The one that got away?

I met a guy online.  We talked on the phone before we met face to face.  I was unsure, but figured one beer and an hour of my time would be a reasonable risk.

We talked for 2 1/2 hours that first time.  He was interesting.  He had a very difficult life but seemed to have risen above it.  There were things he was still dealing with, but he was well on his way, he was on a good path.

The next time we hung out, we talked for 4 hours.  We both stayed up past our standard bedtimes (we both work early in the morning, it's not just because we are old!).  He said it was a worthy investment.

He was cute, in a big teddy bear kinda way.  But his life had made it's mark on his body.  Some of that was less than cute.

We talked, we hung out, he met a few of my friends.  We hung out at my house, in my neighborhood, never his.  I was pretty ok with this.  But I didn't realize it was a small sign.

He asked me to be his girlfriend.  It was way too early.  We had only known each other maybe two weeks.  I said no.  He considered walking away at that point, he told me later.

He seemed to be awed by me.  Or fascinated.  Or.... something.  I felt like I was the driver of the relationship.  He was trailing behind me, being fascinated.  "Oh, let's see what she does next!"  For a while that was fun.  But I was always in front.  I started to feel like a draft horse.

He was interesting.  I was curious about him.  He seemed to be a "what you see is what you get" kind of guy.  He wanted to learn how to be a better person.  I told him what I knew.  He drank it in.  I started to feel parched.

We had good times.  Yet I held him at a distance.  I too had scars from previous relationships and wasn't willing or ready to receive more.  And I was unsure about him.  I had 70% / 30% split feelings.  The percentages weren't good enough.

We talked one day and were going to get food.  I said I would meet him at the restaurant rather than having him pick me up.  I needed me time.  He said ok, but called back 10 minutes later saying he was going to skip it.  I heard it in his voice.  He was thinking of walking away again.  Tipping point time.  I said ok.

I sent him an email that evening saying that I was never going to be the woman he wanted.  I think I wanted to say that I didn't think he would be the man I wanted, but it felt too cruel, too final, and I didn't want to take the blame.  It would have felt too final.

I left it open to him as to whether he wanted to remain in contact, to be friends.  He replied that he felt differently (I'm skeptical), and was going to keep his distance.

My condolence is that I got to be the bad guy.  Perhaps it made him feel better.  I don't think he wanted to walk away.  So maybe I gave him an out.  Or maybe I'm making that up to make myself feel better.

Of course I miss him.  I miss the conversations we had.  I miss flirting with him.  I miss the attention.

I fill in the gaps now.  The gaps that could have been a blind spot for me.  In a previous time I might have been able to overlook those gaps, and fill them in with what I wanted.  That ability has hamstrung me before.  It's why I was so defensive this time.  I didn't want to fall prey to my own traps again.  So I looked honestly at the 30% and decided it outweighed the 70%.  I want better percentages.

But boredom and loneliness go back to their old habits and now I fill in those gaps.

So far I've kept myself from contacting him again.  My fear being that those gaps would be even more apparent now, and seeing him again would only solidify my conviction.  And I would hurt him even further because I would solidly reject him while perhaps he was thinking there was hope.  I'm not that cruel.

Or would I see that the gaps weren't that big after all?

Perhaps I've made a mistake.  Perhaps I've been too judgmental.  Perhaps I didn't have enough patience.  Or perhaps I was right.  The only way I can think of to clarify this for me is too much of a risk to his feelings.

So I have to just sit with this for now.

Put in her place

I'm tired of being told, in ways obvious and subtle, by the men around me that I'm not doing things right.  That I'm not good enough.  Not strong enough. Not talented enough. Not knowledgeable enough.  Not enough.  Lesser.

This week was difficult at work.  I'm so tired of the dysfunction, and I was letting it get to me.  I've been working on a project which has allowed me to block out my coworkers for the most part.  It's been nice.  But it's given me a lot of time to think, which can be a dangerous thing.

I looked around the shop and examined each male there.

Jim has his own shop within the shop, essentially.  I was looking at his space and it's probably 1/4 of the whole shop.  He is a curmudgeon, and no one really wants to interact with him, which includes walking through "his" area.  Mike, the owner, thinks Jim walks on water, so he gets tons of respect, and gets away with being a dick.  Dane, the manager, hates Jim, and the feeling is mutual, so there's no control on Jim from that corner.  Jim has his situation set up to work perfectly for Jim.  He's got space and controls who interacts with him.

Mark has worked at the company for 30 years.  He's dealt with Mike's personality for so long he's obviously built up a thick skin for it.  He's good at what he does, and also has Mike's admiration.  He has a chunk of the shop as well.  Not quite as big as Jim's, but spacious nonetheless.  I like Mark.  He's cheery most of the time, and easy to approach.

Jeff is an interesting case.  He's petrified of change.  He worked for his last company for 20 years.  This isn't necessarily a bad thing.  But added to some of his other behaviors, it shows a pattern of calcification.  He is a nervous little critter, but he's a producer.  Give him a project and he'll get it done.  He also has a habit of taking over any flat surface within 30 feet.  His bench is right next to mine.  So most of the space around me is taken up by his work.

Marlin is a good friend of mine.  We worked together at another shop, and I dragged him into this place.  He is good at what he does - I call him the Master of Minutia.  This is a good thing in fine woodworking.  His bench is on the other side of mine.

My bench is situated at the bottle neck of the shop.  If I use any floor space, I'm blocking the main thoroughfare.  Compare this to Jim's space.

Dane, the manager, has used me as the main on-site manager for the work we've done at Nike.  Not that that gives me any authority or power or control.  It just leaves him off the hook for actually having to be on site and being responsible for the work done there.  He is still the point of contact for Nike people.  I was shown this pointedly this week.  Dane is going to be out of town this coming Monday and Tuesday.  We need to go to Nike on Tuesday to do some work.  I suggested that Dane give my phone number to the point of contact at Nike so that he could reach me directly in case plans needed to change.  Relying on Mike to pass along pertinent information is sketchy at best, so I figured that if I was the temporary contact, that would take care of things.  Dane hesitated.  He didn't want to give my number to the Nike guy.  The only reason I can think of is so that he feels like he can maintain some sort of "control" over the situation, to be sure that he was seen as being useful.  Which he isn't.  He ended up cc'ing me on an email to the Nike guy.  Lame.

Having worked in a male-dominated industry for so long, and being a tomboy since my teens, I am comfortable doing "male" things, like lifting heavy items, hauling garbage out to the dumpster, loading heavy things into our piece of shit van.  But it never fails that the guys (Jeff in particular) will walk right by me when I'm doing some task that I could easily walk away from, to ask someone else to stop what they are doing to help him lift something.  Dane does this too.  Jeff actually asked me on Friday if I needed help putting something into my car.  As if anything heavier than a purse was beyond my abilities.  It's insulting.  Mostly I let them lift the heavy things because if anyone is going to break their back doing something, I'm fine with it not being me.  But for fuck's sake.

So I have the smallest space in the shop.  I am useful to take over a certain level of responsibility, without the corresponding respect or control, in some situations.  I am obviously a weak girl who needs help on the basic parts of my job.

I don't think my boss quite knows how to interact with me.  He rarely talks to me unless I'm in the office (where our female bookkeeper sits).

It all adds up to a grumpy Laura.  Fuck this place.  I get no respect, a large reason is because I'm female.  And my attitude sucks.  But who could blame me?  I need to leave my job, and soon.