Its safe to say the honeymoon phase of my relationship with The Rocker has ended. Its been almost two weeks since I've seen him. Exactly one week since I've heard his voice. Not one voice mail, and very limited texts.
We aren't fighting. He's just busy. Its the busiest time of the year for him at work. He warned me he wouldn't have much of a life. He warned me that we would see very little of each other. All of which I understood. The part I didn't expect was the complete radio silence.
He's never been much of a texter. A painfully lacking attribute on his part. I am a texting Queen. Every job I've ever held has made it almost impossible for me to speak on the phone so texting has been my main source of communication with those I love for years.
My sister said that she read a survey once that said you could tell a persons age by the way they choose to communicate with you. Long story short, people over 30 traditionally are not texters. They are amongst the dying breed of people who still leave voicemails.
Her findings made me laugh. The Rocker always leaves me voicemails. Come to think of it, every guy that I've ever dated over the age of thirty has done the same.
My last two relationships have been with men in their twenties. Nutty as a Fruitcake was 28. Huge Asshole 25. Both of them texted their brains out. It was the easiest form of communication for us. Nutty would always be working on his music so he couldn't speak to me on the phone. So we would text. Huge Asshole was never much of a talker, in person or on the phone, so texting was how I got to know him. Both of them would talk to me for hours this way. Conversations would last all day. It was the next best thing to being with each other.
These last few months I've dated a few older men. Sinatra was 38. I dated a 41 year old before that. Both of them were phone talkers. They would only text in order to set up an appropriate time to call me. They both would leave voicemails. I can't remember the last time someone I dated in their twenties did that...
But now even the voicemails have stopped. I'm a patient women. Always have been. I put up with a lot from the men in my life. Not because I'm weak or a pushover. We all know that's definitely not the case. I put up with it because I understand people. I understand men. The Rocker is stressed out. He has been working 12-14 hour days. He gets off work. He goes home. Eats some food, does a few chores, showers...and then if it isn't too late might give me a call.
He's not waiting because he thinks I'm unimportant. He waits because he wants to give me his full attention. He waits because like most men, multi tasking is not one of his strong points.
The first week was the hardest. I spoke with him only 3 times. It was awful. I thought he was done with me. He was busy and we were over. I tried my best to stay out of his hair and let him do his thing. But the more I pulled back the less I would hear from him.
I tried not to be irrational about it. I knew it had little to do with me and more to do with his life. He was trying to get through a rough time and even though he felt guilty and sad that he was pushing me to the side, he didn't feel he had a choice. He didn't' have time to entertain me. He didn't have the energy to care for someone else right now.
Ofcourse I'm saying that now, but what I was really thinking that week was, "Does he not want to be with me anymore? Has he lost interest? Maybe he realized that having a girlfriend is too much for him right now and he wants out? My calls must be annoying him. My texts are too much. You know what? Screw this! If he doesn't want me then I'm out. Why am I waiting around? What am I waiting for? It's time to bail..."
Henny stopped me from acting on my normal instincts.
"Look, I know you. Your just like me. It seems easier just to bail and not deal. But he loves you. You just need to be patient. He's worth it." She said to me.
I knew she was right. I had a bad habit of dropping men. The second I get the tiniest feeling that they don't want me anymore, I pull the plug on the relationship. Dimples husband made a comment about it when he first met The Rocker.
"I give it two months before you bore of him," he said to me.
"What do you mean by that," I asked annoyed.
"Actually, I'm surprised you haven't dropped him already," he replies.
I rolled my eyes at him and walked away. But as much as I hate to say it, he was right. Well, partially. It's not that I tire of the men I'm with. They tire of me. Maybe they would have gotten over it. Maybe they were just having a bad week. Maybe like most men they got too comfortable and began to take me for granted. If I just talked to them about it we may have been able to fix the problems we were having. But I wouldn't know because the second they start to leave me on the curb, I kick them to it. I'd rather be the one to end it. I don't want to drag shit out. I'm not into training men. If they can't figure out that I deserve more than I'll do us both the favor of ending the misery.
I finally saw The Rocker after a week and a half. He looked so drained! I pulled him into my bedroom and tossed him down onto the bed so that he could hold me properly.
"So my boss invited us out to some bar tonight," he tells me.
I thought the man had lost his mind. I wasn't going anywhere.
"Honestly," I tell him, " I don't want to be anywhere that will distract me from you."
"Good," he says, holding me tighter. "Where do you want to go eat?"
"I'm good for now," I reply.
The truth was, I was starving but I didn't want to leave my bedroom. I wanted to hold him and smell him and remind myself that he was still mine.
I should have saw the problem right then, but I didn't. I instead spent the evening trying to relieve as much of his stress as possible. I massaged his body until his eyes rolled back into his head and then reminded him of the many pleasures a sex deprived women could show a man...
He walked away spent and happy and we both still felt in love.
"I promise I will try to do better this week with the texting and phone calls and stuff," he says to me.
"It's ok, I have low expectations," I reply.
"Perfect," he says. "Then it will be easy for me to blow them away."
He didn't.
The next week was worse. In his defense, he did text me more. The only problem was, the phone calls stopped as a result.
"I shouldn't be picky," I thought to myself. "He's making an effort. I need to appreciate that."
We made plans to see each other Thursday night. I was on cloud nine! I was ok with only seeing eachother once a week, as long as that once a week happened.
It didn't.
He text me Wednesday saying, "Babes, I hope you're having a good day. Just got asked by the owner to stay late night with him tomorrow. So sorry but this means I'm gonna have to bail on tomorrow nights hangout. I'll call you later. I miss you and this makes me sad."
I was speechless. I knew I should text him back. I should tell him something supportive like, "Its ok, I understand, love you much," or, "That sucks, I'm so sorry. I know you'll be tired tonight so just call me tomorrow."
But all I wanted to say was, "You know what, this isn't really working for me and its obviously not working for you so why don't I do us both a favor and just say out loud whats already painfully obvious. You suck ass annnnd you hate me..."
I decided not to respond.
The Plex dragged me out for the night. It was a Wednesday but we live in Hollywood so there was plenty to do. We decided to head to the Hollywood Forever Cemetery for a Flaming Lips concert.
We made a quick stop at the store and picked up some fried chicken and alcohol. We parked a few blocks away and walked towards the Cemetery. Mr. Boston lagged behind with me and asked me why I looked so down.
"The Rocker canceled on me for tomorrow, " I told him. I then immediately launched into what had been happening the last couple of weeks.
"Well, maybe he is just freaking out a little about your relationship," Mr. Boston says. "Or maybe he didn't realize how busy he would be and realizes he can't handle both. Or maybe he is just shitty at the phone thing, I mean I know I am, and it all seems worse because you aren't seeing eachother? Or maybe..."
"Ok stop," I tell him. "Do you now see what I've been going through? Your mind is racing and its only been 30 seconds. I've been in my own head about all of this for two weeks."
"Wow," he says shaking his head. "I get it. That sucks."
"Honestly, I'm probably blowing this up," I say. "He probably really is busy and sad that he can't see me and just shitty at this whole communication thing. I just wish he would talk to me about all this. Let me weigh in on it. I want to be a part of his life. Not a piece of it. Pieces break off when times get rough. That's not who I want to be to him. I don't want that to happen to me."
"You need a drink," Mr Boston says laughing.
"Yes I do!" I agree. "I'm going to have a drink tonight. Hell, I might even have two!"
"Ahhh man, The Rocker is turning Carrie into a drunk," Mr Boston says, wrapping his arm around me for the rest of the walk to the cemetery.
We catch up to Hippie Chick and Homeless boyfriend just as they reach the front gate. As usual we don't have tickets to the sold out event so we wait for reinforcements to come.
The Street Artist comes rolling up with his new girlfriend, plucked straight from the Twisty Twins. He wanted a girlfriend and she was willing so there they were. New pea's in a pod.
A few minutes later Douchebag pulls up and gives me a quick hug. He and I have built a nice little friendship now. Its funny how things work out. It's been months since he's graced me with his unsolicited double ass pat.
"Ok, I have one plus one for this so Carrie come with me and get stamped," he says to me.
I follow him to the gate and get stamped by the ticket lady. I immediately run back and press my fresh stamp against the hands of Mr Boston and The Street Artist. Hippie Chick then pulls out a black marker and using my hand as a guide, draws the simple stamp design on the rest of our groups hand.
Stamped and ready we all waltz our happy ass's into the cemetery. No questions. No problem.
I love this place! I love cemetery's in general. My friends and family all know that if we are driving and I see one, I'm pulling over. I used to ditch school and spend hours roaming through these places reading tombstones and relaxing on the tranquil benches.
We make our way through the oversized tombstones of old Hollywood stars past to the open grass area where a huge stage has been erected. Off to the left one of the Weeping Willows has been covered with lighted icicles. There are lasers everywhere and people walking around with glow sticks and hats and other raver toys and gadgets. Wait, not people. More friends. We run up and pass out hugs to more of our Hipster group. I see Nails wearing glow in the dark horns and several glow sticks wrapped around his neck. Nice.
As I start to lay out our blanket I get tackled from behind.
"Whats up Bestie!" I hear Glasses yell.
I turn around and embrace him back. We hop around in a circle for a bit until we start to annoy ourselves and then finally settle down to watch the concert.
I'm about two drinks in when I finally feel my anger dissipate. I missed The Rocker. I wasn't mad. I wished he was here with me, but I was happy that he was still with me. He was still my man.
I truly believe that there are only two emotions in this world. All other feelings stem from these two emotions.
The first is Love. The second? You may think its Hate. But its not. It's Fear.
I was upset with The Rocker, not angry. I wasn't upset because I hated him or what he was doing. I was afraid of something.
It didn't take me long to figure out what. I've been saying it over and over again for weeks.
I was afraid that he didn't miss me. I was afraid that he didn't love me anymore. More than that, I was afraid that we were headed for a break up. I was afraid of loosing him. So much so that I almost made the break up happen myself. I was allowing my head to ruin the relationship we did have.
He was busy. He never said he didn't want to be with me. He hasn't said that he is done. He's busy and I need to just chill.
Glasses jumps up and grabs my hand breaking me out of my day dreaming.
"Where are we going?" I ask him.
"Andy Dick is here, we're going to say hi," he says to me.
Glasses and Andy are friends. I've never met him so I allow him to drag me along to the front of the stage.
Andy is there with a small entourage of people. Glasses and Andy embrace and I pull out my camera to snap a few photos of the two of them. Andy decides he wants to take some pictures of his own so he hands me his beer to free up his hands.
Just then an explosion of confetti gets shot from the stage over our heads. We all scream out in excitement and dance around in the multi colored paper rain. That's when it hits me. What the hell is wrong with me? My life is so full and beautiful. Here I was standing in one of my favorite places, listening to awesome music under the moon with about 15 of my nutty and wonderful friends.
I love The Rocker, but he is not all of me. I want him to be a part of my life. An important one. But I need to remember how rich my life is outside of him. My world is silly and fun and completely random. If he did decide to break up with me? I would be ok. It would hurt, but I would be ok. I wasn't alone anymore. I would get through it.
I pull out my phone and begin sending the photos I'd been taking all night to The Rocker. I knew he was at band practice, but I wanted him to be able to see the pics as soon as he was done. I wanted to share my night with him. I wanted him to be able to enjoy what I was experiencing on some level.
I wasn't angry anymore. My mind was clear.
I needed to be patient. I needed to stop the crazy. And more than anything I needed to enjoy my life.
He responds to me once we are finally leaving the concert. The exchange is brief, but I was still happy to hear from him. I'm glad I waited to respond. I'm glad I had time to think.
Whatever is going on with him has very little to do with me. And that makes me sad. I'm not the person he goes too to vent. I'm not the person he turns to for comfort. I don't think it's because I'm lacking something that he needs to trust me. I think he's just putting me and our relationship on a separate pedestal from his life.
He doesn't think of me as the girl that sits at his house watching TV as he finishes his laundry. I'm the girl he wants to treat and impress and take care of.
He doesn't think of me as the girl that sits at his house watching TV as he finishes his laundry. I'm the girl he wants to treat and impress and take care of.
Guess he doesn't realize that I'm not that girl. I crave habit. I crave comfort. I crave normalcy and simplicity. I want to be able to wait for him to get home and rub his back for him until he falls asleep. I want him to call me and feel comfortable bitching his brains out about his day. I want him to be able to lean on me and I want to be able to calm and love and bring peace to him at the end of his crazy day.
I want to be a part of his life. A fixture, not an expendable addition. This is the first obstacle that we have run across and I want to be able to figure this shit out and grow from it...and move on already...
But alas, I can't do any of that until I see him. For now, I'm talking to a wall.
WCC
