Gettin' Stroppy

Gyod! They get stroppy, now don't they.

Okay, so I went to the country last Tuesday, saying I'd return Wednesday morning, in the process cancelling a date with Sam on Tuesday night.

It was lovely in the country, lush and genteel. Luke was working 12 hour shifts and Mark and I hung out chopping wood, watching teev... and smoking pot, sure.

Oh, once up there, I seemed a million miles away from all my problems (I mean, such as they are. People still live close to the crippled nuclear plant in Japan and they still die from malnutrition in Ethiopia, however) and the drama of seeing lawyers – or not seeing them, as the case really is – and getting a job. Oh, it was nice and peaceful and relaxing and a lovely diversion.

Now, I guess I should have known better, Sam being the "must have a plan" type of boy that he is, than to let the days drift and my return day with them.

Okay, I did say I'd be back on Friday night, to meet up with him after work. Yes I did. I'd hardly say it was a promise, however. But, you know, as stated before, it was lovely in the country.

I messaged him in the afternoon saying I wouldn't be home and his reply was "so I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes, of course."

I stayed up late and went to bed way after midnight, problem being that I'd left my phone on my bed, rather than having it with me. So, at 3am I read this message.

"Clearly dope is more important than me and always will be, and I don't want a boyfriend like that, so I don't want to see you any more, have a nice life. I'm sure you will meet some nice pothead some day who you will be very happy with."

Oh? I thought. Damn! Actually, my first thought was, Maybe I don't want a boyfriend who is going to get shitty with me spending some time away from him.

I knew, eventually, he'd admit he was jealous (for want of a better word... disappointed, maybe) and just wanted to be with me doing the same stuff, I knew that.

Anyway, I came home Saturday. I messaged him on the way back and said I'd drop in, but he said he was meeting a friend.

Fine, I replied.

After he'd seen his friend, he messaged me and asked if I wanted to see him and I couldn't resist the response, maybe? Well, if I was going to be berated for hours, you know "maybe" is the truest response... me, lying on the couch in solitude in front of the open fire with Missy purring next to me, you do the maths.

He knew what my "maybes" mean and said he'd be at my place in 20 minutes.

And all is well again in Christianland.

PS. Shane says we should stop messaging each other and pick up the goddamn phone and talk to each other, which is probably true.

Even if I pointed out to him that I have a boyfriend and he doesn't, so I wasn't sure whose theories were working best. (Shane craves a boyfriend now)