Journal Entry January 23, 2013
R stood me up yesterday. We were to meet for coffee at Starbucks and he never came. I guess I am not too surprised. I mean, why would he want to go on a date with me in the first place? I mean, it is me we are talking about. When I was at Starbucks, I kept thinking of reasons as to why he may be late, and then as to why he had not shown up. I stayed there a long while, being hopeful. After the tables around me had been sat a couple of times over with new people, I decided I had better go home. I don’t think I felt much of anything at the time. Now I feel upset. That would have been my first ‘date’ in several years. I am trying to turn things around for myself, but when something like this happens, it’s hard not to feel like there is something wrong with me. If I was OK, then this wouldn’t have happened. But that is a negative thought. The program is over and I’m not supposed to have negative thoughts. I should have some strategies that I have learned that will help me turn this thought around. Right now, I can’t think of any. I should go to my big blue binder and look through all of the information I collected to help me with this situation. Truthfully, I just want to go and lie down on my couch. I don’t have the energy to wade through my binder. Is this an example of me not helping myself out? Do I have to report this to Dr. F? Why does something like this have to happen so soon after leaving the program? Is this a test? If it is, then I am failing miserably.
February 5, 2017
So R stood me up. Well, what did I expect from a guy without a telephone? I guess he couldn’t call me to say he wasn’t gong to show up.
I remember that day quite clearly, as the prospect of going on a date was such a novelty after so many years without doing so. We had planned to meet at Starbucks for a coffee. We had drank so many of them in the program together, that this seemed like a natural venue to meet at. I prepared for our ‘date’ carefully. I didn’t want it to appear that I had taken too much trouble getting ready, so R wouldn’t get the impression that this was a terrifically significant occasion for me. I think putting together a casually ‘just thrown together’ look takes more time and effort to achieve then one when I am prepping for an evening out where I want to look my best! I couldn’t decide if jeans, boots, and a jacket were a good look, or if it would be better to wear a long skirt, slouchy boots and a big sweater. And a hat, or do my hair? I love hats. I must have over forty of them hanging in my closet, and in hat boxes in my basement. Would a hat look too polished? Or would it appear like I was covering up a bad hair day? I wanted him to think that I hadn’t put too much energy into my apparel. But I didn’t want him to think that I didn’t care what I looked like and had just donned a chapeaux to cover an oily, rats nest hidden underneath! And I put on way more makeup then I usually wear in an attempt to get a non-made up look. Who knew I had so many neutral colours in my cosmetics arsenal?
One thing the program did NOT help me with is making decisions. I randomly laid out all of the potential outfit pieces on my bed. I scrutinized them for quite some time, until a dull ache began to grow behind my eyes. I closed my eyes and massaged my temples, deciding that the best way to make a decision would be if I made the outfits up as if I was inside them. I opened my eyes and began putting the pieces together as a whole ensemble. I arranged the arms of the sweater and the jacket as if I was throwing a ball in the hopes that giving them an action would make them seem more lifelike, and a better representation of what they might appear like on my body. I then decided throwing a ball was not an accurate example of what I might be doing in my clothes that day, so I tried several other active positions, moving the legs of my jeans and the folds of my skirt as well. The boots stubbornly just stayed in one place. I could feel my face starting to redden with frustrations as I was no nearer making a decision as I was when I began this ridiculous endeavour. I caught a glimpse of my angry self in the mirror, and it occurred to me then that I should try ON the pieces and model them in front of the mirror. I tried on both outfits more than once, and stood in front of the mirror each time, a marvel of indecision. After agonizing over my wardrobe for an inordinate amount of time, I finally settled on a compromise. I wore jeans, the slouchy boots and my big sweater. My brain was too exhausted from this ordeal to make any further decisions, so I grabbed two hats and flew out the door, my messy hair trailing behind. I had spent so much time fretting over my wardrobe, I was in danger of being late! As I noted before, being late is a pastime that I am an expert at. Or rather, that I used to be an expert at. However, back in 2013, I was still in the throes of being a specialist, and I continually struggled to arrive at my destination on time. That particular day, though, it was imperative that I arrive on time so R wouldn’t think that I had stood him up.
I raced through the streets like Mario Andretti, careening around corners on two wheels and screeching my brakes to a halt whenever a red light confronted me. I couldn’t tell how many yellow lights I ran, but I knew I was lucky that I hadn’t been pulled over en route to the coffee house. In no time, I arrived at the mall. Not being blessed with good parking spot karma, I had to putt around the parking lot going under 10 km an hour, in search of a place to park my vehicle. It seemed like everyman and his dog had come to the mall that particular day! I finally found a place to park my car at the other end of the vast parking lot from Starbucks. I tumbled out of my car and began to run across the lot. The pavement held hard packed snow and ice, so I found myself slipping and sliding, as the boots I was wearing were made for fashion, and not for traversing across the rough tundra. The wind had a sharp bite to it and it buffeted around my hair, stinging my cheeks and eyes. I somehow managed to cross the huge parking lot without being hit, or sliding under someone’s car, and I reached the door seconds before I had to meet R. I saw a reflection of myself in the storefront window and I was appalled! So much for all the effort to achieve an unmade up face. My cheeks were bright red and my eyes were watering from the wind, causing my mascara to lay smudged under my eyes. And my hair! What a godawful mess! Good think I had brought a few hats to choose from to cover it up with. My hats! I had forgotten them in the car! I looked at my watch and knew I wouldn’t have time to whip into the restroom and work on my dishevelled look. In dismay, I opened the large door and slipped inside.
The room was packed full of people sharing hot brews with their chums. I scanned the room, searching for R, but he had not arrived yet. I managed to find a small table in the centre of the room. I unzipped my parka, loosened my scarf, and made a feeble attempt at fixing my hair. And then I sat…and waited…and waited…and waited. After some time had passed, I got up and ordered myself a grande, extra hot, non-fat latte, all the while keeping one eye peeled on the doorway. I took my coffee back to my seat and settled down into the downy warmth of my parka. I began to imagine a multitude of reasons why R was not here yet. I knew he didn’t have a car, so he was relying on some other mode of transportation to get here. Anything can happen when you are taking public transit, I reasoned. I finished my latte and wondered if I should get another one. I continued to entertain thoughts as to why he had not yet arrived. What if his mother, of whom he was fond of, had fallen and broken her hip and R was rushing her to the hospital on the bus? What if the bus R was travelling in had three flat tires, and R, being of sound mind and body, had gotten out to change all three tires? Maybe when R was running to get a taxi, he slipped and bumped his head and was now wandering around the streets of the city not knowing who he was? As I stood in line waiting for my second drink, I decided he was not coming. When I sat back down again, I conjured up reasons why he was unable to make it. The longer I sat there, sipping my second grande, extra hot, non-fat latte, the more colourful the reasons why R was unable to come, floated into my head. After I could not think of any other excuses he might have, I stared at my phone on the table. No matter what he might say to me later, he never bothered to alert me through WhatsApp as to why he was not in attendance. I started getting ready to go, bundling up to face the extreme weather outside. I tossed both of my coffee cups away and headed for the door. And…that was it. I never heard from R again.
Being stood up on a date is not a pleasant experience for anybody. I think if it happened to me again, I would definitely be disappointed, maybe angry, but I hope I would not think that there was something wrong with me. Instead, I hope I would be forgiving of the other person, and gentle with myself. No matter what is occurring, being hopeful is indeed a positive way in which to live my life.