my friend d and i have unknowingly texted each other at the exactly right moment, the most needed moment, the grace point. she texted with me back and forth for half an hour late last night, opening with an invitation to sit in her hammock (literal, not metaphorical, for you dirty-minded readers). she didn’t know last night, and i didn’t tell her, but i needed her in those moments. i needed her genius humor and punk rock sweetness and tattooed love because i was wandering aimlessly downtown, trying to find a bar (but not just any bar, the perfect bar to shelter me that i’d never stepped inside before and therefore it held no memories for me) to order a fancy drink and sulk. i had allotted myself 15 minutes and one cocktail dedicated to sulking. i had been rejected, again. although, not actually rejected, only a perceived rejection, because i expected one thing and another happened and i wanted to make that mean that i was rejected, only i wasn’t, because the scenario played out with nothing to do with me. besides, i have a history of parading as the queen of mixed signals, and i’d been wearing that costume for a week.
i went out last night not sure if i wanted to go out, not sure if i preferred to go to bed with a book. once out, i didn’t want to be out and left rather quickly, but not before i perceived a rejection (that in real life was only a triggered disappointment) and tipped the band. (always tip the band. tip the band a tad extra if you are having a crappy night, because increasing the earnings of the five people on stage feels better.)
after i left, i didn’t want to go home. i was wearing a cute dress. my cute dress wanted to sit on a swanky bar stool on the west side of town and order a mixologist’s signature cocktail (or a really dirty martini) and sulk. but my friend d interfered with my plan to sulk because her first text message of the night was waiting for me when i returned to my car.
i didn’t sulk. i drove around, pulling over and parking to text with d every few blocks. i admitted to her that i was purposelessly chugging around downtown but didn’t mention that i was trying to sulk, because she would’ve asked why and i knew i was acting ridiculously, that i wanted to feel rejected so that i could practice feeling rejected but that i hadn’t been rejected in reality, because between my mixed signals and his innocent naiveté, rejection wasn’t on the menu. in my belief system, “rejection is protection.” i wanted to feel rejected, because i know well enough to stay away from this one, because this one is young enough to be afraid of his own shadow. i prefer to dance in the dark and play in the light and invite the shadows to rest in the shade and join us in the dance and as we play. i have no reason to sulk (not ever), and while texting with d, i always feel grateful and joyous and loved.