Thoughtlessness and Expectation.

I have had the conversation with Mr B on a number of occasions about why it is that he has never had an argument with a respective partner of his. And why I have had thousands. The conclusion that I arrived at came down to expectations. Being the laid back and self confessed self obsessed kinda guy he is, he doesn’t spend an awful lot of time thinking about what he wants from other people; he spends his time thinking and worrying about what he’s doing right or wrong. I on the other hand tend to have high expectations of the people I spend time with. Whether they be friends or lovers or even colleagues, I have a basic idea of what I want from them, and if they don’t live up to this, I get angry or upset.

And so the arguments can happen. I don’t tend to sit there and simmer and let the resentment I feel bubble and boil; I tend to have a short sharp burst of steam being let off and then usually feel better that everything is out in the open.

Something similar happened last weekend when I had a bit of a to do with the Kiwi, without realising that he was winding me up beforehand, something very small set me off and made me cross to the point of frustrated tears. We talked it through and I thought that would be the end of it.

However sometimes the expectations can leak into each other. Steam can build up in one place then find the wrong outlet to release, which can lead me to blowing up in the wrong persons face. Which I think is what happened last weekend.

I’ve been fairly quiet on the Mr B front lately in an attempt to let him just go away. The reason for this is all seems to be going swimmingly with his new girlie and I am trying rather hard to be happy about this. As promised I did have a chat with him and told him I’d had a rough week that first week and questioned how I felt about him but realised that I had a pattern and simply thought that he was a lovely chap. I hoped that this would be all the closure I needed.

Then, upon meeting for lunch early this week (to discuss writing apparently) he informed me that he and his housemate and their new girls (ouch) would be going to Sweden for four days this week (double ouch). After two and a half weeks. Maybe four or five dates. The unhelpful thoughts that have been dancing around my unhelpful brain ever since have quite a large proportion of “What does she have that I don’t?” and various images. At one point I even started to resent lending him a couple of lamps that I didn’t need after I moved as she would be basking in their glow all thin and naked. As I say, not helpful.

I have prided myself on my high threshold for jealousy since… well, since I really needed one a while back but I am now thinking it maybe lowering somewhat. I’ve not had an easy time this week which goes some way to explaining the trip to Northampton to take my mind off this stuff.

Which makes it all the harder that my expectations are making things tricky with the Kiwi at the moment as well. The row last weekend started over something bloody stupid (my fault, I hold up my hands) in that I was supposed to meet him and a few others for dinner before he went to see a show and he didn’t want to get into town as early as I wanted him to. After the ensuing hissy fit, I did a bit of digging and realised that this was one in a long line of meetings where I was being squeezed in between him doing (to my mind) more important things.

We had a chat about me feeling neglected and him never having enough time because he was trying to make something of himself and agreed to remember that we cared about each other but that we thought differently about this stuff. We ditched the dinner that had caused all the fuss (or rather I did, stating that apparently I shouldn’t be around people at that moment), and met in a big group for Sunday lunch last week instead.

So all should be well. And yet here I am, once again, furious that he could be so thoughtless about a tiny little thing. Yesterday we had a chat on the phone about the evening’s plans – he had tickets with his girlfriend to see a show at the theatre where I work so I was going to spend my dinner break with them. I asked, in my most reasonable “I promise not to flip out at you” manner whether it would be ok if we met for lunch over the weekend before he heads back to NZ on Monday for his brother’s wedding for three weeks. Yes, yes, he said.

At dinner that evening he says something about lunch on Sunday. Yes, yes, I say. Then his girlfriend tells me we had better sort out a booking as we don’t want a palava like last week and starts talking about the other three people who are going to be there. I go quiet.

I feel awful for even thinking it, but at what point did it become impossible for us to hang out without seventeen other people being there? I don’t even think he realises that my week has not been easy. In fact I don’t even know if he knows about Mr B and Sweden, and if I have mentioned it he sure as hell doesn’t know how much it’s fucked with my head. His girlfriend is a lovely sweet girl but I have no desire to pour out my heart in front of the happy couple. It makes me rather tearful to think that one of my best friends is oblivious to how him never meeting me alone is making me feel worthless to him.

And let the guilt begin! I feel like shit for feeling this way but maybe I should take my own advice – you can’t control how you feel so you shouldn’t feel ashamed of it. Hmmm, great advice, not so easy to follow.

I’ve asked him to call me later today. I’m going to try and set this out for him without making him feel guilty or bad or helpless to change this. I know he has his bubble and I don’t want to burst it – I know he has his ambitions and I don’t want him to change them – I know he has his girlfriend and I want him to be happy but I need him to know that I need him every now and then and not just in a social context. I need a bear hug. And he’s the only damn bear I’ve got.