Saturday, 29 December 2012
Wrong o'clock, the technicalities of waving, and a fairly soiled fan...
Back in the summer, before festive temptations (dis)graced my waistline, I met a fine male creature. JJ was in possession of at least 34562 brain cells, incredibly creative, witty, charming, super silly, and as sarcastic and bizarre as I am, and after our first non-date (we both agreed that adding the 'non' made the whole experience seem much less terrifying), I gleefully galloped around my house like an intoxicated horse/mild lunatic, chuffed that life had presented me with such a beautiful evening. Whilst sitting next to him in his car on the drive home, after hysterically laughing together about the technicalities of waving (seriously, what constitutes as a socially acceptable wave?!), discussing our biggest dreams and fears, and putting the world to rights, I couldn't help but feel like I'd met the guy that I'd always waffled on about wanting to meet. Please do cock your head and smile at the soppiness of it all; my blog rarely presents the opportunity to do so.
Having split with his ex earlier this year after almost seven years together (wowzers trousers, people can barely put up with me for seven days), JJ told me upfront that he wasn't ready for another relationship, and so, as nothing more than two human beings who three-quarters fancied each other, we spent the next few months developing a wonderful chumhood; growing as close as a middle-aged divorcee and her copy of 'Fifty Shades'. He became somebody that I spoke to most days, and I could always count on him for a super interesting conversation, which is important to me, as interesting conversation is definitely one of the integral pleasures of being alive. He never failed to make me smile/chuckle/both with his nerdy enthusiasm for life, his quick wit, and the stories of the funky stuff he'd been making in his shed. I loved spending time with him, and in less than half a year, he'd transformed from a total stranger into somebody that easily made my top ten 'favourite people on this planet' list. Don't look at me like that, you cheeky deviant. I know there's a similar list floating around in your brain somewhere too. (If I'm not on it, you're in trouble.)
JJ referenced a future in which seemed to lay the assumption that we'd end up together, eventually, and my commitment phobia started to diminish. In fact, I found myself getting pretty excited by the idea of us, and when he cracked me up by presenting me with a grubby hot tap as a belated birthday gift, fate was sealed. A fine piece of sciencey folk once told me that we tend to go for people who are similar to ourselves. Jay zeus and fiddesticks; JJ might as well have been me, with a penis, and his amusing display of serious bonkerism only confirmed to me that this guy was something special.
However, in true Kathy B style, things didn't quite go to plan. When the supposedly mutual feelings started to strengthen, JJ told me that when with me, he felt as if he could 'easily be cool' with me being his girlfriend, but reaffirmed that a girlfriend was not something he wanted. The general gist of his explanation was that it was completely wrong-o'clock and that he needed to distance himself from me because he didn't want to fall for me properly; the idea of which, after his previous break up, absolutely terrified him. He told me that I was 'too awesome' to be the girl that he got his head straight with and that he hated the idea of hurting me, which he was convinced he'd do if we started getting more serious. He suggested that we weren't 'meant' to meet until a few years time. But woops, we did meet. And so the whole situation turned from being absolutely cracking to absolutely shize-and-slacking in a speedy turnaround of no more than a few days. Oh life, why do you tease me so?
JJ told me a lot of things, but I'm a firm believer that even if it's all a little tricky, if you care about someone as much as he said he did me, you make it your mission to keep them in your life, even if as nothing more than a distant chum. I quite possibly tried a little too hard trying to keep him in mine, but his efforts have been at the entirely opposite end of the spectrum, (aka non-existant), and so the whole thing culminated in an exchange of fairly heated text messages last weekend. I may have made a peculiar, distressed-walrus type noise whilst reading his last message (clearly he's missing out on some serious sex appeal), and I probably made another whilst sending my fairly aggravated reply. I hate it when things end badly, particularly when things end badly with good people, but truth be told, I doubt we'll be on 'waving technicality' chinwagging terms again any time soon.
I have no doubt in my mind that I've bongoed his banjo as much as he has mine, which, when looking back at how cracking our little chumhood was before the shit hit the fan, is just a massive shame. When the devil did we go from heartily chuckling about thinking caps and leather onesies, to bitching at each other via walrus-noise-inducing text messages?
JJ tried to tell me that there's a difference between being ignored and being hurt, but I can't agree with that at all. When you meet a wonderful man, and you hit it off, and he tells you how awesome you are and how much you make him chuckle, and how he has these feelings for you, it hurts if he then follows suit by eliminating your entire existence from his awareness. I understood that I couldn't be his girlfriend and I completely respected his reasoning for that, but his sudden ease with not having me in his life at all baffles my tiny brain. So yup, whilst it's hardly worthy of a hysterical kitchen floor breakdown, it definitely feels pretty damn crap. It makes me feel a tad glum when I think about what could have been if that exciting, brain-binding, half-bizarre future hadn't have crumbled as quickly as we'd created it.
When you're as insatiably curious as I am, it's pretty hard to move on from situations/people that just don't make much sense, but I shall, because, well, what else can I do? The only conclusion, really, is just to stop thinking about it. And have, perhaps, a consolatory gallop around the house.
My heart's making the transition from my sleeve to my pocket for the forseeable future.
(Or until I find another devilishly handsome, tap-giving man who is as weird as me and appreciates space as much as I do/until Channing Tatum turns up naked on my doorstep, in which case I can assure you I will make no consideration towards my emotional wellbeing prior to ripping my clothes off.)