My Man Queu

I have more than one man in my life. It sounds really egotistical to say that they are waiting in a line just for a chance with a confused and contradictory (not to mention chronically sleep-deprived) woman like me. Nevertheless, that is how it feels. I like to complain that it adds a bunch of stress to my life (ego stats going through the roof), but most of the time I secretly like it. It sure beats not being able to find a living breathing man within 2000 miles who seems willing to look at me for more than 2 or 3 hurried seconds. It beats the 14-month dry period I had a few years ago during which my boredom actually caused me to eat enough late-night starch to gain a few pounds (a feat equal to my winning a Nobel prize in mathematics).

Anyway, I've noticed that my blog posts have been rather dry lately, so I've decided to relinquish the sordid details of my dysfunctional love life. After all, what more do people want to read about than the train-wreck accounts of other people's lives? This post may also be prompted by the addition of a new especially unfortunate member of the club today. I may give each doomed sweetheart his own post.

Oh, and since I'm really frightened that someone will pinpoint my true identity and ruin my ability to be increasingly honest here, I'm going to give these lovely gentlemen some nicknames. Todd, Moe, Bob, Poe, Joe, and Nick. I love short names.

Todd

Todd is actually my ex-boyfriend. I met him 4 years and 1 month ago on a blind date set up by enthusiastic friends (so enthusiastic that one of them was really peeved that I actually liked the guy since she secretly wanted him for herself). We dated for a few months before I graduated from college and we both took off to explore the world. Somehow, though, we couldn't make a clean break and ended up getting in touch again, which led to lengthy international phone calls, which led to e-mail and packages, which led to an extremely romantic gesture involving flowers and such in which he asked me to be his once again. I was ecstatic. I was in love. I had stars in my vulnerable eyes.

Two weeks later, he waffled, freaked out, and ended it. I thought my life would also end with those ugly words, as I had completely tossed my heart into his hands, had been waking up every morning for weeks dreaming of our wedding day, his "will you marry me" and the blissful ever-after... I considered running far away, but since I was already in a foreign country, I figured I had already done all the running I could really do. A couple of months later when I returned home, he had begun to rethink his decision and.... I won't bore you with what is essentially the same story told over and over again, with a few other women sprinkled about. Suffice it to say that Todd and I have had a very troubled and tumultuous history together.

Last December, when we broke up for the 1,245th time, I finally said "Enough!" For three years, Todd had been telling me that he "just wasn't sure", could never decide for damn certain if he wanted me or Suzy Q. over the way. And I put up with it. Because I'm so unhealthily invested in everything until it meets the most bitter end possible, I put up with it. I waited. I wanted. And I hurt. Some of my most painful moments (ok, more like months or years) occurred during this waiting period. When I finally moved on and began to date others and ACTUALLY give them a chance, I felt lighter, more free than I had since, well, meeting Todd. Giving up on my relationship with him not only positively changed what I wanted but who I was.

So when he told me a couple of months ago that he had finally made up his mind, he was in love with me, I was the one (he always knew, but was just terrified), he wanted to grow old with me, all the things I'd always wanted him to say, it blew my mind. I told him no way. He'd waited too long and it was too late! Unfortunately, he was ready to back up his words. He wanted to prove himself and he's done a damn good job of it. Also, I've discovered that I like gifts a lot more than I thought. And Todd is a gift-giver. Not to mention a time-giver, compliment-giver, massage-giver, poem-writer, dishwasher, fantastic kisser.... I've woken up with Todd in my bed at least 4 times during the past month (There would have been a few more times if I hadn't callously kicked him out of my bed predawn- like this morning, for example, when I demanded that he go home at 4am. Fortunately, he is a sweetheart who understands the way in which hormone switches can turn a sweet angel into a mean bitch) and each time I vigorously chastise myself for giving in to his amazing touch, for complicating life when I'm supposed to know what I want. But the truth is that I don't. The truth is that I'm completely confused. I'm terrified of dragging him along while I muddle through my thoughts on life, as he did to me, but I'm discovering that I'm not the saint that I thought/hoped I was, not when I could be idolized and spoiled for free. In fact, Todd is spending a few days at my parents' house for Christmas...

I really feel that Todd is wasting his time, and I probably restate my feelings on the matter to him more often than is really necessary (honestly, sometimes people would like to enjoy being in love without the preaching of impending doom), but I do it to soothe my own guilty conscience. How nice of me.