Elastigirl Hits Rock Bottom

I think of myself as highly resilient but today I have not been very resilient. I’ve been weepy. Vin (da Neighbor) and I had made plans to have a beer Saturday night. He flaked out on me. One of our city workers had stopped by next door and asked me out for coffee. He seemed a little, well, a little "different." But different is good sometimes. Very nice guy. By the middle of coffee and danish (which I had to pay for since he had gone out the night before and tied a big one on and couldn’t quite comprehend why he didn’t have $5.15 left out of $50.00) I had determined that I’d rather watch paint flake. I tried really hard to be open but since he’s called me four times since yesterday and one of those times caused me to miss my verification call from PayPal, once again delaying my account (this was a whole 15 minutes after our coffee meeting), I’m not much impressed. Nice guy, just not the guy for me. For some reason though, this has bummed me out. Or maybe it’s just the mood I went to bed in after Vin dissed me and I watched two or three episodes of "Body of Evidence" and "American Justice" about murder and mayhem. Perhaps it is also the residual effect of being in TX. Being in TX is good for me. My friends show me what marriage is really supposed to be like. Not perfect, but real people facing everyday life and its challenges and joys together. It’s a good reminder that marriage is not an assignment to purgatory. But then I come home and eventually I’m reminded that I’m still sitting on my porch alone. Also given the fact that AZ, who things were looking up with, suddenly decided things would be "all business" between us since our last porch time, add the hellacious week of dealing with Jeff and Nate, and yeah, I’m feeling a bit lonely and a might weepy. I’ve begun wondering if I’m doing something wrong or something is just wrong with me. AZ did call me out of the blue this evening but he was getting ready to go into a restaurant where it was impossible to hear each other. He also made a comment about the folks he had just met about selling their house or more specifically that you could tell the woman had "let herself go," referencing her long brown/gray hair hanging to her waist, nothing like the perky sprite pictured in their wedding portrait. I said something, referencing the fact that I don’t get all macked out all the time either. And I don’t. I much more comfortable in a pair of jeans, much more comfortable without having to remember not to rub my eyes because it will smear my mascara, much more comfortable not wearing a bra, and frankly, when you go to bed with me, you wake up with me. I look exactly the same. *Sigh* That’s what’s wrong with me. I’m me. And exactly, what is wrong with that? Yeah, maybe I could do something with the hair.