Don't say you love me

I don't need you to tell me that I'm courageous and beautiful and strong.

I already know.

The trouble was that you didn't want me whole.  You said you loved me, but you only wanted the parts that fit.  You wanted someone to talk to, someone to listen, someone to meet the needs your other relationship didn't.

I told you from the beginning that I was tearing out a part of myself for the sake of this feeling, that I wouldn't be able to sustain it forever.  You said you could not change.  You didn't know how.

I did what you couldn't.

Last week I told you I was falling apart.  I couldn't do it anymore.  You asked me what I wanted, you offered to compromise for the first time.  So I told you.  Now you were torn.  You needed time to think.

This week I asked you, what is on your mind?  You stalled.  You offered ifs and whens and years-from-nows.  I asked again.  You can't make that sacrifice for me.  You offered ... a time limit.  Another kind of limited, not-real relationship.

I could have what I needed from you, for two months.  Maybe more.  No.

Now, later, after I've had some time, that is tempting.

But that would still be a suppression of my self.

I ended it.  But I let you see how that hurt me.  You wanted to stay in my life, as a friend, as something.  You told me I was wonderful.

I don't need to hear that from you.  I can do what you can't.  I make sacrifices and I give my whole heart when I love someone.

You can't make sacrifices.  You never wanted a whole heart.  You don't know what that kind of love is.  You can say it.  But it's just another expression of affection.  You might as well be saying "I think you're lovely and want to spend time with you".  There is more to love.

One day, I might find that.  It won't be with you.

Between Night and Day

We met years ago when he looked after me for a few days as I recovered from a heat stroke at a Summer event.  We bonded and went to a Celtic music concert.  Later, we kept in touch and spent time together at the next year's Summer event.  That Fall, when I was having suicidal thoughts, he was the one I reached out to, who talked me through some of it.  This past Summer, at the same event, we fell in love.  We spent as many evenings as possible walking through the forest and the tent city just to get some time to talk alone.  We went to the same concert we'd been two the past two years.  We said "see you soon" instead of "goodbye".

I live in Boston with my cat and my roommates.  He lives in St. Louis with his other girlfriend.  I made the decision to give this a shot.  Knowing the distance, knowing that I was putting my own needs as a monoamouros person on hold for the sake of exploring something I haven't felt this strongly in a long time.  I had decided before we started dating that I would never ask him to change.  I told him from the beginning that I didn't know how long I could stand to put my values, preferences, needs aside.  He said that he loved me, and hoped it would work out.  He said that he's flattered that I would be happy with just him, but that he doesn't even know how to not be poly.  It was a given that if he'd asked me to be poly for him, I would have washed my hands of the whole thing.  Somehow, I came to him instead, and chose to compromise myself.
We text frequently and send emails.  Phone calls are weekly at best.  When I ask him what he wants out of our relationship, he can't answer me.  He barely knows what he wants for his own future.  He is working on moving to Connecticut (separating from his other girlfriend for a few months, until she moves as well), but the moving day was postponed due to work - he must stay in St. Louis until at least the 24th of October.  He'd been planning for the 15th.

Maybe it doesn't seem like much time, but 1,192 miles makes every day a little longer.

When I returned home from the Summer event, I had decided to continue my single and dating lifestyle.  I was not happy about it.  But it seemed unfair to myself to be exclusive to him if he could not do so for me.  There were a few of the usual failed dates and sweet men who wanted more than the friendship I could give them.

Then I was nearly dropped during a lift-dip at blues.  My dance partner suggested we practice the move and I agreed.  We met the next evening at my apartment, and the same day every week after that to practice dance moves, talk about philosophy, and watch YouTube videos.

Much like this, except where we may have whacked some other dancers.
Fixed it in practice.

One of these dance nights, I was upset over a drawn-out argument with my boyfriend, and my dance partner brought dinner with him.  I told him everything over dinner.  He commiserated, and said that he was disappointed; he was planning to ask me for a date that night.
We practiced our dance steps after dinner and I walked him down to let him out of the garage with his bicycle.  He paused and hugged me, and asked me out anyway.  I asked him if he was sure.  He was also monoamorous, and Roman Catholic to my practicing Pagan.  He was sure.  We went on our first date that Friday.  The next day I dropped everything and asked him to come out hiking with me.  We spent the whole afternoon walking and getting lost in the autumn woods.

Dogtown in Gloucester, MA

That was two weeks ago.  I've been seeing my dance partner steadily since then.  He says that he loves me, but doesn't want to call it a relationship because of the other man in St. Louis.  He talks about what he wants for his future; either to be a writer and die at thirty-five of excessive art, or to have seven children he can raise Catholic.

I'm musical, but not that musical.

I don't think he realizes how terrifying that second scenario sounds in a week-old relationship.
To a Pagan Feminist, with dreams of her own career, her own business, her own creations,  it is a grab-the-cat-and-run-for-the-hills signal.

Before we started seeing each other romantically, he seemed fine with my religion.  He has shared that the idea of witchcraft makes him nervous; but he is very respectful of me.  Lately, such as when he talks about his life, his religion, his future, I get the feeling he doesn't see my religion as a real thing.  But it's only been a week, and I haven't had the chance to address it with him specifically.

There's that darn "expectation vs. reality" again...

I've always had my own plans.  I don't know if I'll ever find a real partner for life and love.  What I want is to pursue my own goals, develop a steady enough income and lifestyle that I can adopt an older child, and perhaps go through one or two pregnancies at most, if I do find that partner.  The adoption I will go through with, whether I become a single parent or not.  It's been something I have wanted to do for my whole life.

I do not want a partner who tells me that I am enough for him, yet pursues other women for love and sex.

I do not want to be a stay-at-home mom worn out by too many pregnancies, whose children are raised with rigid religious ideas.

One seems to want too much of me.  The other does not want enough of me.

These issues may clear up with more communication.  But I can't shake the feeling that staying with either of them would be untrue to myself.  I am more unhappy with two men than I ever was single.  I think it is better to feel lonely for being alone rather than to feel lonely because those you love cannot love all of you.

Positively Wrecked

Things with my mother are officially back to normal.

I know, because even though I'm a nervous wreck and stressed to the point of passing out about my MTEL on Friday, I was able to call mom.  We both said sorry and talked about our problems.  I sympathized with her recent illness and issues with her new doctor.  She listened and gave me good advice about my myriad woes - Some to do with finances, a lot to do with the MTEL, and more to do with the ridiculous social situations stressing me out and distracting me from studying.

So, I'm a total train wreck.  I'm sitting here, crying at my keyboard, in my pajamas.  Worried because in less than two days, I have to pass an English MTEL with nothing but a Theater degree, a personal driving interest in language and literature, and whatever flashcards I can come up with.  I am not prepared.  Over the last few weeks, I've managed to get into enough personal drama to make it impossible to concentrate on studying until these last few days.

On the other hand, I shouldn't worry.  I've never in my life had an issue with standardized tests.  I've never scored less than 80% equivalent on a bad day for any state-run standardized test.  English has always been my best and favorite subject. Theoretically, there is not a large chance of failure.

But I have a lot riding on this.  Something like the rest of my life and career of choice.
The MTEL costs one hundred and fifty dollars each time you take it, I have to pass the English MTEL to get accepted into grad school, and I have to take the standard Literacy & Communication MTEL as well.  I'm honestly not sure what I would do in the case of failure.  "Try, try again" is a lot easier said than done when the first try already puts you three hundred dollars in the hole on unemployment.

But I never really let much stop me before.  I really shouldn't start now.  So I'm going to finish my tea and take a shower.

Then I'm going to make some damn flash cards.

I'm a bad depressive citizen

A post by my favorite blogger:

http://www.theferrett.com/ferrettworks/2014/03/how-to-be-a-good-depressive-citizen/

Yeah. I'm depressed and my supposed emotional support network of friends and family has basically shut down. So I'm a bad depressive. I write about family issues on this blog because I feel I don't have any other outlet. Some of the communication breakdown was my fault.  I didn't want to call people I haven't seen in a long time only to dump my issues on them.

Some people have been great about this.  There are people on facebook that really helped me get back some perspective and talk things out with my mother.  The vast majority of comments have been positive and supportive.

With a few exceptions.

One supposed friend told me I was a horrible person to say anything in public about my mother.
Another friend decided that it was hurtful to her that I didn't want to personally dump all of my issues on her specifically, even though we talk less than a few times a year.

Fine. Maybe I've fucked up my life even further by taking the only avenue I felt was open to me. Maybe I've found out more about who my friends are.

There are some people I owe phone calls to.

Follow up on Family

I exchanged some emails with my mom about the racism argument from last week.  I'd been considering posting them here, but I feel like that would be a breach of her privacy.

Basically, I sent her an email explaining why I said what I did, and why her arguments shocked me.  She's replied that she and my stepfather see my point and apologized.

But then I had to raise the issue on what she said about me, personally.  Her response was to take a day to think about it, and then reply that she didn't know what she meant by it at the time.  But that she would never intentionally hurt me and doesn't think badly of me.

So I guess it works out.

Except that I still feel betrayed, and there's guilt mixed in there too.  Because I feel that she might think I don't have a right to feel this way at this point, after she's apologized, or might hold it against me.  Maybe she doesn't.  Maybe she wouldn't.  But after last week, I can't just blindly trust in her anymore.

Part of the issue is that at the end of the argument, she treated me like a child.  Telling me that if I didn't want dinner, I could wait in the car.  We were ten minutes from my house.  My mom and I tried to talk about this on the phone last night, and she seemed angry.  As if she couldn't understand how I would leave in that situation when she was being nice enough to give me a ride home from central MA in the first place.

But I'd asked her to take me straight home after the argument.  She could have stopped for dinner after dropping me off - only ten minutes away.  But she'd rather I wait in the car like a stubborn child or a dog while they had dinner, because I'd disagreed with her.

That's humiliating.  And she doesn't understand why I don't find it acceptable.  Yes, it was very kind of her to drive me home.  But that doesn't mean I become less of a human or less of an adult.

Now it's on me to decide what happens to our relationship.  How I want this to go.  Mom doesn't want anything to change.  She got upset when I said that this might have changed our relationship - How?

I don't know.

Family and Racism

We were in the car, a few miles down the road from Friendly's, about to stop for dinner on the way to dropping me at home.  My stepfather in back as a courtesy to my motion sickness, my mom driving, and me in the passenger seat. It was the start of rush hour and we narrowly avoided a collision with two other vehicles.  My mother and I exclaimed on the terrible driving and relief of safety when I heard from the back seat: "Other diver must have been a niggro".
"Really?" Me, shocked.
"What do you mean?"
"Did... did you really just say that?  That was really racist."
"Negro isn't racist, they say it."
"I don't care if they say it.  It's still racist.  And what do you mean they?  As far as I've seen, most black people don't like that word."
"Well are you sure they're black?  Are they African American?" asked my mom.
"What does that even matter?"

I couldn't believe I was having this conversation with my parents of all people. It didn't end there, and it did get uglier.  Eventually it was my mom that decided to make it into a personal attack.
"Are you ever wrong?  And do you admit it when you are?"
It was the way she said it.  As if I was purposefully instigating a fight so I could arrogantly assert my "rightness" - instead of trying to speak up to my parents on something that makes me incredibly uncomfortable.

Somewhere in there, my stepfather apologized and asked us to stop arguing.  I said thank you, but I'm trying to discuss this with my mom.  She tried to turn it into me being ungrateful for her care, and I realized that she really must think I'm that stuck up to be able to say things that way.  I wondered how long she'd thought that, and I asked her to just take me home.  She said they were going to dinner, and I could either come in or wait.
I didn't say anything.  What could I say that wouldn't make it worse?
When she parked the car, I got out and walked out of the parking lot and to the plaza across the street, and started calling friends to find a ride home.

I've always been really close with my mom.  She's always had very liberal and democratic views.  Hell, that's how I ended up the way I am.  She's only been with my stepdad for about six years, and he's always been republican and a little off-color.  But it wasn't until the both of them started trying to justify using the word "negro" that I realized that they just refused to listen that times might have changed since back in the day.  I honestly don't know how to deal with this, especially since my mom seems to have been holding me in veiled contempt for who-knows-how-long.

A friend tells me that benign or ignorance based racism  is a problem with baby boomers.  I just have a problem of my own.  Is there a way for my relationship with my mother to be repaired?  Or will it just devolve to nominal communication and uncomfortable holidays?

Goodbye, Baklava

I know we never met frequently, Baklava, but I cherished our moments.  I will miss you.

I'm hypoglycemic.  Over the last year, it's come to the point where I can't eat more than a quarter portion of an average piece of cake without feeling very nauseous.  I gave away my Christmas candy and I don't even put sugar in tea anymore.  For the most part, I don't mind.  I've never been very big on sweet foods, they were always a sometimes treat.

What I hadn't considered was baklava.  It's already in small pieces.  It has nuts in it.  It should be ok to have just a tiny bit.  Baklava has always been one of my favorites for occasions.

Alas.

I've been very ill lately and my roommate kindly brought home a piece of baklava for when I feel better. Today, I'm feeling much better and thought I'd have a little bit of it.  One. Single. Bite. And I'm nauseous.  I put the rest of the pastry carefully back into it's little box.

I would still rather give up sweets entirely rather than take insulin injections.

Goodbye, baklava.  I will remember you fondly.

Miss Communication

This is the 2-3am angry post.

I'd like to know what is so hard about communicating.  Please, do tell.

See, I seem to have this problem.  I speak my mind and tell people when I want or need something.  When I invite an acquaintance out, I say " I would like to take you to this place at this time on such and such day".

Yet, I never seem to have the same language used with me.  A man approaches me to ask for a date.  He asks where I would like to go, and makes absolutely no mention of date or time.  I have to think up some place that he might like.  Then go through and suggest days that might work.  Just who is doing the asking?

I'm tired of this.  Every time I think someone is asking me on a date, I end up doing all the work.  Do your part.  You want to spend time with me, spend ten seconds coming up with an idea about it.  You're laziness ensures that I will not be spending time on you.

Addendum - I have been informed that what I am describing is "confidence".  My reply was that, from anecdotal experience, there are no confident men.  There are inept men and there are creepers on the train who *really* want to get you a coffee.

Non Sequitur

About two months ago I was very ill and sitting at home in my dogs-toasting-marshmallows flannel pj's and reading articles/watching youtube as a break from all of the naps.  As I sat there, feeling a bit blobbish wrapped in a blanket, and sipping tea for my sinus infection, I came across the "Blurred Lines" video and controversy.  As I watched the video, an inescapable descriptor for the women in the video dawned on me.

"Sex Kitten".

I thought for a minute about all the connotations of this as the artist sang and the women bounced.  I looked down at my dogs-toasting-marshmallows flannel pajamas,

"Fuck that.  I am NOT a sex kitten,"  Said I to my computer. "I am a SEX LION".
I sneezecoughed into a tissue.
"HEAR ME ROAR".

Return of the Blog Part I

I've been out of touch for a few months.  Not just with this blog, but life in general.  I have a habit of isolating myself when things get to be too much.  It might be bad if I were just hiding under a rock.  Mostly I use it to slow things down.  I cut myself off from a lot of good stressors so that I have enough energy to separate and deal with the bad ones.  After that, I have some decompression time.  I'll have itemized ad dealt with most of the big things, and just need time to find focus again.  But the latest cycle is over and last week I finally started reaching out again.

You'll have noticed the "Part I"  in the title.  I though that since this is a blog about life and such, I'd separate some items out and explain them to you you a bit.

Part I - Love and Relationships
Part II - Health and Family
Part III - Career
Part IV - Goals and Career
Part V - A new Year

Once I've written the others, I'll try to remember to add links to the above.

Love and Relationships:

I broke up with Hunter almost two weeks ago.  At seven months, he was my second longest relationship.
After all the fighting we've done over the last few months, we managed to end things amicably.  I think we were both tired.  I baked vegan brownies to bribe him to stay my friend.  So far, that seems to be going ok.

My big problem was that it got to be exhausting to spend time with him.  Every time I'd talk to him, it was such an emotional toll, I'd lose the rest of the days productivity.  It would probably not have been that bad if I had a job to provide more structure to the rest of my life.  But I don't, so I work with what I've got.  In any case, I need to not feel like I'm the only one making effort for a relationship, and that was what things got down to.

I made a lot of exceptions in my priorities for Hunter.  Right from the beginning.  Things like time with my friends, or how long to wait to get physical, keeping it as an equal  partnership, and setting boundaries.  These are my rules and I set them for a reason.
The lesson I learned is that no matter how attractive someone is, or how much I love them or want things to work out - if I keep breaking my own rules, I won't be happy.

This relationship did give me more opportunity to explore than any previous relationship, and for that, I'm happy.  I don't think I'm going to keep up with most of that, but it is nice to feel like there are more options.

The other issue is that this is the first time I've had a relationship that could effect something else.  I volunteer with him for theater tech with a small company.  He's the tech director and I've been sort of main on lights.  But while we're still friends, it looks like that could continue to work out.  I'd really like it to.

Now I'm taking some time to reconnect with all of the friendships that I allowed to slip with the relationship drama.

Channeling a fictional english housewife

I've been reading Agatha Christies' "The Postern of Fate" recently, and feeling very domestic.  So after a half hour ride on my bicycle, I began to make shepherds's pie.  I'd been meaning to make the dish in any case, the book just adds a certain flavor to my actions.  (As a side note, my boyfriend and I did talk about my last blog entry - Things are picking back up, and he's still the love of my life.  So the following recipe does take his corn and dairy allergies into account).

First I chopped an onion and began to caramelize it in the largest frying pan with some olive oil.  Next, I peeled and smashed a whole head of garlic.  Not a bad way to practice my palm-heel.  Into the pan went the smashed garlic with a touch of sesame oil.  I pulled my carton of mushrooms from the fridge and minced half of them and added them to the pan as well.  Then I mushed around my ground beef and added it to the pan, allowing it to just brown and start producing juices.  I poured the juices from the meat, garlic, and onion into an adjacent pan and spread the meat as the first layer in a baking pan.  Then the extra into a bread pan. Bonus pie.

At this time I recalled that the last three bottles of the stout I'd made with my best friend last Winter were still in my basement.  I retrieved them and placed two in the fridge, pouring most of the third into the pot with the drippings.  The remainder filled half a pint glass for me.  I decided that the other two bottles should go perfectly with dinner.
To the nascent gravy I added sherry vinegar, thyme, cayenne, bay leaves, garlic powder, onion salt, crumbled sage I've been drying in the pantry, more thyme, sea salt, a splash of cider vinegar, and a few handfuls of flour over the course of the next hour as it simmered.

For the second layer I chopped up carrots, celery, broccoli, the remaining mushrooms, and set aside my bag of fresh english peas.  (Everything is english today.  I even had earl grey for afternoon tea).  I steamed the chopped vegetables until they were just barely cooked and then spread them in the pans atop the meat.  The peas I poured over to fill in any gaps.

It was around this point where Tommy Beresford asked in my head "Well, what's for pudding?"  Ah.  I thought to myself.  Quite right, fictional englishman.  If I'm going to the trouble of making a nice dinner with a matched beer, I had better well make dessert.  I brought some pie crust and two packages of berries (cherry, raspberry and blackberry in the first, strawberry in the second) and left them out to defrost in the pantry.

Then I chopped and steamed most of a bag of russet potatoes, leaving the skins on for smashed potato topping.  They took quite a while to cook through, so I cleaned the kitchen from Phase 1.  When the potatoes were finally soft enough, I dumped them into the large pot and mashed them  - manually, with a masher and a wooden spoon - together with half a log of honeyed goat cheese and a touch of coconut milk.  Then I spread the  goat enhanced smashed potatoes on top of the two nearly full baking dishes and popped them in the oven for twenty minutes at 350 degrees.  Then I turned them around and baked them another ten minutes.

When I pulled them out the second time, I set them on the counter to cool.  I'll pop them back in for another ten-ish minutes just before dinner at seven.  Now for dessert pie.  My frozen berry packages were not quite defrosted, so I put them in the sink with room temperature water while I chopped about a half dozen small plums.  After greasing the pan with canola oil, I rolled out the bottom crust and laid down the layer of strawberries.  Then the mixed berries, then my plum slices.  And the top crust.  You get it.  I made a pie the lazy way.  But I forked the damn edges, put the little slits in the top, and it'll be damn delicious, so shut it.  I don't have to bother with making my own crust.  (...That comment was to Albert, the english butler in my head, giving my modern cookery of frozen pie crust disparaging looks.  If you're not Albert, please disregard.  If you are... Well.  Damn.  Sorry fictional-character-come-to-life, but it's either you stop existing or I go to the mental ward.  I trust you'll do the right thing).

Now the berry plum pie is cooking, and my dinner guests arrive at 7pm.  And I still haven't cleaned up the laundry.  I think I'll end my stint as an english housewife before then.

Geek Girl Problems

Do you ever have the problem where you bring your boyfriend to an event, and everyone there assumes that you are there as his guest, instead of the reverse?  That happened to me today.

To catch you up, my boyfriend dropped out of the Society for Creative Anachronism in 2008.  We got together around June and I've been persuading him to come back.  I've only been involved in the SCA for a couple of years, but I've managed to do some neat things.  However, I'm not very well known in my own region.  My boyfriend however, before he quit, had been fencing in the society for twenty years and had developed a reputation.

Kinda like dating this guy.

To start off, it's been a very rough week, relationship-wise.  I knew going in that he had communication issues.  What I didn't know was the scope of the problems that could create.

Fast forward to todays' event.  This was our first time attending an event together as a couple, and his first in five years.  Before we even reached the gate, he spotted a posse of his old fencing friends, none of whom he's contacted since quitting.  He decided to approach them first.  They spotted us and and converged on my boyfriend before we even reach the awning.  He immediately dropped my hand and started catching up.  A couple of people are awkwardly left out in the initial rush and end up beside me.  Feeling oddly stranded, I introduced myself to the people whose body language told me they had zero interest in who I am, except as relating to my boyfriend.  I can't blame them - that's how everyone reacts when meeting new people attached to an old friend.  He told me later, in the car, that he had just panicked at seeing so many old friends converge on him at once.
What bothered me was that my boyfriend, by separating as soon as they approached, sent very clear messages that we are less than attached.

Sorry babe - you're cramping my style.

Eventually, we approached Troll and I paid for him to get in, since he'd forgotten to get cash.  He was then immediately swept off by another unknown woman with a short cryptic explanation of "Apparently she needs to show me something, I'll be right back".

I spoke with a friend from my theater troupe for a bit  by the gate and ran into my boyfriend in the hall a few minutes later.  He said the woman was showing him where the dayboard was, so he could get some water or caffeine (dayboard being event food).  At this point, we ran into another woman who, when I introduced myself just said "Oh, you're the one who came in with Boyfriend" - with the inflection implying that's why I was at the event or in the society.  I replied that I'd been in the SCA for awhile, and that I had been working on X, Y, and Z.  Her reply was "Oh, I just meant that was how I remember you.  Now you have another characteristic" pointing to my apprentice belt.  Great.

We both ended up having a good time at the event.  Mostly by virtue of splitting up, he to the fencing list, and I to the throwing range.  But in the car ride home, he kept giving me these worried looks.  I felt tired, and a little irritated, but it was hard to put my finger on why.  But I think I have it.  He kisses me as we part, on the lips, on the forehead.  But there's something missing.  I don't feel that he wanted to spend time with me at this event at all.  And when we were together there, I was treated as an accessory.  So I didn't want to spend time with him, either.  What marked it was how conscientious some of my male friends at the event were in contrast to my absentminded and absent boyfriend.  They'd greet me courteously and come sit just to talk to me, and he could barely give me the time.  Near the end, I asked him to watch me throw axes as I'd just learned today. He forgot or didn't listen, and left for the fencing list again.

That last throw had a bit of extra oomph.

He wasn't fencing today, just catching up.  I really enjoy fencing, and was looking forward to trying the SCA style.  I wanted to start fencing with him.  But if all of the other fencers treat me as some kind of self mobilizing baggage attached to my boyfriend, I cannot start.  I'm honestly not sure what I can do to be more assertive of my personality without coming off as a so-called bitch. This isn't to say everyone reacted this way. Just enough.

But I won't tolerate being treated as arm candy.

"Arm Candy" started as a joke.  I'm seventeen years younger than my boyfriend, and at twenty six, I still get carded.  So it's easy to understand how our relationship could be misinterpreted at first glance.  We've joked about it between the two of us.  But I didn't think I'd have to worry about that in the SCA.  It's full of creative people who have serious hobbies.  I never have this kind of issue when I'm on my own, making my way.  And yet, when I appear with someone, I'm immediately dismissed as lesser.

Fuck.  That.  Shit.

I've developed a sudden affinity for axes.  And throwing things.
These shall be my method of rebellion.
Woe unto the shortsighted.

His relative inattention didn't help either.  I may be making mountains out of molehills, but I don't think he flirted with me once today.  There were kisses.  There was some hand-holding.  But there was nothing behind it.  Not once did I see a flirty gleam in his eye.  Not once did he seem excited to see me, or to be there with me.  And whenever I saw him, I felt my own enthusiasm for the event drain out of me.  I tried to suggest joint time at the different activities, and it worked for a little while.  But one or the other of us just seemed to keep getting bored.  And any time he looked at me, he just seemed unhappy.

Part of me wants to find a way to assert myself as a human being with separate talents while broadcasting that we're happily "taken".

The rest of me wonders what the hell happened to the fun and the fire, and what can be done to light it again.

You can fix anything with a bit of solder, right guys?