In December, a girl I used to babysit got engaged. Just this weekend, a friend's younger brother (a boy I used to know when he was 10 years old and running around like a maniac) proposed to his girlfriend. They're both several years younger than me, and they'll both be married before the end of the year.
Last night, when I got more information on both of their engagements, I wasn't jealous or upset, because the boy didn't go to college, and the girl is basically following in her mother's exact footsteps.
Today, though, I feel a bit like an old maid. I'm 26, not married, and with a boyfriend who is pulling away faster than you can say, "Pass the chocolate."
Wine Guy had been staying with me since the end of December. Not "living" with me, because that involves actually unpacking his suitcases and the two of us admitting to living together when we both generally oppose living together before marriage. Not to worry, this was nothing close to a marital situation, if you catch my meaning, but we did see each other every day and fell out of the habit of talking to each other on the phone. For the first couple of weeks, I kept waiting for him to find his new apartment and leave. Then he told me that he'd realized it made more sense to get his new job before finding a place, and I totally agreed. I also got used to him being at my place when I got off work. I got used to his presence in my space. Well, he's got the job (well, actually three job offers he'll have to sort through next week), and he dropped off his first load of stuff at the new place on Saturday.
Then he went home to Oklahoma.
So, six weeks or so of him there all the time, for good and for bad, and now nothing but his pile of unfolded, unsorted laundry at the foot of my bed.
I've talked to him for the sum total of one hour since he left on Sunday.
I honestly think it's great that he's getting to go home and be with his friends, to fill up on people who know him inside and out, or at least that know the parts of him he was in college. I applaud the fact that he's having dinner with his mom and trying to get tickets to his sister's boyfriend's band's concert. Yay! Go Wine Guy!
But I miss him.
I've filled my time. I've read books, visited my parents, talked to friends, worked on art projects, watched Sex & The City. It's not like I don't have a full life, but he's a major part of my life, and when he's not here, I do feel like I'm missing a limb.
Overreacting? Oh, of course! Successful couples should be able to navigate a week apart. And I realize that my missing him this week is more about missing the past six weeks and knowing that the upcoming weeks are going to be challenging and perhaps unpleasant.
We'll have to get used to seeing each other maybe twice a week (his new job will likely not allow more than one weeknight date), instead of every day. And in a couple of weeks, it will be time for my month working Saturdays, so that cuts the potential date days down by one.
And I'm missing him already.
There are people younger than me preparing to spend a lifetime together, and my boyfriend and I are just about to start spending as little time together as possible.
Call me a whiner, I know it's true. I know it's all in my head, that things will be fine. But thinking about going from seven days a week to at most two is opening up that gaping wound in my heart I thought had closed up long ago.
Overreacting? Sure. But it's still how I feel.
My mother politely reminded me of this, and I must say that I am always surprised to find how much I repeat myself and my emotions...yikes!