Anniversary, of sorts

I want to call Grey. Or email or text or whatever. But it won't make me feel better so I won't. Instead, I am choosing to mark an anniversary of sorts.

On September 7, 2007, we got together with a mutual friend and ended up very drunk and fooled around. On September 11, he emailed me that I had left my earrings on his ottoman and I went over there to collect them. We slept together. On the 12th, he called me from work in the evening to talk to me before he got too tired to be coherent. He was trying to make B look bad. It worked. He was paying attention to my words. My heart melted just a little bit. We slept together on the 13th, 15th and the 18th. Then he left for Calgary for a few days. When he got back on the 21st with a new crackberry, he texted me thinking it was the other girl he was sleeping with. On the 22nd, I ended our brief but torrid acquaintance for the first time.

On October 6th, he called me again. We went out with one of his friends. He told me that he ended it with the other woman because "it wasn't going anywhere". On the 8th, we went for a walk and he held my hand. The following two weeks were comfortable. We celebrated his birthday but he was sick and I looked after him. He took me to a gala at the nicest hotel in town the following saturday. He told me I looked beautiful. Twice.

Two weeks later, we celebrated my birthday. On November 12th, he went to Vancouver for a week. He called me every day, more than once. Usually several times. It was lovely. At that point, we were spending entire weekends together at his place. He still had not been to mine. Somewhere in there, things started to deteriorate. By the time we went to the hockey game on the 17th, he had started to be more of a jerk than a gem.

I look through my day planner for last year and it's not as though I had morphed into him. I had my own life. I was very busy. With school, with work, with friends. Wedding dress shopping and baby showers and marking and presentations. Maybe he started to resent that about me.

On December 10th, I got food poisoning after having dinner at his house. He wouldn't bring me soup. The tetra pak organic chicken broth sitting in his cupboard that I bought him when he was sick in October. Because that would be too much of a "boyfriend" thing to do. I ended things again for the second time.

I'm tired of men telling me I'm beautiful and funny and intelligent and awesome and superfabulousgreat. The words are hollow, their import devoid of any significance except "I wanna hump you from behind over the living room couch". It makes me hate myself for being unable to fill the void. I need affection and tenderness. I want hugs and cuddles and kisses and spoons. I crave meaning and longevity. Is this so much to ask?

I won't call Grey but I think I will change out of my pyjamas and have a cigarette. It's more (or less?) self-destructive.