Will the Real George Clooney Please Stand Up

Days go by. Scott and I talk regularly.

I thought that would be enough. It is not.

I am surprised to hear myself say this. Even if only to myself.

To be truthful, as I was envisioning solitude and accepting it, I was dreaming of something fun but manageable. A little more balanced. An elephant I could carve up and deal with in bite sized pieces. In truth, I was kind of looking forward to a distance relationship. Not a long distance relationship necessarily, where someone had to board a plane to spend a weekend together, but enough of a distance where there would not be any surprises. No impromptu visits. No intrusions. OK – No liberties being taken or unwelcome oppressive attention.

I apologize if that makes me sound like George Clooney. I know it does. It’s not that I don’t want the company and attention that comes with a relationship. It's that I want them in manageable, unintrusive doses. And frankly, I want to call the shots.

I have J. to thank for this sudden, selfish realization.

When we were spending the summer months sputtering out to a stall and then complete engine failure, J. did what every man does on the verge of losing something he desperately wants to keep. He claws and clings and traps whatever it is like Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater. Nothing makes you feel more like the kitty being foisted into the well by the bully than that. Even if it is all carried out under the auspices of true love.

So when J. was doing everything in his power to demonstrate what a committed partner he was, everything that is except the things I needed to see him do, the attention was smothering. Full on pillow-over-the-face-oh-my-God-I-think-I might-just-die-this-way smothering.

Showing up on my doorstep even as we are talking on the phone while I assume he is at home. The landscapers/contractors/insurance people/mortgage brokers sent to my house to weed and seed or paint and tile or insure my life and limb or refinance me to greater financial security all without being asked.

Gifts for my children. Flowers. Notes on my windshield.

Offers of rides to the airport.

Impromptu visits to my office to take me to lunch.

Expensive meals sent to resorts where I was staying with girlfriends on a long weekend. Completely unnecessary and unwelcome favors done without being asked.

Excessive concern for the well-being of people that are important to me that rises to a new level of creepiness.

And then abuses of privileges.

Checking my phone for unfamiliar numbers – especially those dialed or texted while I was away from him. Including people from my office.

Being in my house, and denying that he had been. In the face of a pant load of evidence to the contrary.

The silver bullet - Showing up unexpectedly and unannounced at the sacred Girls Weekend.

The crucifix to the heart - Getting a tattoo that forever connects the two of us in a way that made my blood run cold and had me fleeing my office to race home and change the locks and call the police.

After all that smothering profession of true love, which was actually just sick and twisted obsessive desperation, I was looking forward to a relationship that was a little closer to my weight class. A little less emotionally taxing. One where I could have my cake and eat it, too.

I want to be George Clooney.