in my purse. Or in the pockets on the outside of my lunch bag. It wasn't in my hoodie pockets, and there weren't any pockets in my very work pants-y work pants. I had left my phone in the cute driver's car.
Okay. Well, I had my laptop, so I hopped on customer support and reported my lost phone. The driver wrote back pretty quickly that he had the phone, just needed my address to bring it back. And I would be charged an extra 20$ for his time--so fair! But there was a glitch and the chat with the driver cut off. By the time I started the request again, both my address and the driver's number became unavailable. I needed a phone to get my phone back.
I almost kinda begged for them to do it by email instead, but they couldn't. Online impossibility is my worst trigger, so I let myself melt down for a few minutes, a good scream-cry and lay on the floor combo. Then I got up, wiped my face, and resumed trying to solve the mystery of how to get my phone back.
There are five apartments in this complex, four sets of very lovely Weak Tie neighbors who would have been more than happy to help, and Guy Next Door, who had *just* gotten back from a monthlong yoga retreat. I was feeling like we could be on good terms, but I didn't want to find out in the middle of an internet void meltdown.
So, in the latest installment of the demented romcom that is my life sometimes, I knocked on his door. He opened it, smiling and smelling of after-work weed. He was in his work clothes too--like we were both in our cosplay as grownups.
He gave me a hug and agreed to help right away. I invited him in and we sat at my very cluttered table, covered in everything I'd just dumped out of my purse, some undies and socks that needed to be folded, and various other midweek detritus. I was behind on the dishes as always, so I hoped he wasn't too grossed out by my perpetual Dishhenge.
I told the very unhelpful Lyft chat that I had access to a phone now, but they told me I had to re-report it, but the reporting-it link kept looping back to the unhelpful chat. There wasn't anything I could do at that moment but to stare at the void. And catch up with Guy Next Door.
I told him I was sorry for being a jerk, and he said, "Even if you were a jerk, I'm here for it. I just like being your friend,"
!!!!!!
While I went a few more rounds with The Void on my laptop, I was so happy to be updated about GNS's adventures! And he was an excellent emotional support neighbor! He looked up my very uncalm calm-down song:
I had him set a timer for me (he picked singing bowls) so I could only try my futile online quest for eight more minutes instead of looping around on it eternally. He had some helpful ideas to try, but he is tech support, not Void Support. When the timer went off, I said goodbye and a million thank-yous and went off to vote.
Voting is a big social event in my neighb, and it cheered me up a bunch. As I was walking back from the polling place, I heard a man's voice saying "You!" in just the cutest way.
It was the Lyft driver. He'd been driving around for an hour trying to figure out where he'd dropped me off. He remembered I'd said I was going to vote, so he thought he would ask around at my polling place to see if anyone knew how to find me! He said if that didn't work, he was going to go back to my work and drop it off there! My HERO!
OF COURSE I asked for his number--I can never resist a possible meet-cute! We exchanged numbers and I went home, elated to tell GNS that all was well, delighted to have voted, and very, very ready for gummies and Gilmores and sleep.
It wasn't a meet-cute with the Lyft driver, just a golden moment of possibility that made me feel so entertained and hopeful and silly. So that's where I am now. I wonder what will happen next.
I really wanted, as I always do, to fast-forward to friendtown. I didn't want to give myself space to let the rejection-hurt pass, I just wanted to keep being around him. But my OCD therapist gently pointed out that if I kept being around him, the feelings would just get bigger. (What happened to "maybe, maybe not," lady?!) I got really mad at her but I knew she was right.
I texted to tell him about the spark, about needing space, about how sitting around listening to The National was not going to help me find perspective about him. He responded so kindly and so rightly! He said he'd look forward to being friends when the time is right and that he was still always up for catsitting whenever we needed him.
This was the night I was trying the mermaid wrap over and over, getting nothing but slipped loops and tangles. I HATED being called a friend and I wanted him to have seen me as desirable. OCD fired up and told me it's because I'm fat, and old, and not normal enough. OCD told me he couldn't see me, though I think in some ways he saw a me nobody else knows yet!
I texted and asked: Like, why not me? Why just friends? I retracted the question immediately, how could there ever be a satisfying answer?! I tried to call to try and smooth things over (If I'd just gone over there, would it have been more or less humiliating? The world may never know.) but just ended up leaving a short and bitchy voicemail. Not horrible, but definitely uncalled for.
I was HORRIFIED with myself. Ever since I saw Baby Reindeer and probably before that too, I've been scared to death that I might be, deep down, a stalker. Two texts and a voicemail do not a Martha make, but I was scared RIGHT to death. I called BFF-Formerly-Sweetie to come over and mind me for the evening, to make sure I didn't do more. Definitely a little bit overkill, but having her here calmed me down.
There was more mortifying back and forth the next day, including the mistreatment of our respective artwork. (Nobody puts Ribbons in the recycle bin! That's how the Dirty Dancing line goes, right?)
Blessedly, he'll be away for a couple weeks at a yoga retreat, and I'm so relieved to be temporarily offstage from that crush. I don't know what will come next, but I think, just like with Summer Princess, I took bad care of this connection. The time being his friend went by so fast and I wish it wasn't over already.
I miss him and I feel afraid of him and afraid of myself. But the Autistic Euphoria was real, and I hope I can someday share it with someone in a healthier way. I've been browsing apartments to make myself feel less trapped, but this in-between feeling is sad, and there's nothing except time that can fix it.
Guess what! I had a cute date Tuesday night, and it was made magical by a mistake! The bar I'd picked was closed, so the cutie and I walked a little ways--and found a little beer garden with no one in it but us! Songs were played, Hidden Folder was shown off. Not sure where it will lead but there's no better cure for tunnel vision!
I'm really proud of this tie! The last time I tried it, I was so wrecked by the (thoroughly unsurprising!) proximity of and rejection by The Guy Next Door that I couldn't find my connection to my ropes or myself. Last night was the opposite. As soon as I crated Younger Cat and tied two thirty-foot strands together, I sank into concentration in such a beautiful way. Yayyy!
