The Friend Boy Chronicles: Waiting in Vain

If I were the main character in a Shakespeare tragedy, my neurotic impatience would be my undoing.  In this tragi-comedy we call life, impatience has nearly killed me already and I’ve barely reached the second act.   For example, last week I made reservations for dinner with 8 friends, all of whom arrived late to the restaurant.  The most egregious stragglers arrived TWO AND A HALF HOURS LATE, to which I bitterly responded, “What time does your clock have?”  Meanwhile, since I’d been nursing a drink at the bar and obsessively checking my phone for updates, I was likely a crotchety companion during our meal.  (My apologies to the new folks I met at dinner:  I’m usually much more pleasant and less apt to turn into “Irate Black Girl” with the restaurant staff.  And my apologies to the hostess who very nearly got all manner of neck-moving and eye-rolling, as might have been presented in my best delivery of “Irate Black Girl Wants a Table”.)   Anyone would be pressed if they’d planned an event, gotten confirmation, and waited alone for guests that might never come.  But impatience governs many aspects of my life, including my stupid job search and, of course, my non-relationship with Friend Boy.

In person we definitely have chemistry and mutual flirting, which bodes well.  We get on nicely for a while, then no communication.  Against my better judgment and critical self-talk, I somehow end up contacting him every other day.  Sometimes I get a response, sometimes I get radio silence.  If he actually calls me, I suggest an activity and I get a list of prior commitments for the week. What the hell is with the inconsistency, Friend Boy?  Sadly, I already know the deal:  Friend Boy does not like me, at least not as more than a friend and smart chick off which to bounce business ideas.  I mentally replay snippets from He’s Just Not That Into You to remind myself that, indeed, he’s just not that into me.  My rational mind knows that this is okay, that in spite of disappointment there will come a time when I meet a man who wants to be with me as much as I want to be with him.  I tell myself that yes, Friend Boy is a great guy as far as I know, but I’m a great girl and I should remain undaunted in the face of another romantic failure.  Then there’s that other part of my mind, the part where Impatience lives, that doesn’t trust my own assessment of anything and needs to hear “go away you pathetic loser, it’s just not gonna happen” before I retreat.  Niggling Impatience resides next door to Self-Doubt and Self-Sabotage, twin bastards that have ruined many a romantic entanglement.  Right now they’re setting out tea and scones for Anxiety.  I thought that heifer moved out of town, but here she is sipping Earl Grey, talkin’ ’bout “maybe”:  maybe Friend Boy doesn’t realize you like him; maybe he’s taking a break from dating; maybe you shouldn’t blog about every damn thing so people don’t think you’re unstable.  Maybe Anxiety should shut her pie-hole!  You should know that Anxiety’s voice is a cross between Fantasia, Michel’le, and Suzanne Sugarbaker.  Talk about annoying.

On the days when Anxiety visits, Impatience wreaks havoc on all of my relationships.  I become passive-aggressive, cranky and snarky – not the funny kind of snark, but the kind that sounds really angry.  I push people the wrong way and give Self-Sabotage free reign to do what he will.  In the current situation, my emotions personified lead me to make back-handed comments to Friend Boy like “you’ll be rid of me soon enough,” and hope that he’ll say something like, “but I don’t want to be rid of you.”  Cue sappy music, soft-focus lighting, and lingering glances followed by a tentative, yet passionate, kiss.  Ha!  Only in Nora Roberts romance novels does the sarcastic, headstrong heroine ever get the guy, and the guy usually does all the pursuing.  Which maybe means that I should stop listening to warring factions inside my head and go with what I know.  For the moment, I know that I don’t like myself as crabby, pushy or anything other than straightforward.  So I’m going to cool my heels, start acting like “normal” people, and sit patiently as relationships do what they will.

If I ever see Friend Boy again, perhaps I’ll point out my ridiculousness in the interest of honesty and all that junk.  Or maybe I’ll just blog about it.