It’s easy to write about anger, bitterness, jealousy, sadness, and loneliness.  

 But it’s really hard to write about fear.  By putting it in words, you have to name it, examine it, define it, evaluate it, acknowledge it. 

I’ve started more posts than I can remember this week.  Now I have something that can use to actually define my fear.  Here goes.

The boy from back home and I agreed to give this whole long-distance thing a whirl.  In the meantime, we’re not dating other people and I ended it with the guy here before we ever made it to that 5th date.  We talk, email and text daily.  We saw each other over this weekend, and he was absolutely perfect, and made it clear in every possible way that a frightened, formerly heartbroken girl could ever need to let me know that I’m not taking a leap of faith – he cares for me, he is excited about what we’ve started, and he’s not, improbable though it may seem, horrified by my physical appearance. (disclaimer: I’m not fishing for compliments.  But he used to be a personal trainer.  A goddamned personal trainer.  It’s all well and good to look at him, but do I really want someone who’s mission in life was to sculpt perfect bodies to see me, close up, in the light, not fully clothed? It is an intimidating thought indeed – remind me to tell you my Gold’s Gym story sometime….)

But okay, so he’s not horrified by me, actually goes out of his way to let me know how much he likes me, and I’m stressing why?  If you are familiar with me at all, you don’t doubt that I can find a way to mess this up, you just don’t know exactly how it’s going to happen.  Like watching Titanic.  We all knew the ship was going down, but we sat through that 3 1/2 hour movie anyway, because it’s not the disaster itself that enthralls us, it’s watching the disaster unfold.    

 So I may have mentioned before that I joined myspace for the sole purpose of (successfully) freaking out my then future ex and his skank and accidentally discovered that it was a good way to find people I’ve lost touch with along the way.

 But have I mentioned that it is the source of all that is evil and cruel in the universe?

As the boy from back home (BFBH) and I were on the phone, going over some pictures we took during our very short weekend together, I told him that one of my pictures of him, where he looked particularly completelyoutofmyleague gorgeous, was “definitely myspace worthy.”  My myspace reference prompted him to ask me if I had ever changed my “status*.”

*(your “status,” for those who are lucky enough to have not been sucked into this abyss of the net, is your relationship status.  Mine has been unfailing labeled “SINGLE” since the beginning of time.  No one has ever rated a “status” change to date).

I pulled that classic move and answered his question with a question.  “Have you?” I asked (trying to sound all nonchalent and innocent, as opposed to desperately hopeful).  He admitted he had not, but said he hasn’t really been on there except to take a quick look at my pictures.  Okay then.  Feeling that we’d established some kind of understanding, I went in this morning and publically declared to my 54 “Friends” that I am “IN A RELATIONSHIP.” 

I got emails congratulating me from people who know that, as absolutely idiotic as this sounds, this is somewhat of a big deal to me. 

And then I looked at his page.  He is still “SINGLE.”

I know, know, know, know, KNOW that this is stupid of me.  I’m 30.  I’ve been pinned, engaged, married, divorced.  I’ve changed my name, and changed it back.  As far as public proclamations of relationship status go, this is something that ranks a three notches below one 14-year-old giving another 14-year-old some cheap-ass promise ring picked up at the local flea market. 

I mean, he looked into my eyes and told me how he felt about me.  He gave me a beautifully written card.  He spent more than 9 hours of his weekend in a car by himself just to attend a backyard party with me in (forgive me, K-Girl, but you know what I’m saying) BFE, New Jersey. 

And yet, I may cry if he doesn’t end up changing his stupid fucking myspace status in the very near future.

 I swear to all that is good and holy in this world: if I ever find the makers of myspace, I may have to punch them in the nose for all the stress they have caused me.  Although I supposed it’s not their fault that I’m a paranoid freak show.