is the word 'diary' better than the word 'blog'? probably not.
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On How People Can Be Handsome, And Then Not So Handsome. Mysterious!
On How People Can Be Handsome, And Then Not So Handsome. Mysterious!
I had resolved not to write about Steve anymore a couple of weeks ago. It all just seemed so boring. And, strangely, on the very day of that decision I got a number of emails from women thanking me for doing all the writing I had done describing the backs and forths of my thinking, and the ups and downs, and trying to be fair to him, and then giving up on that and then and then and then. (Some will recognize the end of that sentence as a veiled "Dude, Where's My Car?" reference.) It was really cool to get those notes, some from women I know, others from strangers or people who occasionally write me about diary things in general but whom I do not know. It was good because it made me feel less self-indulgent (then again, this is a DIARY, I guess) but also made me feel very very sane. Because this cross-section of people who happen to read my web-diary all had similar experiences and good stories to offer to me in exchange. And it was also good to hear that my own stories had been helpful or useful or thought-provoking or sanity-restoring for someone else.
So, since this has been on my mind for the past week or so, here's where things stand. After having succeeded in not really thinking much about him at all for a short while, for some reason he's back this week, and last week. Not in an "I wish I had him back" way. No, he pretty much took care of that on that dreadful evening. He's back in this way: I keep catching myself running those last days in San Francisco through my mind, trying to locate some evidence that I should have picked up, so that I would have known what was coming. But, really, there is none. Everything he did seemed and still seems to me to be things guys do when they plan to keep you around, like introducing you to more of their friends, and spending larger blocks of time with you, and holding hands in public, and other things. If anything was out of the ordinary during that time, it was positive, not negative. It wasn't a paradise, but it held a lot of promise. Or so it seemed to me.
It's not like I'm still trying to figure it out. It's just that my mind keeps slipping back to those days, as if, even though I'm not consciously trying to explain it to myself anymore, some other part of my brain still wants the freaking thing explained. And that, my friends, is annoying. But I assume that it will pass soon enough.
But here's some good news. Remember that package of photos I got in the mail that I knew would have photos of him in it? The photos I ordered just hours before he dumped me, because of how certain I was that I was about to have him in my life for a long time? Yeah, those ones. Well, they've been sitting on my kitchen table for a while now. Not in plain sight. They were in a pile under some other packages of photos. Well, yesterday I looked at the photos in the damned package finally, because I was cleaning the house and was tired of that godforsaken pile. And do you know what I found when I opened the package? Cute photos, yes. Of me, and Liz, and Caroleen and Jeff, and Evany, and Steve. But here's the thing: Steve was not at all as handsome as I thought he was. This is a magic ability I have--and maybe I have my parents to thank for this surfeit of self-esteem I seem to have obtained without trying. When someone doesn't treat me well, it is almost impossible for me to find that person physically attractive. Don't get me wrong. He's still the same guy, which means that he has a hottness to him. But he no longer has that hottness that is the hottness that only the person who is Your Person can have. Do you know what I mean? Now he has what I like to call "so what?" hottness. So. What.
He destroyed his own hottness, that thing that I felt for him! That is a shame, really. A shame whenever someone destroys such a thing.
Anyway, there were three pictures of him and me in the package. And get this. I even put one of them in the photo album. After all, there he was, part of my life, for, like, a millisecond. In the history of things, if I ever have to refer to what my relation to him was during that brief moment, it will be a description like "we once tried to date" or "I think you probably shouldn't try to date that one." Here is what I realized: when it comes time for me to describe my relationship to him, HE WON'T EVEN BE WHAT I'D CALL AN EX-BOYFRIEND.
Also. I have found some other people handsome lately. And that makes me happy.
10:34 p.m. - November 05, 2004
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