You never call. You never write. At most you’ll send me an email when you’ve decided to move forward in your relationship with someone else, which, to be perfectly honest, seems a little callous when we haven’t even had the chance to discuss where things were going between us first. I know these things happen, and people just fall out of touch, but it feels like I’m putting in all the effort and you’re just playing hard to get.
Like last week, when you called and asked me what I was looking for. I told you I wanted to experience life: explore new adventures, learn new skills, meet new friends and collaborators. You asked if I thought I could do that with you and I said yes, without a doubt, with conviction and strength and bravery. You said you would call back within 48 hours and now it’s been an entire week! Every telephone ring I look for your number on the screen. Phantom cell phone vibrations haunt me in my sleep. I can’t work, I can’t focus, I can’t stop thinking about you and the way I imagined your suit and tie and your corner office with catered Friday lunches.
All my friends tell me I shouldn’t call you; that it’s a waste of time and you’re not worth it. Or worse, that you might think I’m desperate or clingy when all I want are some answers. When can I come in to meet you? What hours will I work? Is there room in that office for me? But if I call you’ll think I’m a loser, or just incapable of following instructions, but you, you are worse. You’re a liar who never called! And maybe I shouldn’t harass you with a follow up email, but I just want to make sure everything is in order and that you’re still alive and in business. My grandfather responds faster to an email than you do. I mean, are you really qualified to make this sort of administrative decision when you clearly struggle with responding to your own correspondence?
I know a lot of people are interested in you. How could they not be? You’re successful, talented, creative, and rolling in the dough. You’ve got a lot to offer a girl like me, and that doesn’t go unnoticed. So I want you to know that I’m fully aware that you’re getting a lot of other offers to consider, and you should. I’m not going to be the girl to write you a cliche letter telling you that you are the coffee to my early mornings, the champagne to my mimosas, or the Sriracha to my breakfast burrito. I just won’t. Enough is enough. I’ve told you how I feel--in fact, I’ve told you many times within the last few weeks, within the last few years--and now it’s your turn. Good or bad. I can’t not know how you feel about me any longer.
Will you hire me? (Check yes or no)
All the best,
What It Feels Like (Edition)*: When you’re supposed to be trapped in a blizzard but get less than one inch of snow.
I despise the jinxers out there. There are two kinds of people who jinx in this scenario: those who cry snow day at the very mention of flurries, and those who pray for a fluke, a weather channel prank. Today’s for you, jinxers, may you enjoy your snowless day off. My heart, on the contrary, aches. I stayed awake all night, not caring that the news had already broke; school canceled for what? I waited up like a lover waits for her gentleman’s reply to her text What are YOU thinking? Fair trade organic coffee beans hid in my cupboard while almond milk and local cage-free eggs rested quietly in the fridge. I still waited, even as the forecast kept pushing you back, further and further from my sight, until the chance of light snow at 5am was all that remained. I fell asleep to the whisper of crappy television, knowing in my heart of hearts, it was all gone. My chance at the soft, silent light of the night. The freshest, and the best, the white ground before the corruption of slush and dog piss was, irreparably, lost to the sea. The current no longer drifting in but pulling you further north once more. Say goodbye to the angels, the sleds, whiskey in your coffee. I have not earned today, so I sit inside, hiding from the sun, for it melts all that is left of the evening’s fall.
heavy heeled when walking; heavy handed when pouring a drink