I would like to know how I’m going to make it through the next week.

It’s been a wild twenty-four hours. Mostly, they’ve sucked. Mike admitted last night that he’s “completely freaked out” by us - like we’ve lived a “35 year relationship in 2 months.” It’s cold comfort to finally hear the truth when you’ve been slowly agonizing over why he just doesn’t want to see you for a week at a time.

He loves me, but…   I hate that. It’s like, for me, you either do or you don’t. Where does this “in between” come from?

Today, Mike and Thomas and Justin and I went to my parents’ house to celebrate my dad’s birthday. Talk about a joke. My sister jokingly asked “when’s the wedding?” and I nearly collapsed. Never, I wanted to say. I’m on the verge of being dumped in favor of a risk-less life.

Is that the case with every single guy in his 30’s? If you hit that age and are still or again single, then you’re just too fucked up to bother with? Is that why the 24-year-olds intrigue me much more than the 30-somethings?

In Mike’s brain, all of my failings and foibles are coming to the surface. At once. I think those doubts are pounding him into the ground. And I can’t argue with them. They just are. So… what?

So, I give him space. I fucking hate that more than anything in the world. So I’m giving him a week of space. I don’t get played anymore, and keeping me hanging around waiting on nothing is playing me. But, for a week, I won’t call him, e-mail him, or IM him. At all. My thought is that he’ll either get used to being without me, or miss me and call. Either way, it’s much more definitive than all this “I don’t know” bullshit I’ve been getting lately.

And this Valentine’s Day - my first one to share with someone I’ve loved in more years then I care to think of - I’m taking myself to the Art Museum. There’s peace there.

Wanting to slay monsters I didn’t even create (this time),

michelle