There he goes. He’s texting me again. I thought I was done with this. I promised myself that with the new year I would stop this text-relationship. I vowed to only go on real dates with real men, real men who live in my real life! It’s been 2 weeks since the real man I like has called to have a real conversation, and so here he is, the other man in my life, the “substitute-pretend-boyfriend,” texting me sweet things this Friday night. It’s raining outside, I’m home watching The Devil Wears Prada, and I wonder, “How does he always know when I’m feeling the most lonely and hopefully romantic?” Perhaps he feels the same way too.
He seems to have radar for these moments.
I used to think my pretend boyfriend could be a real potential boyfriend, but then he flaked a few times when we set up real dates, and most notably didn’t show up for my birthday party. After a string of disappointments and forgiven “misunderstandings,” I suppose it’s clear that I’m taking what I get, but is what I’m getting enough? Are a few flirty text messages capable of filling in for the real potentially amazing boyfriend who hasn’t called in a few weeks?
Well, let’s be honest, most definitely not.
The strength inside of me wants to push away from this proverbial bag of “Cheese-its”, because the “carrot sticks” of waiting are unquestionably better for me in the end. But on this Friday night, the “Cheese-its” are somehow helping pass the time more comfortably.
What’s so wrong with it anyway, right? It’s just a text message. But we all know it’s not just a text message. It’s about 500 text messages. Back and forth, ebb and flow, here we go…and I’m attached again. I find myself annoyed when he pauses too long. It feels like rejection. Or is it like addiction? Maybe he’s my “instant gratification pretend boyfriend.” No consequences, no responsibility, just nice things back and forth…attachments formed that will never fully be known. I’m emotionally attached to him, and I barely know the sound of his voice.
The thing is, I don’t want a life all strung together with half-way, half-hearted relationships, fantasies and Cheese-it instant gratification pretend boyfriends. I want the real thing. I want real love, real phone calls, real dates, and a real man on the couch someday growing old with me. It seems I have to get better at waiting, better at living fully in the moment rather than wasting away the time with chit chat in an imaginary text message land.
So I roll up the top of the Cheese-it bag, and decide I better go find those carrot sticks and live my real life rather than creating an imaginary one that will never fill me up.