Monte

When people ask me, I tell them it was because we were on different pages and wanted different things and had different personalities. But I don’t really know what any of that means. I guess they sounded like good reasons at the time, but now I’m just confused.

I’m becoming a regular Bob Vila. The many weekends I’ve spent laboring away have been rewarding and time well invested in both my apartment and personal well being. Working with my hands has made me more confident in my ability to take care of myself, and I’m learning that I’m actually more handy than I ever gave myself credit for.

I learned a lot from my previous relationship—both about myself and the things that are important to me—things that I had lost touch of somewhere along the way.

Help. I’m being held captive in my own apartment building. I went downstairs to the “mezzanine” to get my car, and low and behold, the garage gate wasn’t opening. The guy in front of me (with a very sexy british accent), suggested I try my remote, but it didn’t work. So I offered to walk across the street to the Mercantile building (which owns my building) and ask them for assistance.

It’s a little past 7, and this is the first evening after a little more than a week of being in my new apartment that I’m actually feeling a little bored. I’m tired of masturbating to pass the time, so I got to thinking, “Maybe I should try going out to a bar or something.” The evening is still young. I could gussy myself up and put on that really nice Guess shirt that I bought yesterday. I could go out and mingle—I am single after all. But then again, I don’t really enjoy going out, especially not by myself.

I’ve been anxious lately with the many changes happening in my life—exciting changes like my new career, moving into my own apartment, and dating again for the first time in three years.

So much for my earlier assumptions. Seeing James this afternoon spurred feelings in me that I’m now finding difficult to reconcile. There was discussion of possibly staying together under the assumption that things would be different when I move out of the house and closer to him. We’re in limbo right now as I wait for his decision.

I’m beginning to feel assured that things will be okay after all. Occasionally, a memory might pop into my head—a camping trip or an anniversary dinner at one of our favorite restaurants—and for a moment I long for that companionship again.

The hardest part of breaking up is not knowing what to do with the memories. The places you visited, the laughs that you shared, the after dinner discussions, first few dates, and the first kiss—all of those memories have no place to go anymore. No longer do you what to think of them, and yet they were so sweet that you don’t dare want to forget them, either.

And then last Thursday I got a phone call and it was Match. My heart was pounding, and as soon as she said that the team was impressed with me, my cell phone died. I ran out to my car, plugged my phone into the charger, and called back. I got the job!