Dr. R telephoned me again. It was the weekend before I posted the last entry. 1:06 in the friggin' morning. On a Saturday.
Although I was still out on my Friday night, I went scrambling for the phone, panic-thinking (i.e., not thinking clearly) that the only person who would call me at that hour would be my daughter. Of course, as soon as I reached the phone it stopped ringing, and I simultaneously realized that my kid would wait until morning when I might be able to do something about whatever unlikely situation could possibly make her want to call Mommy.
I didn't recognize the local number, so I didn't return the call immediately. The next day I tried it and knew the voice answering. Apparently he has a new number. And what? He wanted me to have it?
The man I'm seeing says I should make it clear that he doesn't appreciate Dr. R's calling me – well, actually his comment had something to do with feet connecting with backsides that weren't yet
burning. But the amazing thing is, we're talking about someone who knows what I'm
capable of when I'm genuinely pissed off (see earlier entry, I'm Just Crazy About You
). One would think that should be enough.
About 9 years ago I did a print about people who, like Dr. R, hedge their bets in relationships. I called it Killing Love
because love dies when you try to develop a second love interest while you're already in a supposedly 'committed' relationship – when you try to keep what you've got while trying to find something "better". Not only does it not work, it "kills 2 birds with 1 stone"
, to continue the bird clichés.