Talking about the revolution

Miss I and I shared another pleasant evening.

To be honest, I wasn't so sure that she would be coming, and, to be even more honest, I wasn't so sure that I wanted to see her either. Not that I wanted not to see her, just that I was still digesting our last emails. 

I was tired, feeling somewhat inadequate, lacking of something, and, up to a point I still feel that way.

The last few days weren't my best. I felt sad, and when your iPod randomly feeds you some Daho and then you suddenly feel that it has been written for you and you just want to pull over and cry it out, well, obviously, something is very wrong with you. But, in a way, that particular incident helped me a lot. Because then I realized that something was indeed wrong with me. Not that what I was feeling was wrong: I was true to myself and tried to communicate as openly and frankly as I could. What was wrong was that I was that I was trying to find answers, hoping that they would close the issue. That, magically, understanding would bring me peace. And I was unable to find answers, so no peace for me. So I decided to accept the situation as it is, acknowledge the fact that I was living it, and then try to understand something, maybe not everything, but enough to be able to understand what hit me and how it came. Accepting is easy. Easier than trying to find answers to questions you do not fully understand anyway. And then some kind of understanding began to trickle and slowly diffuse.

Right before our date, I was in the opinion that I maneuvered myself in this relationship on my own. Granted, it takes two to tango, but my expectations, hopes and fears were mine and mine only. Granted, I had done my best at expressing them, but perhaps my best is not enough. And perhaps my best is absolutely not the way to go. And, perhaps, no matter what and how I might say things, the one I have been talking to wasn't willing to hear me. I was at the crossroad between self-doubt and  loosing my bienveillance on the way to betterment. 

Here we are, without awkward moments, chatting about her new job, how things are going, exactly as if nothing happened. Well, we have enough practice I guess ;-)

Then we talked. About what we had written about the days before. She needs to establish an emotional dialogue before opening up, I need to feel a connection, share something before being emotional, that sort of things. Let's be frank, at this point, we both have opened up to a point and formed an emotional bond. If we cannot go on from there now, it is sad but it most probably is that we never will. Why? Well, communication style is a part of it. For my part, expressing my feelings is a long and arduous process where I find myself battling with words I half understand in the hope of conveying something meaningful. I am far much better at this game when I write than when I speak. Well, less abysmal better describes it actually. I thrive in regulated environments, where there is a clear and well known  boundary between who you are and who you should be. And I guess that most if not all of my past relationships followed the same pattern: meet someone, act as we are supposed to, find a mutually agreeable way to go out of context, share, feel. She goes exactly the opposite way. Besides, I have no idea of what she wants and how she wants it. What does she expect me to share when our common experience is restricted? It is truly beyond me. Perhaps are we doomed to stay at the friend level, which isn't a bad proposition but not where I expected to be. 

Anyway, this whole thing is tiring me. There may be an opening, somewhere, but I do not count on finding it on purpose. As I see things now, we will most probably stay friends, and if our relationship evolves it won't be because one of us wanted it, but just because, at some point, I'll say something utterly trivial to me that she has been waiting for. 

Right now, I am still working on what we said, I am tired, sad and neither happy nor unhappy. 

Tired, mostly.