Your Call Is Important To Us

And sometime early the next morning, Scott texts again.  Tells me the name and the location of the paintball place and suggests that it would be a super place to take Pat for his birthday.  It no doubt would, but Pat's birthday is nearly three months away and the place is no closer to me than the ones Charlotte investigated when contemplating the same thing for Pat at Christmas.  There is evidently no such thing as a suburban paint ball venue.  Must be all the roads and establishments.

So as I lay in bed I have two issues.

Three if you count the nagging little wine hangover.

But the real pressing ones are these:

1 - Why is Scott texting me in the early morning?  Morning texts are really reserved for work emergencies, and flirtatious love notes from potential mates (and maybe one's mother if she is annoying like mine). 

2 - And do I respond?

I don't have any recollection of what time the text arrived since I've conveniently and a little petulantly erased all emails and texts we ever exchanged in a hasty clean sweep of technical cobwebs.  But I know it was pretty early.  7 am? 8? 

But there is part of me that thinks that the timing is suspicious.  That it is a test of some kind.  To see if I am in a position to receive and read texts at this hour. Read that, "If I am lying alone in my bed thinking about making a cup of coffee or am I tangled up in the sheets with a man with no interest in my phone which is currently buried deep in the purse that is dangling from the ceiling fan where I flung it last night en route to the aforementioned sheets with said man?"

And I decide to ignore this text for a while, too. 

The truth is, given the choice, I would have been in exactly that entangled predicament with Craig at the moment and the fact that I am not is just a detail.  If I ran the world, I would be preoccupied and unavailable.

So I let the illusion lie there and fester.  Better that Scott think that my phone went dark after our first brief exchange last night, which preceded regulation date hours, and will not be looked at again until everyone is showered, shaved, coffeed up and has had a decent breakfast. 

It is not the kindest thing to do, but it is not inaccurate.  The sooner he realizes that there will be times, preferably lots and lots of times, when he will not be a priority, and his texts will go unanswered while I live the life I choose, the sooner it will sink in.

I have indeed moved on.