Breathe a Sigh of Relief … ?
One Ball has been driving me mad. Don’t worry, we’re not breaking up or anything like that. He was staying at mine and one week magically turned into two weeks and by the time he left I was on the verge of throwing in the towel and kicking him to the curb for good. And despite telling me he’d be spending some time with family and friends and whatever while he was here, he actually only spent two days and one night with them. He was at mine for the rest of the time, something I happily agreed to [because I didn’t know what I was getting myself into].
He was **always** around. I wanted to get stupidly high and laugh at shit TV shows, eating my own body weight in cheese or whatever other weird food happened to still be in date in my kitchen. I wanted to catch up on blogging and writing work, something I just don’t feel I can do when he’s around … especially the blogging side of things. I can’t exactly moan about him while he’s sat right behind me, can I?
He’s the perfect boyfriend and he had been for the entire time he was at mine. Attentive. Thoughtful. Considerate. Generous. All the good words … all of them. That’s why I feel like such a bitch for moaning about him. But once the first week was done with, and all the adventurous we-haven’t-seen-each-other-for-a-while sex was over, it all got really repetitive and more than a little suffocating.
He didn’t seem to care what I’m doing [in a good way]. He encouraged me to write as he played away on the Xbox, and he didn’t mind me getting high, or vegging out in my pyjamas, or eating junk food and getting crumbs in the bed. But *I* mind that he saw me doing that stuff, you know? I don’t want him to see me doing that stuff. That’s my SSB, as Carrie Bradshaw puts it: my secret single behaviour.
By the time we hit the second week of his stay, the fights started. I was snappy, he was crap at making decisions, I didn’t want to leave the house, he wanted to go out and do all this crazy stuff, he wanted to stay in, I wanted to go out … it was just all of the wrong decisions and all of the wrong times, for both of us.
One morning, after promising he would drive me to work, he refused to get out of bed. His change-of-heart at the last minute made me late for work, and it also made me wet for work. And not the good kind of wet. It hammered down for the entire journey on public transport and it was NOT a fun ride. I thought I could walk it before I saw how hard it was raining outside, and then the first bus just drove straight past me, leaving me out in the rain. I was not happy. In turn, I was not happy at One Ball.
It all had a knock-on effect too. I’m late for work a lot so my boss decided to put me on a ‘late tracker’, and I was soaked and in a bad mood for the rest of the day. I kept making mistakes, my colleagues kept getting annoyed with me, and by the time it was over, I just wanted to cry.
If One Ball and I can’t last longer than one week together, what hope do we have? Because we’re fighting about silly, petty things that aren’t worth fighting about – and that’s the sort of thing that’ll make me lost interest fast.
I’m not sure if this is a dodgy week, or if we’ve found the beginning of the end. I was chomping at the bit for some alone time by the time he actually left, and I wasn’t disappointed or sad when I shut the door behind him. In fact, I was grateful. Relieved. It felt like I could breathe again. We had a lot of fun while he was here, but two weeks is a long time to spend with someone you’ve not been dating that long. It’s been what? Six months? Too long for two-week stints … or just the wrong boy to spend two-week stints with?
I’m off to enjoy an early night in my big EMPTY bed.
Thank fuck he’s gone. (For now.)
