Catatonic in the Cubicle

The more I talk with the father and reflect, the less attracted I am to the idea of having kids. Those cute Gerber-faced babies eventually turn into adults who, even at the age of 32, call home constantly to whine about life’s woes.

The poor father must be tired of hearing the same old record, being spun by yours truly. “Oh what should I do about the pseudo-boyfriend? I like him so much. He was so perfect for me. Why didn’t he call or text message?” I am sick, sad and obsessed... and calling the ex-boyfriend from a pay phone, because if I call from my cell, he won’t pick up.

Despite signs that spring is here full throttle, I sit catatonic in the cubicle trying hard to focus on interviewing wheelers and dealers, and yet my mind drifts back to the cell phone. I think of the blazing fire and the log cabin, of sipping red wine along with ice.

But, he was never mine. The thought of spending the rest of my life in a predictable and passionless marriage frightens me. I would rather die.

I spoke with the father about it tonight, who said I'm fortunate that a person's needs and desires change with age. At the age of 32 I say this, but at 35 or 39, who knows? He added, "You are not a stationary biological specimen. You are a constantly evolving dynamic biological species."

I erupted into a fit of laughter. He’s funny, he really is. I have to be more forgiving of myself, I think.

Someone comes into your life and then leaves; some people are there just for a season. Why didn't I see this train coming? I did. I saw it coming, and at some point it had to stop. Even if I could have dragged it out, it'd only be for so much longer. A misfit is a misfit—just like this job, in the end, it doesn’t matter.

The ex-boyfriend is actually leaving; he told me that his company is sending him overseas. Tomorrow night, we're having a drink at the bar of some fancy hotel, and I'm going to give him a goodbye. Spring will soon shift into summer, and it's time I find someone new.