Well, that explains it. She hints tonight that she doesn’t want to live together again. “Maybe we’re just not there yet…” was the phrase. That explains everything, all of the fighting, all of the discomfort, everything. It’s not that “we’re” not there yet. It’s that I’m at “utter couplehood” and she’s at “dating, being in love, being young.”
I continually feel like we’re splitting apart more than I want to. She continually feels put upon and boxed in. It casts into direct light every fight we’ve had since Chicago, the last time we weren’t living together.
It’s not a good sign. I’m not willing to take a step back. I’m not willing to sleep alone three or four nights a week once again or to be told that I can’t come over tonight because she’s busy. I don’t enter into relationships to “have fun.” I’m just not at that stage of life anymore; I can’t do it. I enter relationships because in each case I hope to find a mate. Period.
If we “backed off,” it’d be just as much fighting as we have now, because the situation would be the same: we want different things. Each of us is uncomfortable with the relationship that would make the other one happy. There would be no point.
I don’t know what to tell her or what to do next. I suppose I’ll just ignore it and call less. Because there is nothing else to do. I don’t apologize for what I want and need in my life right now any more than she should apologize for what she wants and needs.
I’ve been here too many times before, it gets boring and tiresome. I don’t know how many more times I can bear to hear from people that I’m a wondeful guy with wonderful skills and a great sense of humor and a sophisticated, subtle mind and maybe if I just wait two or six or ten (or however many a particular woman names) years, so that she can sow her oats a little more, she’d love to (or is even going to count on being able to) come back and be mine forever then…
The thing that they never want to hear (and that always seems to surprise them two or six or whatever years later) is that once they have violated that faith, I don’t want them anymore. That’s the point, the beauty of commitment, and what I must have for myself: someone who is willing to stick to me without having tried the rest.
Because you can’t rely on somone who shops around — even if they come back and declare you the best for a while, sometime, somewhere, someone’s gonna be cooler than you. And if someone won’t commit without knowing that I’m better than the competition, then I’m going to lose them to the competition sooner or later, possibly when I need them most, because usually those times that you’re needy are also the times that you’re the least impressive and the least attractive.
Will anyone ever decide to love me for me, permanently, whatever else may be out there, giving up the chance to know what else is out there? That’s what I’m waiting for, regardless of whether it exists or not.