not going berserk in a crisis

Sunday, September 24, 1995, home

One month with Ted. Mostly great so far, so easy, no fights. I’m not totally in love with him, but I really like him, and the more time we spend together the more I see how different he is than anybody I’ve been with.

He’s so even tempered and agreeable, and that encourages/allows me to be that way too. I’m not very attracted to him, but I wasn’t attracted to Jackson before we got together, and Judith reminds me that choosing boyfriends based on sexual attraction has made for shitty decisions in the past.

I love the way I am in this relationship. I can keep my shit together. He doesn’t provoke me. The worst thing he does is space out sometimes. I’ll be talking and realize he’s not listening, and I feel stupid and rejected.

Whatever, he’s got a lot on his mind. His job is stressful, it’s unintelligible and boring to me. And he’s probably thinking about his ex all the time, the way I think about Jackson. Except I don’t think he hates his.

Ted took me to a bed and breakfast up near Woodstock this weekend. I love saying things like that. “Ted and I went to a bed and breakfast this weekend.” Meanwhile Jack wouldn’t take me to the diner on Seventh Ave.

Ted made all the arrangements and paid for everything. He said there was a place he knew he wanted to take me and I thought, I bet he and Lauren came here.

I never did the B&B thing before and it was kind of a drag, dealing with a bunch of people in the morning. I would do anything to avoid stilted conversations with strangers.

There was a weird moment at breakfast when Ted started telling me this story about some guy at a party being a dick and how Abel was starting to get in his face, and he was cursing a little, and I wished he would shut up. I wanted to tell people, We just started dating. I barely know him. I don’t endorse cursing at the table.

He tries so hard to be the cool Greenpoint guy, snowboarding chain wallet motorcycle guy, when he’s really a nice Long Island Catholic boy who works at a bank.

But the rest of the weekend was great. We went hiking both days, beautiful sky, easy conversation, quiet sex in the old noisy bed. Then on the way back to the city his car was choking so we pulled over and it died.

He kept trying to restart it, but it was completely dead. And he was so calm. I was ready to freak out, how were we supposed to get home?, but he was just like, okay. He got out and did something under the hood, it didn’t work, he tried a few more things. He was frustrated but he kept making jokes: Glad you like hiking, ‘cause we’re hiking home.

I can’t imagine anybody else being as patient as he was about it. If it was Jackson he would have been cursing and furious. He would have found a way to blame it on me. Ted just said okay, let’s call a tow truck. He had his work phone with him so we didn’t have to walk to a phone. And that was that. It was such a new experience, not going berserk in a crisis, it felt fantastic.

The tow truck gave us a ride to the bus station, and we were laughing over the adventure of it all. Ted said he was sorry a few times, and I’m like, for what? For showing me a great weekend? He didn’t fuck the car up on purpose. He got a little crabby thinking about how much it was going to cost and how he was going to have to pick the car up somehow, but he didn’t take it out on me.

So when we hit traffic at the Lincoln Tunnel and were sitting there unmoving for twenty minutes, I didn’t freak out either. I was definitely squeezing my thighs together and hoping the bus would move, please move. But I wasn’t digging my nails into my palm, didn’t feel like I was going to burst into howling tears.

Finally got home about two hours ago, the cats were fine, I smoked a joint and called him to say thank you. He was telling his roommate about it. I hope he told him how cool I was about the car trouble.

I’m grateful for him, that’s for sure. Whether it’s love or not, we’ll see, but it’s definitely gratitude, and gratitude is a form of love. Maybe it’s a selfish love, loving what someone does for you, loving them for doing it, but it’s still love. Not the same as being in love with him, but okay.

Work tomorrow. I get to come in and tell Maddy we went hiking upstate this weekend, what did you do? Waited by the phone for Davis maybe to call you and maybe not? Yeah, I’ve spent enough weekends like that. More like this is what I want.

(To read the girl bomb diaries in chronological order, click here.)