I found out last night via a ridiculous note on his refrigerator that he’s seeing someone. Did he even bother to tell me? No. Is it worth talking about with him? I guess not, not anymore.

I don’t really understand how two people who are very well suited to each other can spend so much time together and not have it cross both parties’ minds that there might be something *more* going on.

I just hope I am not right on my other gut feeling, that there really is no one out there that will work for me, and me for them. Fuck. This sucks.

Things are pretty good. Work is good. Roomies are awesome. Dogs are shedding and bark a lot, but I love them. Dr. M is moving back from CA in a week. I have been taking lots of pictures with my new camera.

The problem lies with me and how I imagine the world. F, in particular. I’ve known him for nearly five months now; we met after he sent me an email from match.com back in January. Given that I had just had an abortion after very briefly dating a wackjob from match.com, my interest in meeting anyone was at a complete low. I had almost suspended my account, but didn’t even have the energy to click “cancel” a few times. Since I had paid through February, I left it active.

And out of the blue, at the time when I was least looking for someone, along comes an email from F. And a few days later, we had coffee. And we have kept on having coffee, and tea, and seeing films, trading music, and talking into the night, and I have done a significant amount of work editing his novel. He took me to the hospital for the last round of inglorious medical tests I had. I helped him move in small ways–I can’t lift things anymore, but I did lend him some boxes. He gave me a key to his new place. I do things that are actually kind of wife-ey for him. But nothing romantic. It’s like a platonic marriage, one friend says.

I get a lot out of my friendship with him. My natural inclination is academic, but he is an academic. That is what he does. Because of that, talking him meets my needs for a particular mode of discourse. Additionally, in terms of our temperaments, he’s easy for me to be around; I have never regretted any time I have spent with him. He is interesting to me, even when he is depressed. Sometimes we see each other every day; sometimes once a week.

I don’t think he sees me in any potentially romantic way. I do have romantic feelings for him, but they are subsumed in a different feeling that is (perhaps) less angst-ridden and more like the feeling of love I have for my siblings: I think they are great, even though I know they are not perfect. I miss them every day that I don’t see them, and imagining my life without them is too awful to even think about.

It’s not the worst thing in the world, having a friendship like that, and I consider myself lucky to have that with a vast number of siblings and a couple of non-family members as well. The problem is that he and I have a relationship that is unsustainable outside of our current context of singleness. That concerns me.

Anyhow, a semester is ending, he will be doing some traveling, busier, and I feel sort of desolate, imagining not having him around very much at all.

That’s enough whining for tonight.

FS and I had plans for this evening, plans in which constant vomiting and other worse things can cause a problem. Unfortunately, being sick means missing a screening of a film I have really wanted to see, XXY. It also means lying in bed and thinking longingly of the good old days, like yesterday, when I could keep liquids down, rather than having a drink with him between XXY and the next film we were going to watch.

So, alas, he is done doing his professorly thing for the day, and I am not going to see him. I should be studying, anyway, but it’s just not working out for me today.