Tonight marks the eighth night that I’ve slept in this house, and the seventh night I’ve slept in this room.
It’s been a week that hasn’t gone by my expectations, and has been better than I could have hoped for!
There is a problem… or two… or so…
The first problem is that my friend and new landlord, who I’ll call J, plays guitar. And he sings. And he has taught himself how to play piano. Mind you, when he has played this past week, he has played for himself, more often than not just to pass the time. I’ve known him for years, so I already knew he played guitar and sang.
The second problem is that now that I’m away from someone who expects people to do things for her and complains if things weren’t done to her expectations, I’ve reverted back to… well, it’s one of my love languages, which is to do things for others.
I was making a lot of sandwiches for the first few days, using about half a loaf of bread in less than a week as well as the pack of deli meat that J requested I buy when I was getting cat food. So when I got groceries after work mid-week, I bought him more wheat bread and a loaf of white bread for myself and another pack of cheese slices. When I brought in my bin of pantry items, I set it where the remainder of a pack of water bottles was sitting, after I emptied the pack and put the water bottles in the fridge so they would be cold. And over the past 24 hours I tried to rekindle a friendship of his with a somewhat mutual guy friend, only to learn that the friend is only willing to hang out if J will go to him, he won’t come and visit J.
I mean the third problem is that I expected to be antisocial for at least this first week. I figured I’d come home from work, make dinner, take it up to my room, and eat it while watching YouTube on the television or something. I’d spend my free time playing video games or doing whatever on the internet. Instead, J went through all of his movies, asked me if I had seen particular ones or if I wanted to, and had me make a list of movies that needed to be seen. My nights have been spent sitting on his couch while he sits in the chair, and we’ve been watching a few different movies such as Birdman and the new Ghostbusters movie.
If I have a night shift at work, I’ll either text him to tell him I’m on my way back or he will ask when I’m returning. One night after I came home, I fixed myself a dish of ice cream, to which he asked if that was my dinner and I truthfully told him no, that I had brought dinner to work with me. He watches out for me, which is more than I had hoped for, but I certainly appreciate it.
So what IS the problem?
Well, I had a thing for him.
2011 wasn’t my year, even though it wasn’t quite as bad as 2016. 2011 began when J, a previous coworker from a previous call center job, found me on a lesser-known social media site. Later that year, things happened between us. So far he’s been the only one, at least that I can remember, who has pinned me up against the wall (or in this case, a door) and kissed me passionately. You’re probably wondering how things ended, and to be honest I don’t quite remember. I just know his girlfriend at the time claimed to be okay with opening up their relationship, especially since he’s polyamorous and it would make things easier for him, but shortly after that their relationship ended. I had a lot going on, and I don’t remember if I stopped talking to him for a while after the first time my car was rear-ended or the second time that year, because I’m pretty sure we had parted ways before the third time my car was rear-ended that year. Like I said, 2011 wasn’t my year.
Since then, communication was off and on. We might have talked for a day or two or so, and then said nothing to each other for months. So when he texted me a few weeks ago out of the blue, I was a bit reluctant to ask if he had a room to rent, but I was getting desperate and knew I’d have better chances of finding a place to live if it was with another friend.
How did I ask for a room? I asked to stay here platonically. That’s right, I didn’t want any funny business. I didn’t want to move in for sexual reasons, or romantic reasons, or anything like that. I didn’t want to bother him, especially if he had other friends staying here or visiting or whatever. I wanted all of that off the table so it wouldn’t get weird and awkward.
But I forgot, I had a thing for him.
We get each other’s humor. We’re both nerdy and geeky, and will make references that the other one understands and plays off of. We have similar life views. He plays guitar, and I melt a bit when I hear someone play guitar in front of me, especially acoustic.
I still have a thing for my friend in Japan, whose name was incorporated into my self-selected password for work. I kept telling myself, I’m choosing my friend from Japan, I don’t want to get tied down here in the States because then I might never leave and go live in Japan like I want to do. Even if I don’t end up with my friend from Japan, I’ll still have every reason to be focused on going over there.
And suddenly I understand why J is polyamorous. Because I know that my personality goes so well with J’s, but my friend from Japan makes me want to improve myself or otherwise be a better version of what I already am. J doesn’t share my love of Japanese stuff aside from some anime, but I could discuss the whole culture with my friend from Japan and get his thoughts if he’s willing to share them.
Just the same, it’s another reason why I’m in no hurry to find my next significant other. The question has become, “what do I really want in my next relationship?” The only answer I can give is, “to not make another mistake.” For now, it feels easier to not be in a relationship, to just spend time and observe, to not have hopes and expectations of marriage, and to not complicate things by having sexual involvement with anyone.
I may, in fact, be torturing myself. However, it feels like it’s been too long since I’ve been kind and thoughtful and generous without expectation for it. I like feeling as if I’ve done something nice, and then feeling like it’s been appreciated. I also enjoy feeling like my presence matters, like someone cares enough to make sure I’m getting home without a scratch. I wouldn’t have that much if I lived alone, and it might even be awkward if I moved in with people I didn’t know. So I’ll deal with the torture.
If nothing else, then I’ll know the reasons why the girl who has his heart will be a really lucky girl. I’ll know the things that would bother her, that she might have to overlook or compensate for if she got involved with him for the long term. I might be the one who decides between A, B, and C, with my choice being the thing that makes her happy. And even if he’s not with me, does that really matter? Because J is a good person, he cares about others and he deserves to be happy, So I want him to be happy.
And I want to stay here for a while. Not just because of him, but there is so much I enjoy about being here. I like not coming home to just my cat, I like living so close to work that I can walk there. I like the fact that I haven’t had to buy something to sleep on yet, that it was provided and it’s not a couch. I like that the only reason why I won’t have a wireless internet signal is because I’m too far from the router, not because someone else didn’t sweep a dust particle from the corner of the room and so the whole house looks trashed because of it and everyone has to be punished. Let’s not forget, I’m paying less to live here than I would elsewhere, and it’s a pretty good deal if you consider that utilities are included and I also get a person who gives a damn about me. Let’s not screw that up.
Supposedly my Facebook page, not my personal page but the one where these posts are published to, has been popping up for some people who I’ve spoken to in the past. Chances are, J will see this post as a result of that… and things will get awkward. Or my friend from Japan will see this post… and he will stop talking to me because he will say that someone else might be better for me or something.
Regardless of what happens, life will continue on the path it was meant to go, and I can only hope for the best possible outcome. It doesn’t matter what happens for me. I’d rather find out I wasn’t meant for a person before I get involved with them. I’d rather have J be happy with whoever and however many women it takes to make him feel complete. I’d rather have my friend from Japan find someone who is less of a pain in the ass than I am, but I don’t mind staying if he really enjoys me being a challenge.
There will always be a guitarist, somewhere.
There will always be someone who gets my humor.
There will always be someone who gives a damn about my safety and well-being.
And there will always be someone whose day was improved by my presence.