He Won’t
Thursday, February 12th, 2004[March 22, 2004: Ed. note: I have been taking quite a bit of slack for this entry and the one previous. I've never really gone back and explained anything that was happening in real life regarding this minor incident. I actually just used my journal as a place to have (what should have been) a private temper tantrum. It lasted all of about 10 minutes - or however long it took to write this entry, smoke a cigarette, and get over it.
The unfortunate part is that now it's subject to many eyes and many opinions. Most importantly, it's subject to a fading memory (mine) that may look back many years from now and wonder just what the hell I was thinking on Valentine's Day. I haven't reread this entry since I wrote it. I usually don't with my 'temper tantrum' entries. But I figured it would be best to give additional information. So here's the explanation: Stephen and I had been talking about being together forever and getting married pretty intensely just prior to this week. Kristi and I had been giggling about getting engaged on Valentine's Day - pretty typical girlie behavior. When I was poking around at Stephen, though, he said he wasn't going to propose. But that's not how he said it. And for the life of me I can't remember how he said it. Something about not being ready. Whatever it was flew in the face of whatever he'd been saying, and that's what I was upset about. NOT that he wasn't ready to marry me! That what he said was running bizarrely contrary to what he'd just BEEN saying. I was like, huh? One way or the other, please? And I felt like I'd been played for a fool. THAT - that PRIDE thing - was what had me so pissed off. 'How dare he say one thing and mean another,' blah blah blah. Not that he wasn't ready to marry me. ::sigh:: I should have explained this when it was fresher in my mind. In my real life, though, (the other 23.8 hours of the day that I don't write about), everything was settled and fine. I'd no idea it was going to come back and bite me in the ass later. Whatever.]God, do I feel like a fool.
Will he or won’t he? He apparently won’t. Because he’s apparently not ready. Despite all the murmurings to the contrary, he’s not ready. It’s not a matter of the fact that he hasn’t prepared for the momentous occasion, as in he didn’t have time to get a ring or he didn’t ask my dad or whatever. It’s a matter of the fact that he’s not ready. In itself, this is fine. Who am I to argue? I convince people to do things for a living; the last thing I want to do is talking him into being ready. No one needs that kind of pressure. I think the thing that has me so incredibly upset is that every other word, until now, has led me to believe that he was. And now, when it’s really real, he’s not. And, of course, I get to hear about it over the phone. While he’s delivering the monologue (of sorts) I just sat in my chair behind my desk, thinking that I don’t enjoy punches to the stomach, no matter how cushiony the gloves are. By the end of the conversation I just couldn’t breathe. And he wondered what was wrong. I swear, if my life could be more typical, it would be laugh-out-loud funny. As it stands, it’s not very funny at all. Never in a million years will I understand men. Or boys, for that matter. Taking an early nap,michelle