You

You are walking down the street with him on a beautiful Saturday afternoon after a 2o mile bike ride and you are wondering if you will both stay at your place or you will stay at his place tonight. You marvel at the modern urban sophistication of the thought that people have been acting out since the 70's. Before you can even think whether you will grill swordfish and watch a movie or order Chinese and watch MSNBC, he turns and says,"I need to talk to you about something important." You know it is not pregnancy or even HIV. You know what it is. He is just not into you that way and even though he has been trying it is just not there and he is really sorry.

You are right. That IS what he says.

You have been here before. Hey, you have practice!

You nod and smile that smile those best actress nominees have when they lose.

He then says that you are:

1. Funny
2. Bright
3. The nicest guy ever.*
4. He hopes we can be friends.

You think to put an asterisk next to #3 for later reference.

You say you hear him and that it is too bad, but you know yourself from when you have counseled/consoled friends: "You can't help how you feel." You say it like someone who has had too much therapy. And you dismount with something winning like "I thank you for your honesty." Which you know you really do.

He still wants to have dinner and a movie tonight, but you know you can't. You excuse yourself from it and he understands.

You know you are sad. And you know he is sad. But you also know he is relieved. "Sad and relieved" is way farther away from depression and a vat of ice cream than simply "sad."

You also know this is all not a total shock to you as much as you want to recant to your friends that it is. You knew it was not right. You know he was right to end it. You knew he was pulling back and not talking about snowshoeing in Vermont this winter. You know he no longer made any "future talk" at all. Something you prided yourself on never doing after the last breakup with Mister 1.5 Years Ago. But he made mild future talk and though you told yourself THIS TIME you would stay in the moment and not listen to it, you had thought about Thanksgiving. You know you did.

You know he is a decent, nice guy and he did nothing wrong. And right away you know you know you have to process this without "How could you lead me on, you prick" because you have no case. Two nice guys. One isn't into the other one. Ouch.

You know you are going to have to take action not to get all "And this is where we ate our first papusa" and "I am just not strong enough to go to Central Park anymore because we went there." Ha! You know it is all crazy and then you remember that you had planned to see this play together! That's right, that's not gonna happen now. Argggghh!

You know you were walking in Manhattan full of a gazillion people and he broke up with you and it didn't register a blip to anyone else on the island. Yet, you know it has happened to everyone else that is brushing by you on the sidewalk as you quickly try to piece the hopes and dreams you had before you met him back together. You know you are overreacting, but right now you don't care.

You think about #3 again. Nicest guy ever. That is what Mr. 1.5 Years Ago said essentially. You realize that you realize that you have to be yourself and someone will one day love you for you, but you only fake realize it because that is what people are going to tell you and you will have to put on that best actress Oscar loser smile again.

But you also know you are the Olivia Newton-John in "Grease" BEFORE she got into leather. Not after. You know you are a sweet foreign exchange student from Down Under and not a spiky-heeled dominatrix who streusels hot wax on your partner's nipples. You wonder as a blogger if you should really even write that. You also want to make clear that is not why he broke up with you. But still, a little more leather and less gingham for the nice guy maybe? Figuratively, of course. Then you wonder if this is even anything to do with anything. It can't be. Can it?

You are writing all this in a blog entry before the REJECTED ink on your forehead has even dried and you wonder "Why would ANYONE ever date a blogger? Especially one who writes about himself and his life? " Argggghhh! What madness to date a blogger. Ha!

You wonder if you are just airing your dirty laundry. No, you are just airing your laundry. It is not dirty at all. But you wonder why you do that. You wonder if it is universal laundry. And you know it is. And you post it because someone might read it and get it. You wonder because you don't want to be crazy. Or go crazy.

You stop and fix yourself another bowl of ice cream and think, "When will someone sing 'You're the One That I Want.'"

To you.

You wonder why you wrote in second person and not first. And you realize it is too hard to write this in first.