I Don’t Need a Man

I need a man!
That was the mantra circulating in my brain when I first arrived.  Maybe not so clearly, maybe not in so many words, but subconsciously, over and over again, “I need a man, I need a man, I need a man!”
I wanted so badly to believe that true love would find me here.  That I would finally feel certainty in a relationship and that everything else would just fall into place.  My first few days in staff accom, I scouted out every potential suitor, but no one came close to meeting my criteria.  I considered settling just to have someone who was bound to me, someone to show me the ropes rather than me having to stake out my own space.  The psychics words rang constantly in my ears.  It’s spring, where is he!?  I wondered, exasperated.  I went to every party, every social event hoping he would be there, but no one I met held my interest, yet still I felt like there was someone out there, trying to find me.

After one particularly vexing day I went out to my favourite thinking spot: a small island attached to a nearby beach whose twisted trails lead to a perfect vantage point atop a rocky bluff, overlooking nothing but sparkling sea and crashing whitewash.  There I sat and meditated, surrounding myself with positivity and love.  I chanelled adoration from friends, family, people I hadn’t even met yet.  I told myself that I needed nothing in this world and was already so blessed.  As I wandered back home I felt content, like nothing could hurt me and that only good things could happen.  That very night I met Dan.

I had planned to meet up with my brother and attend a Cinco di Mayo party in our neighbourhood, but I was considering bailing.  I was just about to text him and say that I wouldn’t be making it, but at that moment he texted me, urging me to stop by for some pre-drinks.  I decided that I needed to venture out of my comfort zone and meet some new people and told myself that only good things could come from saying “Yes!” to life.  I grabbed a bottle of wine, a poncho and headed down the road.
“Come in!” my brother shouted when I knocked. I walked through the door and he was sitting with two guys I’d never seen before.  One was blonde, one was brunette, both were cute.  I was introduced to the brunette as Dan, my brother’s neighbour, and thought nothing more of it.
As the night grew hazier and more people began to arrive, Dan made a tasteless joke that launched us into a ridiculous discussion.  The two of us were laughing hysterically, deep in our own conversation and ignoring everyone else. Eventually we all headed to the party and I lost sight of him.  I was feeling pretty awkward and out of place, Dan had resurfaced but was in the midst of what looked like an intense conversation with a good-looking girl.  I was just about to leave and start walking home when he struck up another conversation with me.
“Man, I really wanna smoke some weed right now.”
“Me too,” I responded, “I was just thinking about walking to my house and rolling a joint.”
So he joined me and the two of us sat in my room rolling doobies and laughing over some obscure joke.
When we got back to the party everyone had cleared out.
“Shit, I still really wanna some this joint,” I muttered.
“We could go to my house,” he suggested. “Maybe watch a movie?”

At his house we perched awkwardly at either end of the couch.
What am I thinking, coming to this strange man’s house? I wondered
“I should get going, it’s getting late,” I started up.
“I’ll walk you,” he insisted.  “Don’t want you to get snatched up by a cougar.”
At my door, I felt overwhelmed by nerves.  I was scared he would try to kiss me and I barely even knew him.
“You’re really cool,” I began “let’s hangout sometime.”
We exchanged numbers.  Still nervous, I leaned in and gave him a hug.  His strong body engulfed mine, it was one of the most sensual hugs I’ve ever received.
I climbed into bed, grinning from ear to ear, heart pounding.

A full day passed and I didn’t hear from him.
I had just convinced myself that I’d imagined the entire encounter when my phone lit up with a text from him.  We bantered back and forth and he asked me if I wanted to hangout and blaze again.  I was nervous to see him as I was having trouble recalling what he looked like and I prayed my beer goggles weren’t too thick.  When he showed up, I breathed a sigh of relief: tall, muscular, tanned and bearded with piercing blue eyes and a winning smile.  Stoned shenanigans and movie watching followed and once again he walked me home, but this time we leaned into each other and locked lips.  It felt slightly forced and awkward and I retreated into my house feeling disappointed, but hopeful.  We made plans for a sober beach day, aka “a real date.”

When I showed up at his house he opened the door and immediately stated, “I have some bad news.”
Uh oh.
“I just got back from the doctor’s and I have tonsillitis.  I’ll be contagious for the next 48 hours, soooo I can’t kiss you.  No matter what.”
We still had our beach day, but he began to look under the weather so we cut it short.  I offered to bring him some tylenol from my house and stopped to buy him ice cream.  The store only had Haagen-dazs and I forked up the $15 for a pint.  He expressed his delight when I dropped it off, but all the way home I felt bad, really bad, incredibly low.  I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d been played for a fool.  I enjoy doing nice things for other people, but this time it felt wrong, like he didn’t deserve my kindness and I wasn’t sure why.  I was slightly relieved when he sent me a huge thank you text message, but still something didn’t quite feel right.

I asked around about him, but could dig up no dirt.  Everyone I talked to simply said he was a good guy.
He texted me to say he was feeling way better and wanted to take me out for lunch.  We spent hours talking about anything and everything and barely touched our food.  By the end of the day we were in my bed making out and it didn’t feel wrong at all.  When he took off his shirt to reveal his Greek God-like body, I practically drooled at the sight.  We finally came up for air; it was 9 pm and I was late for a party.  We made plans for the following night and I hurried to staff accom in my makeshift toga, lips red and swollen from the night’s activities.  At the party, a few friends I’d seen while out on my date complimented me on what a beautiful pair we made.  I felt giddy.  Could this really be it?  Could it really be that easy?  Of course, it wasn’t…
The next night we slept together and I stayed over at his house.  The sex was outstanding and although I was disappointed by some *ahem* short-comings, the man more than made up for it.  I left early for work and fantasized about him all day.  Little did I know that would be the first and only time I would sleep in his bed.

We met up again the next day and spent the entire afternoon lying out on his deck, soaking up the sun and smoking weed.  We went out for food and then indulged in some afternoon delight.  After we finished, he went for a surf, I went home and didn’t see him again for 5 days.  In those days we texted back and forth, he invited me to some concert, but I opted out.  I was dying to see him again, but tried to remain patient and aloof.  When I finally did see him, things weren’t quite right… He immediately began talking about the concert, “You should have been there to protect me,” he began.  “This annoying girl latched onto me and wouldn’t go away.  Then she made me ride home with her, then she got locked out of her house and begged to crash at my house.  I set her up on the couch and she just kept trying to get with me, it was so annoying!”
Ummm… What?! Are you telling me this because you’re being honest or because you fucked some chick and you think it might get back to me?  Either option left me feeling uneasy.
Post-coitus, he asked if I wanted to go out for a smoke.
After we did, he put on his shoes, quickly kissed me, said “I’ll be in touch” and left. I’LL BE IN TOUCH?!  WTF IS GOING ON?!?!? And so began my descent into over-analytical chaos as I tried (unsuccessfully) to decipher his actions and words.

The next morning I felt like an absolute asshole.  I ran for 2 and 1/2 hours to try and clear my head, but it didn’t help.  I bitched on the phone to my girlfriends who suggested I chill the fuck out.  I drank an entire bottle of wine and cried.
That night marked the beginning of my internal battle.  Was Dan the greatest person I’d ever met or was he the worst?  Could I keep up a sexual relationship with nothing more or did I need the emotional support as well?  Was I crazy about him or just plain crazy?  I avoided the “where is this going?” conversation because I didn’t want to know the answer.  If he wanted a relationship, I wasn’t ready and if he wanted no strings attached, well, that hurt just as badly.  I encouraged myself to stop overthinking it and take it day by day until I could at least sort out my own feelings.

On one particularly sunny day we walked down to the beach.  On the way he turned to me and started, “So, you’re roommate has been talking to some of the girls at work” (as my new roommate worked at the some resort as Dan) “and she told them that you and I are seeing each other.”
“Umm… okay?”
“I just don’t want them knowing my business, they get so nosey especially when it comes to who I’m dating.”
“Umm… sorry?”
“It’s not your fault, it’s hers.”
He sounded thoroughly annoyed and I was too shocked to know how to respond.  This wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned keeping things discreet, this is a small town after all and he is a “local” or more local than my seasonal self.  After the conversation, I couldn’t get his words out of my head.  Why would he try to hide me?  Why would he be ashamed?  When we got back to my house he declined sex because he was “too tired.”  I felt the sting of rejection.  Later, he texted me to apologize, but the damage was done.

The next day when I woke up I felt mad, irrationally angry and just all round pissed off.  I wanted to punch him in the face.  I agonized over the situation all day.  When my mom got into town that afternoon to visit, I rehashed the issue to her over several glasses of wine.
“I don’t know what to do, he’s just soooo beautiful,” I whined.
“Listen to me,” my mom slurred, “Good looking guys are the BIGGEST assholes, you’re better off without him.”
“Yeah you’re right,” I admitted, but that didn’t stop me from booty-calling him the second I got home.

On the day of my half-marathon I resolved to let fate make my decision for me.  I’d talked non-stop over the past couple weeks about my upcoming race, if Dan texted or called at any point during the day to say “Good luck!” or “How’d it go?” that meant he genuinely cared.  The day came and went and nothing; radio silence.  I was disappointed, but not entirely surprised.  That’s when I realized something substantial.  Ever since I’d gotten out of my relationship I’d been falling into my old habit of replacing self-love with self-depricating relationships.  Rather than following my dreams and reaching my goals, I’d sought out relationships and pushed everything else aside.  It was the easy way out.  I wasn’t trying to find my own happiness, I was looking for someone, anyone to give it to me.  In barely 6 months I’d dated 4 different men!  It was as if I was swinging from vine to vine, not quite letting go of the last man until the next one was in my grasp.  I knew I had to let not only Dan go, but needed to shift my focus away from dating.  I had made up my mind and I stopped responding to his texts of “What’s up good looking? ;)”  But still, I felt the mature thing was to talk to him about the situation, let him know that I could only be his friend now.  He had left his toque at my house and I texted him to say I wanted to meet up and return it, he thanked me and asked if I wanted to hangout and blaze.  I decided that would be a good time to say my peace.  We sat out on my deck smoking, my heart was pounding as I tried to decide how to begin, but he got the ball rolling.

“I wanted to talk to you about us,” he began.  “Lately I don’t feel like we’ve been connecting the same way.”
My heart pounded faster.
“This has been feeling like its headed towards a relationship and that’s not something I want, I just got out of a relationship and I’m not ready for a new one.” I felt shocked and slightly rejected.  I didn’t know how to adjust my perfectly thought out speech.  A million things rushed through my head, but all I said was: “I don’t want a relationship either.  I think you’re a really cool person and I think it would be best if you and I were just friends.”
“Yes,” he agreed, “but actual friends who hangout.  You’re a rad girl, we always have fun.”
I nodded in agreement, “Actual friends, who hangout.”
“Give me a a hug.” I didn’t want to hug him, it felt wrong when he wrapped his arms around me.  I held on a little too long.  After our talk I longed to be alone with my thoughts but he hung around for another hour before finally leaving.  “Keep in touch” we both promised. Finally alone, I felt relieved albeit slightly melancholy.  I knew I’d made the right decision and I knew things would be okay.  I began to reflect on our short-lived time together and realized something else.  Never had he given me any indication that he wanted to date me.  It was ME who had sought him out at the party and actively pursued him.  It was ME who had suggested hanging out and it was ME who made the first cuddle moves on our various movie nights.  Never had he shown any indication that he wanted to be more than friends, I was the one pressuring him.  I put so much pressure on myself and the situation, I wanted so badly to believe that this was it, that I had found the “one” that I convinced myself it was true.  What was simply a casual interaction I made out to be some grand love affair.  And really, when it came down to it, what did I really like about him anyway?  The fact that he was tall and muscular?  The fact we liked the same stupid TV shows and had a similar sense of humour?  That was where our connection ended.  Everything else I had created in my head. I felt proud that I had escaped the clutch of such self-depricating behaviour and had recognized things for what they were.  I felt proud that I had been mature and ended things instead of clinging on and causing drama.  I realized that I had come a long way from the girl I once was. I resolved to focus on only myself and let everything else fall into place.


A Lesson in Independence

As I sit here writing this, 5 months have passed since I decided to take control of my life and leave him.  In that time a tremendous amount has changed in my life.  I did finally do it: I moved to the resort town on my own, unsure where I would be living, what to expect, or when I’d be starting work.  The main adjective that continues to flash in my mind is “independent.”  I wanted to thrive as my own person and do it entirely alone and I’ve begun the process.  Sure I need to rely on my brother or my father here and there but I’m beginning to finally look inward and reflect on the person I am and the person I want to be.  I got set up in my lodgings, staff accommodations, and couldn’t believe my eyes.  There were maybe seven of us living there at the time, but the place was in shambles.  Garbage piled sky high, concrete floors that looked as if they’d never been cleaned, holes punctured the drywall and stickers covered every surface.  The sheets they provided us with to cover our single bunk beds were the reject lodge sheets, often stained or ripped and way too big for the beds.  Don’t even get me started on the kitchen… and the stench, oh the stench.  Needless to say I rarely left my bedroom those first couple weeks.  That first day in my new digs I walked over to my brothers where he informed me that he had (through word of mouth) already procured me a potential home and bike so that I could get into town and get out of staff accom.  Both worked out marvellously.  When we went to look at the potential bike the seller suggested I jump on and take it for a test drive.  It has been over 10 years since I’d last rode a bike, the seat was too high, the back breaks non-existent and it had only 1st gear.  I teetered down the steep gravel driveway, my brother became concerned that I wouldn’t be able to ride it home.

“You know the expression ‘like riding a bike’?” I asked him, he nodded.  “There’s a reason people say it.”
I rode home on my bike feeling increasingly optimistic.

As more and more people began to move into staff accom, I began to feel more and more alone.  I felt left out when everyone would head down to the bay to surf, but without any gear (or money to buy gear) I felt helpless and too proud to admit I’d never surfed and was terrified of the ocean.  All my housemates knew each other and were young and hopeful, meanwhile I felt like a den mother.  I longed to go hiking and explore some different local spots, but without a car, any friends, or reliable local transportation service, I was relatively stranded.  Suddenly, being independent felt like more of a curse than a gift.  I became depressed and when an old co-worker visited and brought an 8-bak of cocaine, I fell into some familiar habits which sent me further into my self-loathing.  I yearned for a boyfriend, someone who was from the area and could introduce me to some cool people, teach me to surf and show me the sights.  I scoffed at myself for even entertaining such thoughts, but they wouldn’t stop.  A week later, some other friends from back home came to visit and we spent the night in their cabin smoking doobies and drinking wine.  When I jumped on my bike to head home I immediately fell sideways into a bush.
After all the horror stories I’d heard about people breaking their collarbones or jaws while drunk on the bike path, I made the executive decision to walk my bike home despite the fact it would take me that much longer.  Cars whizzed by as I stumbled along the dimly lit path, my arms grew sore with the effort of holding my bike straight and I felt foolish so I resolved to ditch it in a bush and retrieve it the following day.  I found a good-looking spot with a large landmark and pushed it as far into the brush as I could before carrying on.  About 10 minutes into my walk I heard excited shouts and saw, in the distance, a bunch of people running into the bushes near my hiding spot.  I couldn’t make out the exact words but thought I heard something about “it must have just got left here.”  I froze and began to contemplate.  Did I run back and try to re-claim my bike, while looking like a total idiot?  I could barely even walk let alone run and the odds of catching up with them were not in my favour.  I continued to stumble home, silently mourning the loss of my bike.

The next morning I awoke to the sound of pounding on my door, “Time to wake up!” my brother’s voice echoed, “You’re late for work.”  I had slept through my alarm and was now an hour and a half late for work.  Things felt like they couldn’t get any worst, I was on the verge of tears for the entire day.  I made up my mind that I would at least try and look for my lost my bike, perhaps the culprits had ditched it a little further down the road?  Or perhaps they had never even found it to begin with?  I started the long walk to my hiding spot and that’s when the rain started pouring, and pouring, and pouring.
I called Sendal and began crying hysterically, “I don’t know what I was thinking moving out here, did I honestly think I could come into this world and belong?” I moaned into my phone.
Sendal tried her best to calm me down, “It’s always hard when you move to a new place, it can only get better!”
I cried and sniffled into the phone, but continued to walk in the pouring rain, silently praying I would find my bike.  I rounded the corner and there it was!  My bike, right where I had left it.  I breathed a sigh of relief and swore to myself I would forever treat my bicycle with the kindness and respect she deserved.  Suddenly, things didn’t seem that bad.
That afternoon when I found my bike, I found myself.

Amazing things began to happen.  I started making friends and feeling comfortable in my surroundings.  I began getting invited to outings and parties and relished my time hanging out in the common area.  No longer was I just my brother’s sister, I was finally my own person with my own identity.  After a month passed and it came time for me to move into my new digs, I began to get bummed out.  I had just begun to get comfortable in my surroundings and now I would have to go through the process all over again.  I thought back to the book I recently read by Martha Beck entitled Guiding by Starlight and remembered her words that anything scary and unknown is a true “shackles off” experience that can only lead to good things.  I’m still working to find the confidence to follow my own true path and I’m getting closer.  People keep asking me if I’ve met any interesting men out here but I just shake my head no.  I can’t be tied down and there’s no one worth my precious time, yet I still hear the psychic’s words in my head “you’ll feel him coming to you.”  I’m not entirely sure that’s true but there is something great in the works, I know that in my heart.  It’s simply a matter of taking life day by day and finding joy in the little things and letting the universe unravel as it should.  Until then, I’ll be here, waiting.


“It’s so complicated,” I say in response to a conversation regarding my frozen Netflix account.
“So are women, but they’re worth it,” my friend replies.
Aren’t we all?

I talked to him today.  It was good to hear his voice, but he sounded different, changed, aged.  Later I cried while thinking of everything I’d done, of who I was now, of how I let him down and hurt him.  He was so good to me, yet it still wasn’t enough.  Would anyone ever be good enough?  Would men forever be disappointing me?  I thought that if I never found someone I would still be happy on my own, but clearly I can’t be.  I always have to have someone or something to cling to.  Some notion that if maybe there’s someone in the world who feels the same way I do.  If there is someone to travel through this journey of life with, then maybe, maybe it’s not so pointless after all.

Maybe these are just drunken ramblings…


Back on the Horse

After getting over my initial partying, catching up with friends and trying to organize my mess of clothing, it was time for me to come up with a new plan of attack on life. I wasn’t entirely sure where to go or what to do, but I wanted the new and improved me to fulfil any longstanding goals and follow any and every dream.  I began to wrack my brain, constantly posing the question “What do I want?” The first thing that came to mind was for years I’d been saying I wanted to teach English overseas but never took any steps to actually do it.  I figured now was the time to stop saying it and start living it.  After all, it would put my English degree to use, let me test the teaching waters, give me writing material and give me the chance to make money while travelling, what was left to ponder?  I began fine-tuning my plan.  I researched a variety of TEFL experiences in a multitude of countries and finally settled on Indonesia.  Why?  I’ve always wanted to travel Southeast Asia, particularly Indo.  The cost of living is low, while a teaching salary is relatively high.  Most schools assist in securing teachers a work visa and provide accommodations and flight reimbursement.  I vetoed China as too hectic and dirty, Brazil as too sketchy and South Korea because I read that as a people they are very adverse to visible tattoos (D’OH!)  A little more research into Indonesia and I discovered that obtaining a TEFL certificate on top of a university degree is a government standard.  No sweat, I would register for an online program, get a serving job to save up while having ample time to complete said certification.  I set to work handing out resumes and quickly secured a job at a local watering hole.  Perfect.  Now to register for school, but that’s when I ran into some setbacks.  Mainly, a crying, on the verge of bankruptcy father who begged me for some money to keep him going.  Next thing I knew I was in the hole fifteen hundred bucks (I know, I know, I just wrote an entire post on not succumbing to guilt, but he’s my father and he asked for a favour, I owe him my life.)  Gone was my money for school.  On top of that, my job wasn’t going so well either.  I was working three day shifts a week at the pub and grossing a whopping $35 in tips, along with measly pay checks.  I was solely living off my credit card and even though I was living with my mom she was still charging me out the ass for rent.  I received invitations to attend elaborate weekends in the city and my credit card limit crawled closer and closer to “maxed out.”  It seemed to me that I would never reach my goal, but instead die broke and alone in the shitty joke of a town that I had vowed never to return to.  Finally, things began to look up for me.  My dad got a job and began to pay me back, after months of banter back and forth, my insurance company finally decided to write-off my car and offered me an obscene amount of money for it (which I gleefully accepted.)  And my brother encouraged me to apply for a summer serving job at the resort he was working at located in a well-known tourist town (of which there were mumblings of me definitely securing the position.)  I enrolled and began my certification.  Things were finally coming together and I was on my right path.  Then, I met Matthew…

Another one of my goals was to be an all around better version of myself: workout daily, eat healthy, no drinking, being more positive and happy, making more time for friends and trying new things that would normally make me uncomfortable.  The last resolution was what brought me out that night.  An old co-worker invited me to an EDM show at the headquarters of the local university radio station.  The idea alone scared me to shit.  Show up alone (and sober) at an unfamiliar venue?  Scary. Meet up with someone I hardly knew and meet her new girlfriend and homies from her polyamory club?  Horrifying.  But I resolved that rather than bail, I would put myself in a potentially uncomfortable situation if it meant possibly meeting some new people in my hometown and hey, if it went to shit at least it would make for a good story, right?
Cut to me standing alone at the bar.  The hot guy I’d been eye fucking had just left with another girl and my friend had completely disappeared.  I was contemplating if I should just finish my cider (while looking cool and unfazed) before fleeing the scene and returning home for a night of Netflix, when the guy beside me suddenly turned to me and said, “That’s really cool of you!”
“What?” I responded, clearly confused.
He gestured to an old lady in sequins, cutting a rug on the dance floor. “It’s nice that you bring your mother clubbing with you!  I bet you taught her those sweet dance moves didn’t you?”
I could’t help but laugh and thus began my introduction to Matthew.  He wasn’t traditionally good-looking, I wouldn’t have picked him out in a room, but his confident nature intrigued me.  He told me he was from the town over and had just moved home following a failed business stint in the Philippines.  He was in the midst of starting his own web design business, but was also an amateur stand-up comedian and aspiring writer.  A man who shares my sense of adventure and creativity?  Amazing.  As we continued to talk we discovered more and more similarities between the two of us.  When my acquaintance finally reappeared she announced that she was leaving and asked if I wanted a ride home.  I was torn.  I knew the sensible thing was to go home, but I was so intrigued by this character, so I took a huge risk and chose to stay.  Things quickly got intense on the dance floor with Matthew grinding against me and constantly trying to go in for a kiss.
Wow, this guy does not waste any time I thought.  But still, I continued to ignore all common sense by going to an out of town after party with he and his friend.  After a night of drunken debauchery (and me constantly insisting to Matthew that I would not be sleeping with him) his friend insisted the two of us crash in the spare bedroom.  After a whole 10 minutes of resisting, I gave in and sex happened.  And happened.  And then happened again.  Before I knew it, it was morning and we had spent the entire night fucking.  I’d had countless orgasms and we were starting yet another round.  It was the best sex I had ever had in my LIFE.  When he drove me home in the morning, we stopped at Starbucks.  Every time his arm went around my waist it sent thrills down my spine.  When he dropped me off at home, exhausted and rug burnt, I found myself already beginning to miss him.  Imagine my surprise when I soon discovered he was the ex of an old friend of mine.

I felt riddled with guilt at the discovery, but how could I have known?  They dated years back when I was living out of town.  I’d heard stories but never met the guy or even saw a photo.  I knew if I wanted to see him again I would have to get my friend’s clearance.  I told her what happened (minus the sex details) and she actually encouraged me to sleep with him.  “He’s great in bed and really well endowed,” (yes, yes he is) “he’d make a great booty call” (minus the fact we were both living with our moms) “but… and this is not coming from a jealous ex-girlfriend perspective: do not date him!  He’s egotistical and superficial and a shitty boyfriend who only cares about himself!”
Whoa!  I reassured her that the last thing I wanted was a boyfriend (the truth) and that I would keep her advice in mind, but her words scared me.  Two days later when he asked if I wanted to see a movie I made up a paltry excuse.  The next day when he invited me out for drinks I didn’t respond, nor did I answer when he called.  Feeling slightly guilty for blowing him off (and incredibly horny) I resolved to call him the next night to make plans.  What was meant to be a 10 minute conversation was suddenly going on 2 and 1/2 hours and we’d made plans to spend the following day together.  WTF?!  How did the situation get away from me?
He told me I was easy to talk to, I melted.

Our day together was fun, albeit frightening.  We went up-island to some tourist shops and he was constantly trying to hold my hand or lean in for a kiss until I expressed my displeasure for anything resembling PDA or any date-like activities in general, but there was one form of physical activity I was keen on.
“Hey, my mom’s at work for a couple more hours if we want to head back of my place…”
Post coitus we were driving in my car and giggling like school girls.  We stopped for coffee and to recharge and talk some more.  I was hooked.  Following that day my face would light-up whenever his name graced my caller ID.  He had his place to himself for two weeks of which I spent most nights there having mind-blowing sex and long conversations.  I made excuses for dropping off the face of the earth, but finally came clean to my friends.
“OMG, he’s your soulmate the psychic described!”
“But it’s not even spring?”
“It’s February, that’s close enough!”
Soulmate?  Matthew?  The words alone made me cringe, but there was no doubt I was infatuated with this man.  But what about me and my plans for the future?

During a crazy party night in the city I drunk-texted Matthew to tell him I had networked a potential client for him.  When I received no response I realized how clingy I had come off.  Trying to round up business for him at a party?  Pathetic! (The conversation had actually come up naturally, but still.)  That night I couldn’t sleep and felt myself beginning to panic over the whole situation: my ex, my life, everything.  I told myself if Matthew never spoke to me again I would move on with grace and dignity.  That’s when it dawned on me just how much I really did care for him.  The next afternoon I texted an apology for my drunkeness.  He responded to say how flattered he was that I was repping his business at a party.  I smiled from ear to ear.

As time went on we began shifting more and more into couple territory without ever assigning the title or even discussing the nature of our relationship.  As we grew closer I began to see those little red flags my friend had warned me about.  He praised me for my psychical attributes and nothing else.  He steered every conversation back towards the topic of him.  He name dropped and bragged about how rich his friends were.  On top of that, he hated camping and everything outdoorsy (BOO!) and honestly believed that having tremendous wealth was the most important goal in the world.  He interrupted me and talked over me and argued every stupid thing.  I realized that I had worked so hard to get away from an uneven relationship and here I was in almost the same situation. I resolved more than ever to get myself away from my surroundings and begin my new job and new life in a new community.

A week before I was to move, he left for a bachelor party in Barbados.  I was relieved that I wouldn’t have to have an awkward goodbye with him.  He kept suggesting that he would come visit me while I was hoping to make a clean break.  Especially after my friend finally admitted that she was actually pissed off at me for sleeping with her ex.  He tried to call me twice from Barbados, once I was out with friends and rudely dismissed him when he tried to launch into a huge story about his travel troubles.  The second time I did not answer.  He texted me once when he got back to ask how my move was.  I never responded and we haven’t spoken since.  It’s funny how for a while there I was convinced this man was the one for me and since I left his company I haven’t given him a second thought.  The true definition of a rebound.