Every now and again, I like to consider what our characters might be doing between the events we see on the screen. This bout of insomnia isn't mentioned in the canon, but provides me with a little fun, as well as another chance to unpick Steve. #Postables I am sure you won't enjoy extra time with nobody's favourite special agent, but hopefully you will enjoy other ideas floated here. : )
Sleep, obviously, was a forlorn hope. The state of my bed could best be described as, 'there appears to have been a struggle'. So here I am, diary, seeking your company again. Generally, I sleep well, but every now and again, I find rest elusiveor rather, I don't find it at all. Tonight, was one of those nights.
On nights like this, I destroy my bed tossing and turning, and do some serious overthinking. Tonight, worrying about Randilyn, was the genesis of my insomnia. How has she survived, alone, captive and separated from her daughter for so long? I cannot begin to understand her bravery, her sacrifice. I am frightened that we will not have done enough for her, for Harper and for Phoebe. Harper says she is a woman of faith. I hope that gives her some comfort. Diary, I am petrified that a group of powerful senators will find us, and our pleas for Randilyn, insignificant. Tomorrow (oh, who am I kidding, later today) will tell.
I spent time trying to turn my thoughts from the Amadons, and towards calming, sleep-inducing thoughts. When I get like this, my mind seems to run from one thought to another, flitting between what actually is worrying me (Randilyn), through disconnected paths (Rita's novel recitation, to Mother's reaction to our house's fate, to Oliver's pilgrimage to the Postal Museum, to Steve's behaviour) to somewhere ridiculous!
Exhausted insomnia has led me to some odd places. I remember in college on a night like this, deciding that I was going to cut my hair and donate it to an organisation making wigs for cancer survivors. Thankfully? They didn't want my hair as it was coloured (Mom said those pink streaks would get me in trouble) so I didn't go through with it – deciding instead to donate what little money I could scrape together to the cause instead. Tonight, I decided that I was going to become an undercover tech millionaire, creating an app that was going to make me rich beyond my wildest dreams! In my sleep–denied state, I planned it all out. I was going to create an app that would take the world by storm! Made specifically for nights like this, it would track your sleep cycles, monitor for sleep disorders, provide calming white noise sounds, and have soothing stories read to you by someone with a dulcet voice. It was going to be a sure-fire hit I decided. If I could only convince Oliver that he needed to read stories to put me (I mean anyone) to sleep, it would be a blazing success.
A business plan for 'Shh!©' forming in my head, my mind decided it had had enough of that, and made a jump all the way to ….Steve.
I wasn't losing sleep over Steve because I was hoping for something to re-kindle, it wasn't that. It was more that I felt I needed to perform some kind of relationship autopsy – needing to find out what really killed it. I had assumed at the time, that it was his lack of commitment that soured things, but what if it wasn't that?
What had I really seen in Steve? Sure, he is good-looking and more sophisticated that I will ever be, but surely, I am not as superficial as that? He could be good company, taking me to nice restaurants, getting great seats at Nationals' games and managing to get tickets for whatever concert was the hottest. But he never really wanted to do ordinary things. Dates were events, not pizza on the couch, or a walk through a garden. I am pretty sure that Steve actually doesn't actually know how tall I am – I really can't think of an occasion when he has seen me without heels.
He is knowledgeable though, and clever is attractive. He can discuss foreign diplomacy (all unclassified of course) at a micro level. I listened to him for hours discussing the importance of World Economic Forum discussions….
Hmm. I did listen, a lot.
Did he do the same? I remember once asking him to come with me to see an exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery, showcasing some of the 'Time' covers of Boris Chaliapin. I wanted to share something that interested me, with him. What was his response? I can't remember verbatim, but I do know that I was left with the feeling that my interests were too flighty, too feminine. I was given a metaphorical pat of the head. I never suggested something like that again.
So, what was my relationship with Steve all about? Wow, this really was turning into a long night of the soul. Steve was (and is) cute, clever, and charming. I can't help feeling that Steve is also self-absorbed and dismissive. Steve is entertaining, and thoughtful in an off-handed kind of way, but completely unavailable.
Huh. Unavailable.
Maybe that was the attraction. Steve was always going to prioritise his work. He was never really going to be there. He was another in the (not very long, but significant) line of men who would always chose the other. Who would always leave. Was Becky, right? Did I have a thing for unavailable men? Did I choose Steve because I knew what I was getting? Someone unavailable? Someone who would leave? Because, isn't that what I should expect? What I am worth? Except, I am the one who keeps threatening to leave Denver. What does that mean?
Thanks Dad, you really did a number on me!
Uhh! I think I see some lightening behind the curtains. I think it's time I did some actual running on a treadmill in the hotel's gym. Let's see if physical exhaustion, at least an hour spent under a scalding shower and a bucket of concealer get's me through this day.