Vanity, thy name is woman

I wish I had someone to tell me what I should do.

I did something courageous Sunday evening. I called out someone for their behavior. I literally called this person and told him how little I thought of him anymore, and that it amazed me how cruel he could be with his apathy.

I had felt so helpless sitting in that coffeeshop with Portia, sitting there until fifteen minutes past when she had said that there was no reason to sit any longer, fifteen minutes was plenty of time to wait for someone who couldn't even commit the basic courtesy of calling.

And so I walked her to her car, and she yelled out that she loved me after getting out of me that I would not go back into the coffeeshop.

I did. I went back in, found a spot outside near the street, turned on my iPod and lost myself in a book. A good book, a great book - but every few seconds it became harder for me to fathom what the words staring up at me from the page actually meant. I don't think I had any doubt that it was a deliberate dismissal then, after all, were one to have a number, what else could stop them from so easily placing a call, even a curt one of explanation?

He never called, for that matter.

And so I called Aleisha, someone that knew him just as well as I did (if not better). And she couldn't believe he'd never come. After all, coffee had been his suggestion, I had merely decided when and where. To add, he'd also verified the night before.

And so she puzzled over it, and after realizing just how difficult it was to hear your thoughts echoed back at you aloud, I decided I'd go, and that for tonight, instead of going to the film on genocide in Albania as I had planned around 7, we would go out somewhere.

It was 6 when I left the coffeeshop.

I couldn't go home yet. I was too restless. Why did I even care? Good question. I don't think I've ever been so deliberately discarded before. At least, not ever when I've done nothing to deserve it. I've been lucky in that aspect I guess, no one's ever done something like this to me. I usually discard those with the capacity for such cruelty before they hurt me.

I think I'd have to admit that it was also a special case with this one. I particularly thought favorably of him. Why? God, who knows. It wasn't as if he'd never flaked out before. More than once, in fact. I think, even now, I still feel such goodness in him. Like a kid almost, someone who you know because of their particular stance can see sometimes behind the fronts of the movie sets and see that they were held up by timber, that they weren't real but just facades of the front of the houses in the town. It was more than that, it's difficult for me to put into words. He's kind of an original, even if he does quote to the frightening extent that Portia does. You know when you meet someone and one of your first thoughts of them is that you could have been friends with them when you were a kid? It's kind of like that.

On a much more superficial level, I just enjoy talking to him. He's got my style of verbal wit, and besides a few friends, I don't find that in abundance enough to not seek it out when I find it.

So I went to the park. Took off my shoes and walked around it on the sidewalk. It was nice in a peaceful sense, time to organize my thoughts. Robbie Williams I owe immensely. I will one day meet him and tell him how many weeks of my life were dedicated to his playlist on my iPod. I danced a little bit, but I couldn't keep the lightness going for too long. I was walking past the Menil when the lady at the desk beckoned for me to come in. I paused, and I did. They had 30 minutes before closing, and so I wandered around for a bit. Not much was very comforting, their Blackface collection is particularly disturbing this time around. Some of the mainstay abstract pieces were nice to see again. I realize just how much I enjoy that type of art.

I left when they closed and drove to Aleisha's. I still didn't want to go home to an empty house and my thoughts. I decided I wanted to pick out what she would wear, which is seriously more frustrating than dressing my little sister. My 9 year old sister is less picky than she is, and that is saying something.

I decided to call him then. It was part impulse, part genuine need to do something to stop feeling so helpless. I hated feeling as if I had been wronged, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it but accept it and move on. I was driven to a large part by a desire to call him on his behavior. I thought he deserved to not be allowed to get away without even a complaint.

And so I did. Surprisingly he picked up. I think I was expecting voicemail, a coward's way out. I think in that moment it was less anger felt towards him, than just disappointment. Maybe some shreds of pity even. I told him that if he disliked me to such an extent, there was no reason for him to agree. I don't remember what his response was, probably a denial, but it took quite a bit of effort to say on my part. I haven't admitted for a long time to myself that perhaps his behavior is just a passive-aggressive means of clarifying his dislike of me. I said that it amazed me how cruel he could be with his apathy, and then got off the phone. I think he may have apologized at some point, but it didn't carry the weight.

It felt like a burden had been lifted from me, my God. As if I'd finally stood up for myself against a guy I had done nothing to deserve this from (I even gave him one of my most favorite books for his birthday last year). We went out, sat on the patio of this restaurant, went and had ice cream by the fountains in Town Center. It was a wonderful night, especially because I felt as if I'd walked away from something that didn't deserve my attention, or my good favor.

I still feel relieved today. But I'm beating myself over it. I know I needed to call him on his behavior, I doubt so many other people have in the recent past, but I don't know what to do with this feeling of being cut off when I feel that maybe he needs help, maybe what he needs is understanding, maybe what he's going through is something I can't fathom. Savior complex, Tricia would say. Maybe. But I know the pain of excercizing demons, especially on your own. I had to, and still probably am, doing it with my mother. I'll probably never be completely okay with that, but at least I'm not as self-destructive as I was before.

I need a sign. Just, some way to know whether my instincts could be so far off. I think I may have already been given it, but maybe I'll know for certain in a few days.