Don't Call Me

I would like to take a break from all of the b-school talk to discuss something that's been on my mind lately...

About a month ago I was driving home from New York when a voice came through my car radio speakers. It was a woman over a telephone line, but I couldn't make out her words. The strains of a synthesizer phased onto the track, followed shortly by a pulsing bass line. A spark of recognition flashed in my mind. I knew this song. I turned up the volume ready to enjoy a song that I didn't know at all but knew that I liked.

I recognized Drake's slightly nasal tenor from the first note he sang. "Cups of the Rose/_____ in my old phone" he sings. Aahh, Drizzy doing his annual vulnerable thug posturing. Unlike previous listens I made a point to pay attention to his sensitive lyrics this time. I reclined in my seat, swayed to the syncopated drum beat, and vibed to his words. Then I heard it.

Could've Had a V8

"I think you should have lunch with him."
I stared at Chesty LaRue through squinted eyes, surprised by her declaration. I gave her the rundown on the man who just extended me an invitation via email to lunch the next afternoon. I'd met him on OKCupid. He seemed nice enough and wasn't bad looking. However, he was on the short side and wasn't particularly vibrant or interesting. However, this was his second request to meet and I really had no reason to turn him down.
"At the very least, you get a free meal," she reasoned.

Ready and Willing

I have a laundry list of wants: a thin body, huge hair, admission to grad school, a life in New York, a new BCBG dress, and a littany of other things. He isn't on the list. Yes, I want a man, but not him. When something good happens to me, I don't feel the urge to share it with him. On a horrible day, he's not the person I call to vent to. Thoughts of him do not fill my idle time. My visions for the future do not include him.
Then he called, and I ran straight to him, 140 miles down the highway just because he asked me to hang out. Within two hours I was running from him, livid after yet another retread of the same argument we've been having for the past six months. Friends tell me I never should have gone to see him, remind me that I had said I was done with him. They're right. I am done. I'm done with arguing with him, missing him, and yearning for us to be like we were before the insanity set in. I don't want to go back to him.
But if he asked, I would. And he has asked. Each time he does I enter the ring for another round and get knocked out harder than the last time. Even though I don't want to work things out, I'm willing to try if he is. With him, I'm sixteen years old again, making decisions based on what others will or won't do. If he's not talking to me, then I'm not talking to him. If he wants to spend time with me, then I'm willing to drive to the ends of the earth to spend some time with him.
Is he worth it? Probably not. It's just that I can't seem to bring myself to give up on us. He's a hot mess, but Team Us is amazing. I can definitely live without us if us isn't a possibility. However, each time he comes back around it's as though he's saying we are definitely possible. And my gut never fails to tell me that passing up an opportunity to get us back is plain wrong.
I can't keep doing this. The fight gets a little worse each time we have it and the damage that much more evident. I'm done, for the third time (or maybe it's the fourth or fifth). I am not speaking to him. I am not missing him. I don't want a damn thing from him. But what I want to do has never been as big a problem as what I'm willing to do.