Crossroads

Scene: Just had a powwow with the boss, wherein the VERY FUTURE OF THIS FIRM is in my completely apathetic hands. Am feeling guilty for responding to the headhunters, particularly since my firm indulged my weird out over the past year, but also empowered because I am the firm's chief rainmaker.

Receptionist: Writer Guy on Line 1.

Me: You know, too le tired. Send him to voice mail.

Receptionist: He actually asked me if you were in the office or on the phone and I said you were and you weren't.

Me: Bothersome. I could be out of my physical office. Tell him I am not responding and I am not at my desk.

Receptionist: I don't get you, but okay.

Writer Guy and I had, what I have to believe was, an argument last night. For a writer, he tends to eschew text based communication and likes to hash it out on the phone. The following is a close approximation:

Writer Guy: So happy hour tomorrow?

Me: Hard to commit to that, as I am equal parts hero and villain in my office. I have to do face time right now more than I like and, also, I take casual Fridays quite literally. I might be in yoga pants.

Writer Guy: (audibly annoyed): So you've begged off of dates with me for horizontal stripes and now yoga pants? You are more work than I thought.

Me: (awkward silence) I have never canceled a date on account of apparel. Just declined an invitation. Big difference. Plus, do you want to have drinks with a chick in yoga pants, albeit yoga pants that really showcase your ass?

Writer Guy: Yes, please.

Me: You know, this will sound lame, but what I want is to go home, walk my dog, clean up, catch up on my DVR and just be quiet.

Writer Guy: (awkward pause) Let me ask you something, K. If you had asked me to do something and I gave that exact same answer, how would you react? Wouldn't you think that the object of your affections didn't share the same sense of urgency?

Me: Urgency? Where's the fire?

Writer Guy: Yeah. Kind of my point. I don't think you realize how many smoke signals you are sending. Flip this whole thing around, where you met some guy you were really interested in and he kept making excuses about not wanting to see you and preferring to spend the night alone. What would you make of that?

Me: Goddamn, it is like I am [not] dating myself. No, you are absolutely right and I am a complete asshole. Which is why I keep telling myself that I wish I would have met you in 2008. I know you can't get this, but I hate the idea of not being at my A-game when we start a relationship. I am still trying to sort through a divorce, which you have been through, and I know I will fuck this up if I pursue it when I feel and act so irrationally.

Writer Guy: Okay K? Here is what I think you want. Ball is in your court. No more invites, no more calls, nothing. Just call me if you want to get together and we'll go from there.

Me: No one likes ultimatums, but you've earned this one. I am an all or nothing kind of gal. I don't like dating and I hate this limbo. I'm standing on the edge of the pool, deciding whether to dive in, and you are understandably frustrated. I adore you and owe you this -- am nowhere near ready to jump all the way in. I have officially become the female I cannot stand. That is my cross to bear. But I also hate the (admittedly romantic) idea that if you and I did work out, I acted like a throwaway character on Sex And The City.

Writer Guy: Do you know what bothers me most? I hate the idea of losing you, but you seem resigned to that if I cannot meet your timetable.

Me: If I were your best friend, I would say the exact same thing. This chick is a head case and run the fuck away. You have great nights, followed by stupid withdrawals, and you owe it to yourself to be with someone stable.

Writer Guy: Uh....so....where are we?

Me: I am going to go home, spend the night alone, walk ten miles in the morning and beg for clarity.

Writer Guy: So dinner is off, then?