Needing vs. Getting

3/28/2014 The Lady 3 Comments

My "relationship" with The Artist has been nothing but bewilderment, confusion, and feebleness. Some might call it turmoil, but considering the circumstances, that is most decidedly a gross exaggeration. After spending a week or more constantly texting each other in an attempt to distinguish whether we actually did want to move forward into an "real" relationship, we called it quits. 

How the sitch (situation) went down:

I began to realize that I inwardly groaned every time I received a text from The Artist. I knew I would have to (yet again) clarify something that I had said or point out that I had attempted to make a joke. He did not understand me. My responses were made begrudgingly. I also felt as though The Artist was continually berating me, scolding me, lecturing me in the hopes that I would become a better person than I currently am. 

It took me much too long to deduce that I was unhappy, that this was not what I wanted out of a relationship or a potential marriage. 

Me: Artist, you're not necessarily as interested in me, The Lady, as you are in the idea of dating/marriage. Marriage is your goal, and that's fine, but it doesn't necessarily include me. 

The Aritist: I understand and I agree with you. 

. . . 

Painless. It was painless. It was painful how painless it was. How could something be so mechanical? So lifeless? Is it terrible to wish that perhaps there had been a little pain? Not that I wanted to inflict pain on The Artist or that I wanted to be hurt myself, but I wanted there to be at least some hint of feeling, that he had at least felt an ounce of regard for me

What The Lady Needs: To be loved for her own sake. To be treated as though she were the goal, not the process. 

What The Lady was Getting: A relationship that made logical sense, but made The Lady feel as though she were simply the vehicle that could get The Artist to his ultimate destination: MARRIAGE. 


The date with The Counselor happened at long last, and I am happy to announce that I survived the Ides of March. Whatever that may mean in this context. 

The Counselor and I pulled a marathon date. The six-hour variety. 

Despite my grumbling and groaning about marathon dates that occurred at BYU, I would not have wished my date with The Counselor to be one minute shorter. 

United in a disdain for seafood and a love for Mexican food, The Counselor and I salsaed the night away. And by that I mean we ate chips and salsa like we were the Olympic chips-and-salsa team. Following dinner, The Counselor asked if I would like to take a walk, which of course I did. We had a simply splendid time despite the fact that the weather was blustery and freezing. The only thing I regret was not taking The Counselor's jacket when he offered it. It was truly chivalrous of him, but I was at least wearing a sweater while he had only short sleeves underneath the jacket. I should have taken it to make him feel more needed, but I just didn't want to make him purposely suffer the cold. I never know what to do in those sorts of situations . . . Last but  not least, The Counselor asked if it was too late to watch a movie. We settled in at his apartment to watch an episode of Sherlock (truly a man of good taste), and there were so many moments where I could have sworn he was going to hold my hand, but alas it was not to be. 

And that was that. In retrospect I simply cannot recall any awkward lulls in conversation, or any time I felt uncomfortable or wished to be home. It was one of the best dates I have been on in a very long time. And yes, I can admit that I am even glad he didn't hold my hand. It's not time, at least not yet. Everything was simply as it should have been.  

What The Lady Needs: Laughter and sincerity. To feel comfortable in her own skin when in the company of a gentleman. 

What The Lady was Getting: All of the above. 

The Lady

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Anonymous said...

Goodbye...good riddance...Artist. Hello Counselor! Can't wait to hear more!

Anonymous said...

The Artist=St. John Rivers from Jane Eyre. I know it's not an Austen allusion, but it seemed too perfect to pass up.

Anonymous said...

Oh, my word. The Artist is St. John! How did I not realize that? Thank you for that all-too-perfect allusion.

-The Lady