Oh boy. What can I tell you? Just when I thought I was happy, comfortable--settled even--I take another detour to crazy land.
I had a nice talk about it with Nancy, who has become my closest confident on all things Owen, and she agreed that I'd been crazy. But she also said, "You handled it like a champ. You contained it, you resolved it and it's ok now."
But is it? Maybe. I hope.
Last night, I went out with work friend MB. It was a long-delayed visit to H St. We had a drink and a snack and I happily texted with Owen while we were at the bar. When we left and MB returned a call from her mother, I called Owen. He sounded low and unhappy. All he would say was, "I had a terrible day." I was so sad! MB and I decided to head to Cap City to meet other friends for election-returns-watching. We waited for the bus and I said, "You know, I might just go home. Are you ok on your own?" MB wasn't sure, but I gave her directions and she gained confidence.
I jumped off the bus at my house and hopped right on the computer. I'd decided to use the Flexcar to go to Owen's house. I called him, "Can I come over?"
"Um, sure, if you want to."
"Do you need anything? What if I bring a beer?"
"That would be great!"
I got there in about twenty minutes. What Owen didn't realize is that I planned to spend the night. I reserved the car until 9am and planned to get up early and drive home. He said, "Isn't it too expensive?"
"No, there are 'free' hours between midnight and 7am."
"Really? They don't charge you at all?"
"Nope. So I'm going to spend the night, if that's ok."
"Of course it is."
He quizzed me a little about why I came over, but other than that, we didn't do much talking. It was odd that I came over on Tuesday night when I expected to see him on Wednesday for dinner at my house, but there I was. We sat cuddled up on the sofa and watched tv. Around 10:30pm, we went to bed.
Where did things go wrong? Some time in the night, Owen said, "I can't sleep if you're touching me." And I was pissed. I was offended. I moved to my edge of the bed and harrumphed myself back to sleep.
It's not exactly news that Owen can't sleep cuddled up. I can't sleep that way either. It can take a long time to sleep well with a new bed partner and we're not quite there yet. It doesn't matter so much on the weekends when we can sleep late, but Owen needs his eight hours. He desperately needs them. I prefer eight hours, but I'm good on seven and if I only get six I can still function. Owen needs his eight hours or he's a wreck, which I know very well. I also knew that he was feeling low and that I couldn't expect much from him. I knew it, yet, when I didn't get whatever it was I thought I needed, I freaked out.
Way too early in the morning (6:30am?), I had to talk to him. He was barely coherent and super annoyed that I wasn't letting him sleep. I was ready to leave in a huff, but I knew that would be a mistake. As I tried to explain that I felt rejected, I realized that I sounded like a lunatic. It was so wrong. But I felt so bad. I didn't know what to do.
Owen to got up at 7:30, which ended our "conversation." I was dressed and went into the living room. Roommate, Barry, was up and excitedly reported the returns to me--most of which I didn't know, since we'd gone to sleep before the accurate counts came it. Owen overheard and stumbled into the living room to get the details. He looked at me, sadly, and I stood up to give him a hug. He moved back to the bathroom and started to brush his teeth. I stood next to him and said, "Look, can we just pretend that I'm not crazy?"
He gave me the raised eyebrow and nodded.
"Tonight--don't worry about coming over. You need to get some sleep."
"And we'll do something this weekend...on Friday."
"Yes, definitely, Friday!"
"But we have to do something at home because I have a regatta on Saturday and I have to get up early."
"Sure, that's fine."
"You can come over--I have a movie." I gave him a big hug and I skedaddled home in traffic and rain.
I felt like a complete lunatic. Talking to Nancy helped. I said, "But what do I do now? I think I have a handle on it, but should I send him an email?"
"Sure, send him a note and make sure he knows you don't think he did anything wrong. He's probably just confused with your mixed signals: needy--not needy--needy--not needy."
"Oh lord, what is wrong with me? Am I trying to wreck things?"
"Maybe, but everything is fine. He's crazy about you. It's fine. It will be fine. You handled it."
"Ok, if you say so."
I wrote him a nice note (I think) and he didn't write back. I trust that means nothing--simply that he's having another lousy day and no response was necessary (it wasn't).
I will get it together. I am capable of distinguishing a change in his feelings for me from a bad mood after an exhausting day. I sure as hell can't stand much more of this craziness. It's too hard, too confusing, too tiring. It must stop.
Grateful for: the end of craziness.
Drop me a line.
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