Oh. God.

I actually decided to write this post on my 3-hour drive home tonight. By the time I actually got home I had no inspiration left and could not actually care less about this shit.

But I'll still record it. While it's fresh in my mentally-deranged little head.

Let me back up. Remember when I said that I was getting out of a relationship with no "back-up guy"? Well...I slipped a little bit with that. A few days ago an ex-boyfriend, we'll call him J, hinted that I should visit him in a town three hours away. I hesitated because it was a long drive, I barely talk to him anymore, I didn't know his roommate, I was suppose to be embracing this whole "single" thing, blah blah blah, etc.

But of course, in true me-style, I knew I would end up going the second it was suggested. So I drove there yesterday evening to spend a whole three days with him. It took me until the next morning to realize with terrifying accuracy why he was indeed an EX-boyfriend.

It was awful. J spent the entire time avoiding eye-contact and carrying on with his everyday life as if he didn't have a guest. My interpretation and eventual letdown is partly my fault. I guess deep down I expected to be somewhat the center of attention while I was there. I wanted someone to be genuinely excited to see me...and show it. I wanted someone to hit on me and hold me and attend to my emotional needs. I guess in the three years that J and I have been apart I completely forgot that he is not that kind of guy, never has been.

So this is where it gets truely horrifying. I freaked. FREAKED. The next night (tonight technically) I had had enough. I was tired of watching him play with his dog (for hours...seriously), play computer games, make lists, and (ugh) clean his car with a freakish attention to detail. I decided that I was going to go home, yes at 6 o'clock at night I was going to drive the three hours back home after only being there for less than 24 hours. So I talked to J and expressed my concern that we just weren't "connecting" and he claimed that he was having a great time and thought that I was too.

But I had made up my mind and I packed up my things and left, saying goodbye to his weird roommate who looked very judge-face and confused about the whole thing. J was seemingly confused himself but he walked me out and said goodbye and told me to text him when I got safely home.

I made it about 30 minutes away and began to feel better. I began to feel a lot better. So much better that I suddenly decided that I had made a horribly impulsive and premature decision of leaving when I could have just calmed down and enjoyed my time there, even if it was dull and uninspiring. At least it had to be better than driving home on a Friday night to a house of sleeping parents, right? So I turned around and drove the 30 minutes back to J's place again to the even more judge-face and confusion of his roommate and now J himself.

J's attention toward me did not improve and my dread came flooding back, in panicky proportions. I did the unthinkable. After taking my bags back into the house, past the weird roommate and spoiled dog, I had to once again say that I was leaving, grab my things and leave again. AGAIN.

Fuck me. It was awful. And humiliating. But on the way home I did feel better again, which shows that my mood elevation the first time I drove away was due to my actually getting the hell out of there...not some random revelation that I should go back...duh. Big duh.

* Sigh * But the good news is that I didn't actually break the pact that I have with myself. I didn't use J as a boy safety-net. I am still alone, actually more alone now than I was before since J is now not talking to me.

So, did I burn a bridge, or build a new (slightly hesitant) self-reliant one? Right now I'm forced to believe in the latter, for my own sanity and future happiness. For now I'm left to drink my father's microbrews until I can't feel feelings anymore.