I used to think that my medical school was just ghetto, with an entire courtyard separating the medical school from the hospital.
When it's raining or snowing, it's not cool to have to bundle up and walk or run between the two buildings. More than once, I've wondered why they haven't drilled an underground tunnel yet. (Yes, that sounded creepy to you, but remember that I went to a very prestigious research school in Baltimore for college. The hallmark of that place is underground, interconnected walkways to keep secret, emerging research shrouded from the general public. Don't kid yourself about these things.)
Today, as I left my isolated hole of habitation in the library, it occurred to me that perhaps this engineering design is purposeful.
By putting the Starbucks in the hospital, and separating the hospital from the medical school, we are forced to emerge from our cocoons of darkness to see the sunlight for at least five minutes a day. Ten, if there's a line at Starbucks.
So, thank you, medical school for making sure that I don't get Rickets. But, on days like today, I feel like the forced excursion is just an excuse for the sun to taunt me. A library design with more windows could have been equally effective, I think.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Just Another Person to Block on Facebook
The first time that Ken friended me on Facebook this summer, I accepted the invitation.
As part of the Summer of Poor Judgment and Bad Decision-Making (which has seemingly stretched into the fall...awesome), he was a random makeout buddy that I met in St. Vincent. He was nice enough, but as per anyone that I met in a foreign country this summer, he kind of new that I was that jaded American girl, traveling and researching, and celebrating my freedom from a controlling ex-fiance.
So, I accepted his friend request and the nonsense started.
Two days after I left St. Vincent, I got the most ridiculous FB message when I was visiting friends in Barbados. His message was hostile and inappropriate. He was angry that I was "ignoring him" and while I have since deleted the message, it said something about me not having enough respect to even call "the man who is so much in love with you."
I was totally floored.
I wrote a heated message back, essentially telling him to STEP BACK. He might have been showering me with declarations of "love," but I didn't know what part of, "I am traveling, I do not have access to internet, and I will not be calling you," he could not understand.
He apologized, but his remorse was brief. When I got back to the US, he would call and message constantly. When I wouldn't respond, or would briefly respond, he would send inappropriate messages about how I was "heartless" and "full of sh*t."
So, I blocked his friendship on Facebook. Obviously.
I don't tolerate verbal abuse from boyfriends, much less from random semi-strangers in other countries. You would think that by now, months later, Ken would have moved on. But, no.
Instead, he started three different Facebook accounts and proceeded to send me friend requests for each of them. I declined the friendships, but apparently, you can still message a person, if they're not blocked. Ken figured this out, and the messages began again last week.
The latest one, last night, said this:
may i ask why you dont talk to me ,i did nothing wrong an i already forgive you an move on am sure we can always be friends ,hope you doing ok an keeping well
Is he kidding me?
He "forgives me?" For what? He's the one who resorted to verbal abuse and putting me down when he didn't get his way. And, to clarify, internet, I hung out with him for four days in June and early July. Four days. This wasn't some sort of ongoing, lifelong communication. This was four days, in between travels to the Dominican Republic, Barbados, and then, back to the Dominican Republic again.
As for him "doing nothing wrong," he seems to have very little memory of flipping out when I wasn't answering my phone or returning his messages. (See: Checking voicemail in Miami, after returning from my second trip to the Dominican Republic, and hearing a series of messages from him, either screaming or crying, about why I wasn't answering my phone. Perhaps I wasn't answering my phone, because I was in another country.)
So, I now have four different Facebook accounts blocked--all of them for his various online identities. I'm not blocking him because I think that he's actually dangerous. I'm blocking him because, although I have plenty of time for fun texting distractions, I have precious little patience for passive-aggressive, ridiculous Facebook messages.
(Also, let this be your cautionary tale about "carefree" summer flings, internet.)
As part of the Summer of Poor Judgment and Bad Decision-Making (which has seemingly stretched into the fall...awesome), he was a random makeout buddy that I met in St. Vincent. He was nice enough, but as per anyone that I met in a foreign country this summer, he kind of new that I was that jaded American girl, traveling and researching, and celebrating my freedom from a controlling ex-fiance.
So, I accepted his friend request and the nonsense started.
Two days after I left St. Vincent, I got the most ridiculous FB message when I was visiting friends in Barbados. His message was hostile and inappropriate. He was angry that I was "ignoring him" and while I have since deleted the message, it said something about me not having enough respect to even call "the man who is so much in love with you."
I was totally floored.
I wrote a heated message back, essentially telling him to STEP BACK. He might have been showering me with declarations of "love," but I didn't know what part of, "I am traveling, I do not have access to internet, and I will not be calling you," he could not understand.
He apologized, but his remorse was brief. When I got back to the US, he would call and message constantly. When I wouldn't respond, or would briefly respond, he would send inappropriate messages about how I was "heartless" and "full of sh*t."
So, I blocked his friendship on Facebook. Obviously.
I don't tolerate verbal abuse from boyfriends, much less from random semi-strangers in other countries. You would think that by now, months later, Ken would have moved on. But, no.
Instead, he started three different Facebook accounts and proceeded to send me friend requests for each of them. I declined the friendships, but apparently, you can still message a person, if they're not blocked. Ken figured this out, and the messages began again last week.
The latest one, last night, said this:
may i ask why you dont talk to me ,i did nothing wrong an i already forgive you an move on am sure we can always be friends ,hope you doing ok an keeping well
Is he kidding me?
He "forgives me?" For what? He's the one who resorted to verbal abuse and putting me down when he didn't get his way. And, to clarify, internet, I hung out with him for four days in June and early July. Four days. This wasn't some sort of ongoing, lifelong communication. This was four days, in between travels to the Dominican Republic, Barbados, and then, back to the Dominican Republic again.
As for him "doing nothing wrong," he seems to have very little memory of flipping out when I wasn't answering my phone or returning his messages. (See: Checking voicemail in Miami, after returning from my second trip to the Dominican Republic, and hearing a series of messages from him, either screaming or crying, about why I wasn't answering my phone. Perhaps I wasn't answering my phone, because I was in another country.)
So, I now have four different Facebook accounts blocked--all of them for his various online identities. I'm not blocking him because I think that he's actually dangerous. I'm blocking him because, although I have plenty of time for fun texting distractions, I have precious little patience for passive-aggressive, ridiculous Facebook messages.
(Also, let this be your cautionary tale about "carefree" summer flings, internet.)
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Self-Control, Or Lack Thereof
The longest that I went without talking to The Lawyer yesterday was 43 minutes. 43 minutes. I checked last night.
Granted, our continuous text messaging had started out innocently enough.
I was exhausted on Friday night and texted him to let him know that I was going to bed. He was out with our mutual high school friend, Miriam, who was visiting DC for the weekend. His job was to find out what the brunch or museum plan for Saturday was and to let me know. In return, I was saving up my energy for fun and revelry with Miriam, her sister, her cousin, and The Lawyer.
When The Lawyer texted on Saturday morning, I was only half asleep—awaiting my day’s itinerary.
Much to our mutual chagrin, Miriam wanted to play things by ear and hadn’t given The Lawyer any concrete plans. So, throughout the day, we were all occasionally checking in with one another. By “we,” I really mean “The Lawyer and I.”
I should have exercised more self-control, internet, but as per the theme of this semester, things just got out of hand. The Lawyer was making me laugh with the running commentary of his day. I presumed that I was doing the same.
So, when I finally texted goodnight at 11:30 p.m., after having not seen him in person at all, things felt…closer. Suddenly, it occurred to me that I had been in constant communication with him all day. And, that that constant communication was happening every 5 or 10 minutes from 8:00 a.m. to 11:30 p.m.
This was not good.
In an attempt to pull back, I intentionally ignored his last email, as well as his good morning text today. Not surprisingly, he was oblivious to my actions and emailed a link to CNN a few hours later.
And, I responded. (Of course I did.)
--
When The Lawyer threw out the “Nov. 1” date as the boundary for when he could see me, it seemed arbitrary and ridiculous. I am the queen of blowing people off, and three weeks was nothing. In fact, I told him, over email, that I was good waiting a full eight months. After all, I had MSII and Boards vying for my attention. In my downtime, Marcus was making himself available for the low-commitment, romantic distractions of dinner and cuddles.
As for The Lawyer, he knew that I was still seeing Marcus, and the plan was to see where he stood after the dust settled on his divorce.
Right?
Except, yesterday, when our friends bailed on brunch, I had to fight the urge to say, “Listen, it’s clear that we’re the only two awake and hungry right now. Meet me for brunch?” Because regardless of his relationship status or my intent to do the right thing, it just seems ridiculous to be exchanging 80 text messages a day and then refusing to eat a meal together. I mean, who are we kidding?
He must have felt the same way, because when our friends bailed (again) on a dinner invitation at my place, he texted and said, “So, I have a bottle of wine, and I haven’t left Virginia yet. Should I come over?”
At least that time, I had enough self-control to realize that cooking dinner for the two of us—alone—while he brought wine over was not quite the same thing as a high school catch-up feast with three other people present. I declined.
And yet, while I’m studying, I’m also compulsively refreshing my Gmail account to see when and if he has responded to my last email. As much as I should stop, I don’t want to stop.
I’ve talked about this to multiple members of my medical school class, and my only conclusion about what is happening is that medical school is the devil. Yes, obviously, I have no self-control, but why now? How is it possible that, at 29 years of age, I have less emotional stability and control than I did when I was 16?
Oh, right.
Because now, I don’t sleep enough, don’t introspect enough, and don’t have enough time for a real relationship with anyone. So, the short answer is that Marcus and The Lawyer meet my short-term needs and I like that. And, because I already have to sacrifice in so many other areas of my life, I find myself rationalizing my actions and enjoying the emotional support that I’m getting from them.
Can someone else give me some perspective on this? Does anyone else feel like they started emotionally regressing in medical school? And, for heaven's sake, how in the world did you stop?
Granted, our continuous text messaging had started out innocently enough.
I was exhausted on Friday night and texted him to let him know that I was going to bed. He was out with our mutual high school friend, Miriam, who was visiting DC for the weekend. His job was to find out what the brunch or museum plan for Saturday was and to let me know. In return, I was saving up my energy for fun and revelry with Miriam, her sister, her cousin, and The Lawyer.
When The Lawyer texted on Saturday morning, I was only half asleep—awaiting my day’s itinerary.
Much to our mutual chagrin, Miriam wanted to play things by ear and hadn’t given The Lawyer any concrete plans. So, throughout the day, we were all occasionally checking in with one another. By “we,” I really mean “The Lawyer and I.”
I should have exercised more self-control, internet, but as per the theme of this semester, things just got out of hand. The Lawyer was making me laugh with the running commentary of his day. I presumed that I was doing the same.
So, when I finally texted goodnight at 11:30 p.m., after having not seen him in person at all, things felt…closer. Suddenly, it occurred to me that I had been in constant communication with him all day. And, that that constant communication was happening every 5 or 10 minutes from 8:00 a.m. to 11:30 p.m.
This was not good.
In an attempt to pull back, I intentionally ignored his last email, as well as his good morning text today. Not surprisingly, he was oblivious to my actions and emailed a link to CNN a few hours later.
And, I responded. (Of course I did.)
--
When The Lawyer threw out the “Nov. 1” date as the boundary for when he could see me, it seemed arbitrary and ridiculous. I am the queen of blowing people off, and three weeks was nothing. In fact, I told him, over email, that I was good waiting a full eight months. After all, I had MSII and Boards vying for my attention. In my downtime, Marcus was making himself available for the low-commitment, romantic distractions of dinner and cuddles.
As for The Lawyer, he knew that I was still seeing Marcus, and the plan was to see where he stood after the dust settled on his divorce.
Right?
Except, yesterday, when our friends bailed on brunch, I had to fight the urge to say, “Listen, it’s clear that we’re the only two awake and hungry right now. Meet me for brunch?” Because regardless of his relationship status or my intent to do the right thing, it just seems ridiculous to be exchanging 80 text messages a day and then refusing to eat a meal together. I mean, who are we kidding?
He must have felt the same way, because when our friends bailed (again) on a dinner invitation at my place, he texted and said, “So, I have a bottle of wine, and I haven’t left Virginia yet. Should I come over?”
At least that time, I had enough self-control to realize that cooking dinner for the two of us—alone—while he brought wine over was not quite the same thing as a high school catch-up feast with three other people present. I declined.
And yet, while I’m studying, I’m also compulsively refreshing my Gmail account to see when and if he has responded to my last email. As much as I should stop, I don’t want to stop.
I’ve talked about this to multiple members of my medical school class, and my only conclusion about what is happening is that medical school is the devil. Yes, obviously, I have no self-control, but why now? How is it possible that, at 29 years of age, I have less emotional stability and control than I did when I was 16?
Oh, right.
Because now, I don’t sleep enough, don’t introspect enough, and don’t have enough time for a real relationship with anyone. So, the short answer is that Marcus and The Lawyer meet my short-term needs and I like that. And, because I already have to sacrifice in so many other areas of my life, I find myself rationalizing my actions and enjoying the emotional support that I’m getting from them.
Can someone else give me some perspective on this? Does anyone else feel like they started emotionally regressing in medical school? And, for heaven's sake, how in the world did you stop?
Friday, October 21, 2011
Small Digs
Background:
Yesterday, after my attending stood me up for clinic and his partner suggested that I go over to the hospital and "find him somewhere on rounds or surgery," I emailed the director of the clinical program.
Granted, I am not one to whine for the least infraction, nor am I unaware of my lowly position on the bottomest bottom of the totem pole. All I'm saying is that this isn't the first time my attending hasn't shown up for my scheduled clinic hours (much less bothered to call or email to say that his schedule has changed), and whilst it's very thrilling to watch him perform surgery in the hospital, that is not my purpose in being with him. So, I said that. And, the director wrote back and agreed.
To say that I was stunned by the director's response is an understatement. Besides agreeing with my general statements about the situation, he agreed that I should be able to switch attendings mid-semester and went so far as to ask what type of specialist I'd like to be paired with, and in what area (MD, DC, or VA).
Oh, snap.
After relaying this turn of events to The Lawyer, by email, he wrote the following back:
Anyway, I don't know enough about these things, but it sounds like you've got a good chance on your hands to improve your immediate life and, as long as the preceptor doesn't get a bug up his ass about it, you're golden.
Congrats on decomplicating things non-romantic friend!
His response was perfect, except for that last qualifier.
His "non-romantic friend?" Why did he throw that in there? Is it supposed to be a joke, or a small, passive-aggressive dig?
I'm not really sure, but if ever there was a compelling case to not skim emails, I had initially jumped to his ending without reading the paragraph above it and was all, "Are we STILL talking about this?"
I guess the answer to that depends on how often he continues to call me his "non-romantic friend."
Yesterday, after my attending stood me up for clinic and his partner suggested that I go over to the hospital and "find him somewhere on rounds or surgery," I emailed the director of the clinical program.
Granted, I am not one to whine for the least infraction, nor am I unaware of my lowly position on the bottomest bottom of the totem pole. All I'm saying is that this isn't the first time my attending hasn't shown up for my scheduled clinic hours (much less bothered to call or email to say that his schedule has changed), and whilst it's very thrilling to watch him perform surgery in the hospital, that is not my purpose in being with him. So, I said that. And, the director wrote back and agreed.
To say that I was stunned by the director's response is an understatement. Besides agreeing with my general statements about the situation, he agreed that I should be able to switch attendings mid-semester and went so far as to ask what type of specialist I'd like to be paired with, and in what area (MD, DC, or VA).
Oh, snap.
After relaying this turn of events to The Lawyer, by email, he wrote the following back:
Anyway, I don't know enough about these things, but it sounds like you've got a good chance on your hands to improve your immediate life and, as long as the preceptor doesn't get a bug up his ass about it, you're golden.
Congrats on decomplicating things non-romantic friend!
His response was perfect, except for that last qualifier.
His "non-romantic friend?" Why did he throw that in there? Is it supposed to be a joke, or a small, passive-aggressive dig?
I'm not really sure, but if ever there was a compelling case to not skim emails, I had initially jumped to his ending without reading the paragraph above it and was all, "Are we STILL talking about this?"
I guess the answer to that depends on how often he continues to call me his "non-romantic friend."
Thursday, October 20, 2011
You Will Likely Be Disappointed By This Post
I'm sure that the other medical students and doctors who are reading this post empathize with this feeling.
One day--most days, in fact--you are completely calm and on top of things. Your world is fully managed and even though you are tired, you are fine. Then, you take a break or something happens and you get off track for a single afternoon. Then, all of a sudden, it hits you that you are behind! Not in a managable way, but in a, "GAH! Nooo! How did this happen! This is NOT OK! NOT OK!" kind of way.
I'm there right now.
And no, this has nothing to do with men or dating. And yes, of course, I realize that you are disappointed to find this out.
If I could copy/paste my text messages with Marcus and The Lawyer right here, I would, because I know that's far more interesting than my whining about being overwhelmed. Sadly, there isn't much to say about either of them right now. The Lawyer is cool with me writing about him here, and Marcus doesn't care about this blog or The Lawyer. I had lunch with Marcus on Tuesday and I'll see The Lawyer this weekend, when another high school friend is visiting DC. So, that is my dating life in a nutshell.
I know that I usually pretend that my life revolves around the single hour or two that I see these people in person, but you should know that what I really do all day is exactly what I'm doing right now: sitting in the library (or lecture) drinking Starbucks and hyperventilating about Pharmacology. Then, when my text boyfriends send messages about the sunrise and having a good day, I curse them for being happy and well-rested and return to the bitterness that is MSII.
(OK, maybe not that bad...but dangerously close!)
One day--most days, in fact--you are completely calm and on top of things. Your world is fully managed and even though you are tired, you are fine. Then, you take a break or something happens and you get off track for a single afternoon. Then, all of a sudden, it hits you that you are behind! Not in a managable way, but in a, "GAH! Nooo! How did this happen! This is NOT OK! NOT OK!" kind of way.
I'm there right now.
And no, this has nothing to do with men or dating. And yes, of course, I realize that you are disappointed to find this out.
If I could copy/paste my text messages with Marcus and The Lawyer right here, I would, because I know that's far more interesting than my whining about being overwhelmed. Sadly, there isn't much to say about either of them right now. The Lawyer is cool with me writing about him here, and Marcus doesn't care about this blog or The Lawyer. I had lunch with Marcus on Tuesday and I'll see The Lawyer this weekend, when another high school friend is visiting DC. So, that is my dating life in a nutshell.
I know that I usually pretend that my life revolves around the single hour or two that I see these people in person, but you should know that what I really do all day is exactly what I'm doing right now: sitting in the library (or lecture) drinking Starbucks and hyperventilating about Pharmacology. Then, when my text boyfriends send messages about the sunrise and having a good day, I curse them for being happy and well-rested and return to the bitterness that is MSII.
(OK, maybe not that bad...but dangerously close!)
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
The Last Time I Did This, It Ended Really, Really Badly
In an attempt to do what I believe is the right thing, I just sent The Lawyer a long email about the nature of our communication with one another. To play fair (since our high school friends are already reading), I copied one of the entries on this blog about him into the email and hit "send."
This could either be an immense trust-building step in our friendship, or the ultimate fail, in which I basically just invited a lawyer to sue me for libel.
THE QUICK UPDATE (for Impulsive Addict!): The Lawyer said that he was sorry that he had caused me so much stress and that, if anything, he was flattered to be included on the blog. He had no idea that I found out about his marriage at dinner and said that he felt terrible about that. He thought that I already knew.
He has also promised not to read here, because he knows that I'm using this space as my free therapy outlet and says that he can respect that.
This could either be an immense trust-building step in our friendship, or the ultimate fail, in which I basically just invited a lawyer to sue me for libel.
THE QUICK UPDATE (for Impulsive Addict!): The Lawyer said that he was sorry that he had caused me so much stress and that, if anything, he was flattered to be included on the blog. He had no idea that I found out about his marriage at dinner and said that he felt terrible about that. He thought that I already knew.
He has also promised not to read here, because he knows that I'm using this space as my free therapy outlet and says that he can respect that.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Conversations and Questions: Interpretations
After dinner with The Lawyer, I was sure that my earlier feelings about his interest were correct.
Conversation had ebbed and flowed naturally and easily. We were old friends and that’s exactly what dinner felt like. I told inappropriate stories about clubbing in the DR. He talked about other friends from high school and what they are doing now.
He walked me back to the Metro, near the medical school, after dinner, but I thought nothing of it. As he turned to walk away, it was I who reached out for a loose, non-hip-touching hug. That’s what friends—platonic friends—do.
This wasn’t a date with Marcus or a first time meeting with a dating website guy. This was someone that I knew, enjoyed the evening with, and wanted to hang out with again. The hug wasn’t forced or romantic. It was just a hug. When The Lawyer texted me a few minutes later, asking that I text him when I got home, I viewed it also a gesture of chivalrous concern and kindness.
In retrospect, there was a lot that could be interpreted romantically, but it wasn't. I was convinced that I had misread him and what he wanted from this situation. Everything that he did during our first meeting was expected and easily explained. After all, I tell my friends to text me when they get home too, and I have friends—male and female—who routinely take pity on an impoverished medical student and refuse to let me pick up the tab.
I had obediently texted The Lawyer when I arrived home on Wednesday night, and our usual pattern of brief, insignificant text messages continued the following day. He had mentioned, during dinner, that he still keeps up with one of our high school friends and speaks to her, “maybe twice a week.” With such a revelation, I was no longer suspicious of his frequent text messaging. After all, if he was talking to a friend whom I knew he had no romantic interest in twice a week, what was a text message to me now and then?
On Friday morning, though, I received the following text message:
Hey, I’m walking to work and I realize that I never told you that, although I was tired and had a long day, I had a really great time Wednesday. If you’re game, I would love to see you again when your schedule has a few hours.
Suddenly, there were questions again. The ambiguity was pronounced. This was not a platonic text message.
In fact, it was the prototypic after-date text. Men who just want to be your friend don’t send text messages with the explicit statements, “I had a great time” and “I would love to see you again.” They just…don’t.
“Just friends” send text messages saying things like, “It was good seeing you! Maybe we’ll hang out again!” or “You looked amazing! Rock your test this week!” They send those messages immediately—the same night, in fact—and end the conversation there. Men who text a full two days after a date, while they are walking work, are thinking about you. They are thinking about you and hoping to see you again.
I knew, before The Lawyer said anything else, that this was a very romantically charged situation. Whatever he had to tell me about what he was trying to do, I was willing to hear. Unfortunately, one thing was true: I don’t date married men. Regardless of whether or not I grew up with you, find your life fascinating, and know with certainty that we share a great deal in common, I cannot and will not date you. That should be a common sense rule of life.
So, I responded coolly and superficially to his mention of a second dinner. The following day, I received the following text message:
Hey. Have car, will drive. You free for Sunday brunch?
This time, I didn’t respond. With The Lawyer off-limits, but clearly interested, I did what most medical students who are tired, stressed, and lacking in self-control would do: I called Marcus and said I'd take him up on the offer to study at his place.
That’s right, internet. Instead of cutting off Marcus, with his overtly stated interest, I started seeing him more. His competition was married and for the moment, that was reason enough.
When I did text message The Lawyer back, I said something vague about having a busy day and needing to make a decision after seeing how much progress I could make studying on Saturday night.
In response to my lack of committal response, he wrote back:
Of course you can let me know later. But you have no idea how thick my skin is, so please know that it does not hurt my feelings if you have to say…
The text message exceeded the character limit and cut off, forcing me to wait for the next installment.
Mentally, I filled in the remainder his response.
“…If you have to say… ‘Sorry, I don’t have time to hang out and I need to study,’” I was sure it would read.
I’ve heard kind promises to be understanding of my schedule 100 times since starting medical school--especially from dates.
Instead, my phone beeped his full statement a few seconds later.
…If you have to say, “Sorry, your situation is too much of a mess for a Sunday brunch."
Crap. There was no question of what the last comment was referring to. He knew exactly what he was doing, and it had absolutely nothing to do with me.
(To Be Continued...)
Conversation had ebbed and flowed naturally and easily. We were old friends and that’s exactly what dinner felt like. I told inappropriate stories about clubbing in the DR. He talked about other friends from high school and what they are doing now.
He walked me back to the Metro, near the medical school, after dinner, but I thought nothing of it. As he turned to walk away, it was I who reached out for a loose, non-hip-touching hug. That’s what friends—platonic friends—do.
This wasn’t a date with Marcus or a first time meeting with a dating website guy. This was someone that I knew, enjoyed the evening with, and wanted to hang out with again. The hug wasn’t forced or romantic. It was just a hug. When The Lawyer texted me a few minutes later, asking that I text him when I got home, I viewed it also a gesture of chivalrous concern and kindness.
In retrospect, there was a lot that could be interpreted romantically, but it wasn't. I was convinced that I had misread him and what he wanted from this situation. Everything that he did during our first meeting was expected and easily explained. After all, I tell my friends to text me when they get home too, and I have friends—male and female—who routinely take pity on an impoverished medical student and refuse to let me pick up the tab.
I had obediently texted The Lawyer when I arrived home on Wednesday night, and our usual pattern of brief, insignificant text messages continued the following day. He had mentioned, during dinner, that he still keeps up with one of our high school friends and speaks to her, “maybe twice a week.” With such a revelation, I was no longer suspicious of his frequent text messaging. After all, if he was talking to a friend whom I knew he had no romantic interest in twice a week, what was a text message to me now and then?
On Friday morning, though, I received the following text message:
Hey, I’m walking to work and I realize that I never told you that, although I was tired and had a long day, I had a really great time Wednesday. If you’re game, I would love to see you again when your schedule has a few hours.
Suddenly, there were questions again. The ambiguity was pronounced. This was not a platonic text message.
In fact, it was the prototypic after-date text. Men who just want to be your friend don’t send text messages with the explicit statements, “I had a great time” and “I would love to see you again.” They just…don’t.
“Just friends” send text messages saying things like, “It was good seeing you! Maybe we’ll hang out again!” or “You looked amazing! Rock your test this week!” They send those messages immediately—the same night, in fact—and end the conversation there. Men who text a full two days after a date, while they are walking work, are thinking about you. They are thinking about you and hoping to see you again.
I knew, before The Lawyer said anything else, that this was a very romantically charged situation. Whatever he had to tell me about what he was trying to do, I was willing to hear. Unfortunately, one thing was true: I don’t date married men. Regardless of whether or not I grew up with you, find your life fascinating, and know with certainty that we share a great deal in common, I cannot and will not date you. That should be a common sense rule of life.
So, I responded coolly and superficially to his mention of a second dinner. The following day, I received the following text message:
Hey. Have car, will drive. You free for Sunday brunch?
This time, I didn’t respond. With The Lawyer off-limits, but clearly interested, I did what most medical students who are tired, stressed, and lacking in self-control would do: I called Marcus and said I'd take him up on the offer to study at his place.
That’s right, internet. Instead of cutting off Marcus, with his overtly stated interest, I started seeing him more. His competition was married and for the moment, that was reason enough.
When I did text message The Lawyer back, I said something vague about having a busy day and needing to make a decision after seeing how much progress I could make studying on Saturday night.
In response to my lack of committal response, he wrote back:
Of course you can let me know later. But you have no idea how thick my skin is, so please know that it does not hurt my feelings if you have to say…
The text message exceeded the character limit and cut off, forcing me to wait for the next installment.
Mentally, I filled in the remainder his response.
“…If you have to say… ‘Sorry, I don’t have time to hang out and I need to study,’” I was sure it would read.
I’ve heard kind promises to be understanding of my schedule 100 times since starting medical school--especially from dates.
Instead, my phone beeped his full statement a few seconds later.
…If you have to say, “Sorry, your situation is too much of a mess for a Sunday brunch."
Crap. There was no question of what the last comment was referring to. He knew exactly what he was doing, and it had absolutely nothing to do with me.
(To Be Continued...)
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Unintended Hiatus
When I saw the subject line, entitled, "A Small Bit of Unusual Seriousness," I froze.
As I read the first words of The Lawyer's email, I realized that he was reading this site. If someone hadn't pointed him in the direction of the URL, he had to have at least seen excerpts. Why else would he have written me the following email two nights after I wrote about him being married:
This is a dick move, and I really apologize because it was my suggestion to meet up again and I offered brunch on Sunday, but is it weird and would you hate me if we delayed our next "hanging out" until after the start of November? Seems like a very long way away, so I understand if it is both weird AND you hate me because of it... if that's the case we can talk it out.
I would be a fool not to acknowledge the significance of "after the start of November," so I spent an hour writing a thoughtful, apologetic email about privacy and the inappropriateness of talking about this situation on a site that mutual friends are reading. Right before I hit "send," it occurred to me that what he wrote may have simply been pure coincidence and have had nothing to do with the timing of my last post about him.
Instead, I deleted the email and asked him if any of my actions or writings contributed to whatever prompted his email. He said no, and asked what I was talking about. I never answered.
It's possible that this blog has nothing to do with what he wrote. But, I'm not sure. I need to talk to him, and make sure that it's OK to keep telling this story.
Sorry, internet, this is what happens when your real life and your internet life collide. Oh, and the whole prioritizing studying above blogging thing doesn't help either.
As I read the first words of The Lawyer's email, I realized that he was reading this site. If someone hadn't pointed him in the direction of the URL, he had to have at least seen excerpts. Why else would he have written me the following email two nights after I wrote about him being married:
This is a dick move, and I really apologize because it was my suggestion to meet up again and I offered brunch on Sunday, but is it weird and would you hate me if we delayed our next "hanging out" until after the start of November? Seems like a very long way away, so I understand if it is both weird AND you hate me because of it... if that's the case we can talk it out.
I would be a fool not to acknowledge the significance of "after the start of November," so I spent an hour writing a thoughtful, apologetic email about privacy and the inappropriateness of talking about this situation on a site that mutual friends are reading. Right before I hit "send," it occurred to me that what he wrote may have simply been pure coincidence and have had nothing to do with the timing of my last post about him.
Instead, I deleted the email and asked him if any of my actions or writings contributed to whatever prompted his email. He said no, and asked what I was talking about. I never answered.
It's possible that this blog has nothing to do with what he wrote. But, I'm not sure. I need to talk to him, and make sure that it's OK to keep telling this story.
Sorry, internet, this is what happens when your real life and your internet life collide. Oh, and the whole prioritizing studying above blogging thing doesn't help either.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Conversations and Questions- Part II
Two nights before my face-to-face meeting with The Lawyer, I met Marcus for dinner.
It was the night after my Pharmacology exam and I was exhausted. For the first time this year, I skipped the afternoon lectures after my exam, came home, and took a nap. When I re-emerged from bed in the late afternoon, I texted Marcus to tell him that I was going to the gym. Until that point, I had been vague about whether or not I could meet him for dinner.
As much as I knew that he was patiently waiting for the infamous October 3 round of tests to be over, I also needed my personal detoxification of sleep, a good workout, and lots non-caffeinated beverages. I told him that I could possibly be up for a late dinner after the gym, but while working out, I decided that I should meet him the following night.
After all, our first two meetings consisted of me texting him at the last minute to meet me for lunch and then, meeting him for a brief two and a half hours of drinks and dancing, before leaving again. The very least that he deserved was a proper dinner where I wasn’t checking the time and running off again.
In the car, after the gym, I called him to tell him as much. I could hear the disappointment in his voice.
“I really wanted to see you tonight,” he said.
“Umm…OK,” I said, suddenly feeling guilty. “But, I’m not even home yet…and I need to take a shower. You’d have to drive out to Virginia if you want to eat before 9 p.m.,” I said.
“That’s no problem!,” he said eagerly. “I’ll leave now. Text me your address.”
Cursing Marcus for being so interested, I sped home and jumped in the shower. I feared that I wouldn’t even make it out before Marcus arrived at my building. Thankfully, I managed to shower and fully dress by the time he pulled into the parking lot. I told him to park the car and come up to my apartment, so that I could blow dry my hair, before we left.
When I opened the front door, Marcus immediately pulled me into a huge hug. After the stress of such a big exam, combined with the intense sleep deprivation that had led up to it, the warmth of his strong arms was inviting. I relaxed into his chest and without warning, he pulled back slightly and kissed me on the lips.
It was quick and sweet—barely two simple pecks. Before I could protest, though, the kisses were over, and he was back to just hugging me.“OK, well entertain yourself with TV or pictures,” I instructed him, pointing him to the living room. “I’m almost ready,” I continued, not acknowledging that the man whose hand I had pulled out of mine the last time I saw him had just bypassed my earlier prudishness by kissing me.
To be fair, though, quite a bit of emotional progress had been made since drinks and dancing. --
I was dealing with a stressful personal problem that was keeping me up at night during the week before the exam. In fact, I was certain that I was going to fail my Pharmacology exam (Praise God, I did NOT) because I had been so stressed. The height of my anxiety hit one night when I got home just after 11:30 p.m. I texted Elizabeth for a while, but midnight approached quickly and I didn't want to keep her up. My sister was moving from North Carolina to Florida and was unavailable; all of my non-medical school friends were asleep; the medical school friends were busy studying. I knew that Marcus would be up, running his bar, though. He was also still in the habit of texting me goodnight every night.So, I called him at 1 a.m.
For the next two hours, he walked me through the options regarding the situation I was struggling with. He listened and supported, until eventually, I had calmed down enough for Marcus to shift the conversation in another direction.
“I shouldn’t tell you this,” he said. “But, I had a date last night with another girl. I called and canceled, because since I met you, I just don’t want to see anyone else anymore.”
On the other end of the phone, I didn’t know what to say.
“That’s umm…I don’t want you to do that,” I started. “You know that I don’t know what I want from this situation…”
Except, that wasn’t all that I wanted to say. Yes, I had contributed to the emotional progression that had occurred, by responding to his text messages and reaching out for emotional support this night. But, we had only gone out twice. Our primary method of communication was text messages not exceeding 160 characters! I didn't know what I wanted from Marcus long-term, but the one thing that I was sure of was that I wanted to be officially single and seeing other people. I had a vested interest in hearing The Lawyer's story, especially after finding out that he was married.
“OK, listen,” I started again. “I haven’t stopped seeing other people. That is, I’m not ready to stop seeing other people.”
“OK, listen,” I started again. “I haven’t stopped seeing other people. That is, I’m not ready to stop seeing other people.”
“Have you been seeing someone else?,” Marcus asked, confused.
An unintended consequence of Marcus texting me constantly throughout the day was that he knew exactly who I was with at all times. My life is far from fascinating, and after only two weeks, Marcus knew my extremely boring and simple schedule cold. If I wasn’t in class, I was in the library or in a study group. Aside from a dinner or two with study partners, eaten within walking distance of the medical school, he knew exactly where I was every night.
“I haven’t started seeing anyone else yet,” I replied. “But I’m, umm, going to be seeing someone else.”
“Who?”
“That lawyer that I went to high school with.”
I know that I had mentioned The Lawyer to him, at some point, but I cannot remember why.
“I thought that you said that you were just going to catch up with him,” Marcus said.
“Maybe. We’ll see. I don’t know,” I said. “He might be married, but I don’t know for sure. It might be a romantic situation.”
It was 3 a.m. at this point, and I was rambling. The prudent thing to do would have been to shut my mouth and just hang up the phone. A cardinal rule of casual dating is to not let the men that you are dating know that you are dating other people. It is assumed that you are, of course, but when you start to elaborate and provide details, it’s usually a downward progression.
But, did I stop talking? No. Because Marcus had told me that he was no longer seeing other people, I suddenly felt compelled to tell him that I wasn’t.
“Well, just because you keep seeing other people, it doesn’t mean that my feelings are going to change or that I’m going to like you any less,” Marcus stated, matter-of-factly.
The conversation was pretty much done. He wanted to be exclusive. I didn’t. Regardless of who else I went out with, Marcus didn’t plan on walking away anytime soon.
(To Be Continued...)
(To Be Continued...)
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Conversations and Questions- Part I
I found out that The Lawyer is married on the night that I had dinner with my friends from high school.
Clearly, they thought that I knew. Apparently, everybody knew, considering the magnitude of the wedding. At first, I protested their declaration with surprise. He was not married, I told them. I was sure of it. He may have been married, but now? Negative. They countered, citing specific (relatively correct) dates and times.
I left the restaurant, and went to have drinks with Marcus, while my mind reeled. I felt stupid. Stupid and unaware. Either I had very, very wrongly misinterpreted his intentions, or my friends were just grossly misinformed. I suspected the former.
Of course, I immediately Googled The Lawyer when I got home.
Sure enough, he was married about a year and a half ago to a woman whom public records showed that he had also bought a house in the city with in 2008. I prowled through their wedding registry like a stalker, and took note of the fact that they had attended the same college and law school. They also held Bar affiliations in the same states.
I was an idiot.
I closed my laptop and laid down to go to sleep, not sure of what to make of the situation. But, restlessness got the better of me.
Reaching for the lamp on my nightstand, I got back up and opened my laptop. I wanted to reread our emails to each other. Despite my tendency to distract myself from the mundane nature of my life by blogging about the tiniest romantic possibility with someone of the opposite sex, I’m usually not that blunted in my perception of people.
When discussing the wedding of another high school friend, he had written:
Anyway, the craziest thing was that everyone seems to have life-partnered up, so I had an odd anxiety like I was the only one without a plan. Not sure if that makes sense.
When talking about a friend of ours that ended a relationship after three years, because the guy cheated:
I was BBM'ing with [our friend] about the fact that all these previously life-time single people were all coupled up; she and I had similar situations.
When discussing my breakup with Rich:
What a thoroughly mature way to look at the world. Despite my age and experience, or perhaps because of it, I'm still suspect of quick coupling/marrying. I don't have comments or anecdotes I'd want to put in writing, so it will have to wait for happy hour (after a few drinks).
I can see how the last statement would elicit questions, but the first two? I garnered from our email conversations that he had had a long-term relationship that did not work out well, and that he was now unhappily single and looking. I did not garner: “Hey, by the way, I’m married!”
You have no idea how badly I needed and wanted to blog about this, internet, but alas, so many of our mutual high school friends read this blog. If they haven’t identified who The Lawyer is yet, they certainly know who I’m talking about now. (Which incidentally, please don't tip him off to this blog address, you guys. He knows that I write a blog; he does not know that I am writing about him.)
In an attempt to save face on a blog that I once started anonymously, precisely so that I wouldn’t ever have to, I stopped writing about my relationships. (Now you know.) I didn’t want anyone referring The Lawyer to this site, where I was publicly posting private email conversations that we had had. Also, though, I didn’t want everyone to realize that a) I’m an idiot, because had I simply Googled him, I would know that he is married or b) I’m an idiot, because while I was carrying on about Google Docs and text messages, he was clearly not interested romantically.
So, our conversations continued quietly. Me, responding to him cautiously and scrutinizing his every word. He, texting to say hi, to inquire about exams, and to set a date and time for our infamous happy hour/dinner.
--
--
Last Wednesday night, we finally met each other in person.
I was sitting at a bar, across the street from the medical school, when he arrived. We dispatched the usual pleasantries, before eventually getting to the meat of the discussion.
“The split happened six months ago,” he started.
It was evident that he thought that I knew, despite him never telling me himself.
I tactfully asked about the hows and whys, while sipping my rum and diet Coke, and waiting for him to fill in the details.
“So, have you filed for divorce yet?,” I finally had the courage to ask.
“November 1.”
Drinks were followed with a late dinner at one of our mutually favorite restaurants. We talked and laughed until the waiters were cleaning up and he looked at his watch and said, “I don’t want to keep you out too late. It’s already 11 p.m.”
What followed next was reminiscent of this situation last fall. I caught the very last train back to Virginia, and when I got home, there were no cabs at the Metro station. So, standing outside with my huge backpack, purse, laptop, and leftovers from dinner, I called a taxi. At 12:00 a.m. on a weeknight.
Reflecting on the situation, I figured that what happened was a combination of my misinterpretation of his intentions and his genuine interest in wanting to see me—both because we shared a high school connection, but also because I too had experienced a terrible, serious breakup, and could empathize with the humiliation and heartache involved. I also convinced myself that like him, I must have grown up into a fascinating and witty adult, and that must be appealing somehow. Really, I was just rationalizing to myself.
He was just a nice guy who rode my bus to high school and wanted to befriend me again as an adult. I was a socially-deprived, hermit medical student making far too much out of it.
(To Be Continued...)
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
This is Why It's Best to Proceed With Caution
Tomorrow night, I have a dinner date with the lawyer.
In the meantime, there have been many developments with Marcus. I had an exciting update written out about a last minute dinner last night, in which Marcus drove out to Virginia, picked me up, and had profound and meaningful conversation.
Then, I spent two hours talking to Rajiv tonight.
I know that men have rivalries, and that old business associates don't always place nice. However, regardless of everything that happened with Rajiv this summer, he is still one of the most genuine people that I have ever met and I trust him to a fault. When I told him that I had been seeing Marcus, he got very quiet. He started with very simple statements, expressing surprise--both that I had reconnected with Marcus and that I would be spending time with him at all. Then, he elaborated on his initial concern, citing specific situations that occurred when he used to be friendly with Marcus. Throughout the course of our conversation, I cycled through feeling scared, nauseous, and just upset.
I don't have the words to get into all of it right now, but thank goodness for Rajiv. I have to find a way to tactfully extricate myself from this situation, and I'm not exactly sure how to do it yet.
I did feel a little silly, when I wrote in the last entry that I didn't even want to let Marcus hold my hand until I knew what I wanted from the situation. In retrospect, I once made a living as a relationship advice columnist and I know what I'm doing. I shouldn't have felt silly.
When I figure out how to write coherent sentences again, without making you read a 4000 word amalgamation of emotion, I will do so.
In the meantime, there have been many developments with Marcus. I had an exciting update written out about a last minute dinner last night, in which Marcus drove out to Virginia, picked me up, and had profound and meaningful conversation.
Then, I spent two hours talking to Rajiv tonight.
I know that men have rivalries, and that old business associates don't always place nice. However, regardless of everything that happened with Rajiv this summer, he is still one of the most genuine people that I have ever met and I trust him to a fault. When I told him that I had been seeing Marcus, he got very quiet. He started with very simple statements, expressing surprise--both that I had reconnected with Marcus and that I would be spending time with him at all. Then, he elaborated on his initial concern, citing specific situations that occurred when he used to be friendly with Marcus. Throughout the course of our conversation, I cycled through feeling scared, nauseous, and just upset.
I don't have the words to get into all of it right now, but thank goodness for Rajiv. I have to find a way to tactfully extricate myself from this situation, and I'm not exactly sure how to do it yet.
I did feel a little silly, when I wrote in the last entry that I didn't even want to let Marcus hold my hand until I knew what I wanted from the situation. In retrospect, I once made a living as a relationship advice columnist and I know what I'm doing. I shouldn't have felt silly.
When I figure out how to write coherent sentences again, without making you read a 4000 word amalgamation of emotion, I will do so.
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