I've only ever been given flowers a few times before. Once it was three white roses from someone I'd been dating a week who chose that day to tell me he loved me.
Those I threw out before they'd wilted.
Another time it was a bunch of gerbera daisies from Tom. Because he knew I loved them, and I'd been in bed for a week, hiding from my life.
Those I wish I'd found resin for so I could keep them forever.
And there was a third time. Impromptu dandelion bouquet from a well meaning, but horribly whoreish lead singer of a local band who, for some insane reason, thought that the very pudgy dork girl with the big vocabulary and cripplish shyness was just the bees knees.
I tried it out. Couldn't take the groupie chicks. I may not have been much, but I was at least worth his full attention... which I lost after a few days, really.
The dandelions got set down on the radiator and were forgotten until they were a weird little brown puddle we found on our "what the hell is that smell?" expedition.
Staring at this bouquet of roses Jeremy gave me is really depressing me.
They weren't so bad, for red roses... which isn't saying much, as I sort of loathe them.
But now they're bent over and starting to dry at the ends of the petals. And he's acting very oddly and just keeps insisting everything is fine. Last week I thought I'd need outside assistance to get him to quit hugging me. Today he gave me a ride home from work and I actually had to ask him if he'd prefer a handshake to a hug. If he's just trying to be distant to avoid being hurt when I move, I wish he'd say so. As it is, I just feel like crap when I'm around him because I don't know what I'm doing wrong.
He was never 'a thing'... but he was someone I was comfortable hanging out with. I kind of needed some of that. I know I'm leaving, but that doesn't erase the big friend void in my life.
Now all of a sudden that comfort is just gone and I really have to wonder what I'm doing wrong. And *just* wonder, because he won't talk to me.
He called just a little while ago, on his way into work. I said "uh huh" about five times and sat in silence for the rest and he never asked what was wrong or if I was alright. If you've talked to me at all, you know I'm not exactly quiet as a doormouse, especially with people I know. And he knows that. So why he's ignoring the big weird thing, I dunno. But like I said... it makes me feel bad. I hate shit in the air that no one will talk about, no matter what the situation.
And plus... this is just getting me down on that boy/girl level too.
Karl was right in that I'm a blind blind fool when it comes to men. I've no idea of their intentions, usually, until it's too late to avert disaster. That makes me a little paranoid and overly analytical. And then I become uncomfortable with the paranoia and I decide that I'm overreacting and force myself to just ignore it. Usually that's about the time that I start ignoring all the things I should be watching out for.
I've quit some of my more destructive patterns. But that doesn't mean that I'm all squeaky-clean in every way. I guess this is just one more thing to work on.
So I'm a little depressed tonight, thinking of the disaster that is my Sort-Of-Like-You-Maybe life.
And I blew off Rhiannon today. She wanted to go out to this club tonight, but I'm just very not up to it. And when I called her, I'd just gotten out of Jeremy's car. I slammed that door, I slammed the front door, I slammed down my stuff, I told her I wasn't going and then I slammed down the phone. I just don't even want to see her tomorrow.
And I don't want to see Jeremy tomorrow morning. I want to go back to that time when my relationships with coworkers only occured on the clock.
I could go on and on. But I won't. I'm going to shut up and suck it up and try to remember to look out for big boxes tomorrow.