I never stay down for long.
Admittedly, when I'm down, I'm not just "down", I'm in the very depths of whatever is several layers underneath "despair". I look for answers everywhere, usually in the form of psychic phenomena and tarot readings, that's not to say I don't believe, but they seem to be rather unnervingly my source of information during my darkest hours.
Recently I sought the advice regarding my recent man (or "Duz" as I questionably christened him) from two renowned psychics. The first, a good friend, one could argue was maybe a little too much in the know, and I have to say (sorry, P....) her advice was the advice a friend would give, i.e. "go out and have a good time, let him get on with it". The second said unequivocally he was not right for me; I am at a time in my life when the only demons I should be worrying about were my own. I had too much going for me, apparently.
Both may be right in their own way. One slightly less forthright than the other, but both had an air of sense about them. I felt strengthened and resolved to follow their advice.
11.30pm Friday evening, phone beeps. It's him. Text to say he's back in the country and heading home (has been away on business in Europe). I make a staggeringly insightful comment back via text on the political situation in Russia/Georgia; he's clearly not interested and only wants to let me know he will be whizzing past my door at around 1.30am.
Aaaah. All clear. What do I do? He's not right for me, he needs far too much time to consider the commitment process, he has all these demons, doesn't he? Yet I wonder if the demons would mind just sleeping outside in the car, just for tonight?
He left at midday yesterday, and I should (by now) be filled with doubts and angst as to whether I will see him tonight. But.....nothing. I actually don't want to see him, well, not tonight in any event.
Or maybe this was simply a case of me getting used to the arrangement.
He did call yesterday teatime to make a few disparaging comments that the pain I was complaining about in my big toe was probably gout and to make reference to the fact that my stature is, well, diminutive (he is 6'3" and thinks anything below 5'10" is positively "dwarf-like")
Well, the toe feels better today, and I like my diminutive-ness; it never did Kylie or Madonna any harm as far as I can see. And as I pointed out to him last night, he can barely cope with 5'3" of me, so he should count his blessings.
Of course, when questioned on his need to take several verbal pops at me during said phone call, he told me rather predictably that it was "affectionate teasing". I told him that the only affectionate teasing I was interested in wasn't of the verbal variety.
Game to me, I think.
I'm home; thank goodness. Sense restored, "needy clingy-ness" banished. For now.
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