I met a guy in early November, who happened to be a neighbor of mine, in a different apartment complex. We hit it off immediately, and were as thick as thieves. After 2 months of dating, I started to lay the pressure, and told him that we should kick it up a notch. He heed and hawed. For a week, he went back and forth. During that week, I was sure I'd had enough. I remember Jarronn's last words to me where he told me that he knew his wife was the one because things with her were "just easy." That became my reaching point for a relationship. I needed it to be "just easy." Perfection was never my goal, but I needed us to be on one accord. And this dude going back and forth for a week told me that this wouldn't be easy. If a dude needed a week to figure out how he felt about me, I already knew to keep it pushing. My time in reflection after Pete's death only strengthened that notion.
After the week was up, he came back and told me he wanted a relationship. Unfortunately by then, I had checked out. However, because I'd lain so much pressure on him to do the damned thing, I felt I owed it to him to see how things would go. Roughly 3weeks in, I knew it was a no go. The issue was that he wasn't a bad person. No, quite the contrary. I just felt like he had some personal shit he had to work through (common theme among men I seem to be attracted to). I wanted to stay friends while we just worked on getting to know one another more, and check back in later.. He didn't like that for an answer and pretty much forced me to choose him or stay away.
I chose the latter.
There have been things going on with him since then. But I remain firm in my faith that I don't need drama. I have faith that there is a man who isn't riddled with personal problems who can hang out without insecurity, guilt, mommy/daddy issues, and low self-esteem.
In the other part of my life, I'm loving my new job. My boss is awesome, my coworkers are amazing, the clients are adorable, and my schedule is outstanding. I love getting my ass home at a decent time. My "nigga we made it!" moment came when I walked into my new office. The job I was fired from had cubicles. The job I just left had us sharing offices and bouncing from office to office on a daily basis. But I finally got my own office. I have a door. A full fucking door! Okay, whatevs, I'm easy to please. I'll own that. The key to this office has me feeling like I run this place. Clearly I don't, but still.
On another note, I'm rounding out the time of the first anniversary of Pete's death. Last winter was a rather tame one, so whenever I experience warm winter days, I think of seeing Pete in passing at work, on the walkways that connect buildings. When I got my office, one of the first things I did was print out a pic of him to keep on my wall. I know it sounds crazy, but I like the thought of feeling like he's here with me, especially since he was so passionate about the field of social work and mental health. I often practice in my mind what I'll say on Facebook on the first anniversary of his death.
Will I talk about the first time he and I met? Will I talk about that time he saw me in a colleague's office and came in and chatted with me for 15 minutes? Will I talk about the time we admitted to being attracted to one another? Will I talk about the moment my world shattered and I learned he was gone? Or will it be how my life has completely deviated since then? Maybe it will be a combination of all? I honestly don't know.
But I'm in a space now. An odd space. Sometimes I feel like I'm just floating till I get this shit in order.
