Six days after confessing that he wanted to be with me more than anything else, promising me trips to various beach towns, and changing his flight home to New York so he could see me sooner, N gave me his patented speech over the phone: "I don't know what I want right now" "I don't want a big commitment" and "I'm just trying to go with my feelings." (That last one is my personal favorite.)
Like clockwork, though, after a day of my crying all over the streets and subways of New York Friday morning, we met up again and connected again. I'm going out to meet him tonight at a fancy sushi place we had gone to back in October, and then we're going to a movie.
I'm not sure that this non-relationship is ever going to be normal, and I'm not sure it's going to last until 2008, quite frankly. It's telling, however, that I'm still in this. Any sane woman -- any woman who was more interested in self-preservation than self-destruction -- would have ended this long ago. I haven't. So what does that say about me? That I'm desperate? (Not likely -- I don't have much of a problem filling my dance card.) That I'm crazy? (Maybe.) That I'm self-destructive? (Definitely...?)
Normalcy has never been my bag, but when it it time to put away the selfish, mental, sexy, male nutcases and pick someone stable and good, if not a little boring? Age 30? Thirty-five? As soon as the biological clock starts ticking? When I've had enough?