Rebound

Before I was properly able to get over the collapse of my relationship with T, I had a rebound. A normal thing to happen, sure, but something my naïve past self believed I was immune from. I was still young and I believed, unsympathetically, that having a rebound was something only pathetic losers who feel too sorry for themselves do, and therefore something I could never allow to happen to me. And yet, in early 2018, with self-respect at an all-time low, I found myself very suddenly attached to a girl who was frankly way too into me. I suppose she was exactly what I needed. I felt, for a while there, like nobody would ever want me again. What F showed me is that I was not only wrong, but that I was better off single. 

F also showed me that I couldn’t just date anyone. I knew almost instantly that the relationship was built to fail. We had physical chemistry, sure. We made out and fucked a couple times. But there was no affection. F and I had nightly phone calls, which was honestly enough to almost make me crazy. This, compared to the snapchat-based communications with T, felt remarkably more tedious. What was absolutely irreconcilable, though, was our appallingly different tastes in everything. While I had previously been lucky enough to date someone who liked the same music and movies as me-at least enough of the same music and movies to get by-my luck with F had apparently run out. If I invite you to Netflix and Chill at my place, and I let you pick the movie, please, PLEASE, do not pick The Smurfs 2.

I dealt with my misgivings for a while, figuring first of all that I was being too hard on F, and myself, and also assuming things had a chance of getting better. But I came to my senses quickly, and I knew I had to make a break for it before it got too hard. Only thirteen days after she first made contact, I told F directly, I don’t see a future for us. It’s still the only time I’ve ever dumped someone, and I still feel awful about it.