A Distinct Lack of Progress
I am sorry Diary. I feel like I have neglected you for months. It's just that there has been very little to discuss. Alright, there has been very little Oliver-related to discuss. How could I describe things? Glacial? Sluggish? Slow? Hmm.. perhaps using some musical dynamics? Ritardando? Lento? Or suffering from lassitude… lethargy …
How is it that July in Washington was full of promise and progress, and yet August, through September, and on to the New Year has been dormant, dawdling and imperceptible in terms of any progress on the relationship front?
I mean, he bought my old house block! He took me out to dinner (okay it was a sandwich on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, but still, it was pretty fabulous), and then embraced me on a tarmac while watching a family reunion!
Since then? Nada. Naught. Zilch. The dating equivalent of playing possum. Oliver O'Toole has taken being measured and careful, and petrified it into motionlessness. Great! I now sound even more like a walking thesaurus!
Vocabulary aside, I understand that Oliver is frightened of reliving past mistakes. But does that mean that he thinks I am a potential mistake? I know that his mother, and his ex-wife (I swear, I may throw a shoe at him if he describes her as his wife once more) did considerable numbers on him. But hasn't he noticed some of the women who have stuck by him? Mrs Genzinger? Rita? Eleanor? Ardis? Oh, I don't know … me!
It is almost as if he is terrified that if he lets go and finds joy in his life, that he will shatter into a thousand pieces. So what does he do? That's it - nothing!
I even tried to advertise my interest with no success. I mean, the dress I found for the Postal Ball was perfect, if I do say so myself. Flirty, cocktail-length, navy chiffon. As far as Oliver was concerned, I could have been wearing the Christmas onesie that my mother sent me. Seriously, I think he has spent more time in the past couple of months with Eleanor from passports than me. The apprehension of Oliver O'Toole – one, Shane McInerney – nil.
Don't even get me started about New Year.
So, good night, Diary. I am not sure that the current playlist I am rocking is helping with my despondency, but somehow I think that Roxette, Adele, the cast of 'Les Miserables', Kelly, and Sarah get me.