Pieces

I overthink things.

We all know this. It is easily one of my defining (and I hope, to some, endearing) personality traits.

It is also a fucking curse.

After the night we met, the Hot Guy from Yale (who I will now dub "The Model," because, well, he's a model) sort of dropped off my radar... but not completely. He friended me on Facebook the very night we met (something that DM and I never did in the 2+ months we knew each other), and magically called me (which I missed, resulting in a voicemail) within a few days.

However, when I mentioned I was free for a particular stretch of time in my busy schedule--and subsequently informed him that that was, in fact, a none-too-subtle hint--I heard nothing.

And more nothing.

Then, this morning, I was poking around on the internet before heading off to work and he popped up on Facebook Chat. A paraphrase of his message follows:

I think you should know that I've thought about you every day since we met.

Not like an hour a day.

Maybe cumulatively 75 seconds.

But what I mean to say is that I miss you.

He then proceeded to tell me to call him later and he would take me out this weekend.

I called on my break from work and got his voicemail, leaving him one of my signature rambling messages.

I heard nothing.

When I left work I sent him a text (it was late) to let him know that, should he still desire my company, I am free on Saturday but in rehearsal all day on Sunday.

I've still heard nothing.

It feels like such a fucking tease.

And what really gets me is, that day we met and spent a 2 hour train ride together, he completely called me out on my defenses. I can't say he saw right through them, but he saw that they were there. Now, those defenses have taken a lifetime to build and are absolutely not going to come tumbling down at a moment's notice simply because a charming and attractive man has asked nicely... but I can't say I wasn't affected by his frankness in calling me out in the first place.

But then there's this game of cat-and-mouse that we seem to be playing that I absolutely do not want to play, and which, incidentally, is the reason I have fucking defenses in the first place!

Perhaps it's not a game. Perhaps we're just two busy individuals. But I am not going to go chasing his ass across Manhattan in the hopes that maybe he'll finally, actually, ask me out on a proper date. You may be thinking that, hey, this is the 21st Century, and really, if I want to see him I should just ask him out myself. But this I patently refuse to do, for the simple reason that one of the few requirements on a my fairly short list is that any man I date actually be interested enough in spending time with me that he be willing to make some fucking plans. I have been the pursuer far too often and it generally ends in my being rejected and/or embarrassed, neither of which is an experience that I am anxiously seeking to repeat.

Any man who can't man up and ask me out is clearly not a man I want to be dating in the first place. And no matter how much you try to convince me that you're not every other man I've ever dated, you'll never be the first one to say the things you're saying... and here I am. Still single.

Of course I do realize that the one common factor in my frustrating history is, of course, me...

This evening I was watching the most recent episode of Grey's Anatomy--which, I admit, has been floundering a bit for the past few seasons--when a particular moment hit me square in the chest with how solidly it reflected my own life. Sandra Oh's character, Christina, was talking about a previous relationship in which she had let a man slowly and quietly take away small pieces of her until she was no longer herself; and now, with a new man, now that she was finally herself again, she wanted to be damned sure she never let pieces be taken away from her again.

I had that too. It was a long time ago, and I was young, but the effects have stayed with me for more than 10 years. I let myself be changed and warped from the independent, self-confident young woman that I was into a needy, dependent, self-loathing... nothing. It's taken years and lots of bad decisions, but I feel like I finally have myself back. Perhaps not the same self, but a self that I like, love even, and I am reluctant to let anybody into my life who might try to chip away at the life and the self I've built.

It speaks to my own damaged psyche that I automatically expect every man I meet to want a piece (or more) of me like that first one did... and I'm working on it. But any man who doesn't have the patience, or doesn't see enough in me, to gradually overcome my defenses, isn't a man who should be in my life in the first place.

Which begs the question... how long will it take me to determine if The Model can be trusted... and will he give me an opportunity to find out?