I sobbed and yelled at O over the phone.
He dropped everything and came over with beer, Mozart Kugeln chocolates and Nutella to talk and cheer me up.
I got wasted on the beer, and he helped me up from hugging the toilet and put me to bed.
Yep, I'm somethin' else.
But when you've been walking around with 50000000 lbs. of hurt, it can come out in awkward ways.
Here's the thing: O said he would move in with me, and he has yet to spend a single night here. I have arranged my apartment to suit his tastes, purchased food that he likes to eat, bought an expensive queen sized bed (at his request), and not hung any artwork on the walls because he doesn't want it to look "like an art museum" in here. This does not feel like MY apartment because it was supposed to be OUR apartment. It's been five weeks since I moved in, and everything is and has been ready for him to be here for quite some time.
But despite all my efforts, he continues to see me only on Sunday evenings, with two brief phone calls each week in between, and nothing more. Every day I wake up alone in my big apartment that I have built for two and crawl out of my giant bed wondering why I am still all alone here. And yesterday I cracked. If he isn't going to move in with me, can't I at least hang some paintings on the walls?
God, I love him but CHRIST this is driving me insane. I do my best to be patient, and I think that overall I have done very well. I understand that I have to make certain allowances for his quirks. I generally like his quirks. And we share some quirks in common.
The first time we ever went out to eat together was last month. We've been together for two and a half years! We laughed and pretended to make awkward first-date small talk.
We'll work it out. I've gotta run, so I can't really go into it, but our talk last night was good and we had some laughs. It was him egging me on to "go have one more!" that got me drunk. I think we'll be okay.
Now, I must go drink some fluids. I'm a wee bit dehydrated.