Who the hell goes to the gym on Friday night at 6:30 p.m. when it’s 30 degrees outside? Really. Who? Me, and the U-Street Metro, that’s who. Right when my left cheek has decided to give birth to two unsightly zits. My luck fucking sucks.
Walking in, I bumped right into him on his way out. I may be the tiniest bit crazy, or perhaps the tiniest bit optimistic but I think he looked happy to see me. He actually smiled and stopped in my path. Quite a contrast from the other times I’ve bumped into him where he looks about as uncomfortable as one would look, say when a pair of boxer briefs is shoved up their asshole. With a car tire attached.
We talked for several minutes – much longer than any of our last attempts at being unawkward and friendly. Exchanging small talk was nice, but it still stung. He looked good. He always looks good. He seemed relaxed. We said goodbye and I went off in search of an elliptical machine.
As I climbed away, of course he stayed in my mind. I thought the timing pretty funny considering I JUST saw his girlfriend in Washingtonian. I thought about the time we spent together and how easy it was to just fall in love with him. Finishing my easy Friday night workout and realizing the gym visit was anything other than a breeze, I went home.
During my shower, Sherlock popped into my mind. I started collecting my anger at all the things he’s done to me. I said them out loud in the shower. I decided to make a list. Expect to see it soon by the way. (Suggestions & reminders appreciated.) I stepped out of the shower, grabbed my towel and then I asked myself: Why did I bump into the U Street Metro at the gym? Because coincidence resulted in both of us being there? Okay, sure. But, in the absence of religion in my life, I pay close attention to “signs.” It’s a holdover from “The Celestine Prophecy” being one of my favorite books.
The U Street Metro was put in my path to show me that I shouldn’t settle. I should wait until I feel that way again about someone else. If he asked me to take the blog down, I would, without hesitating. But Sherlock? I don’t feel that strongly about Sherlock. It might be part love, part attachment. But it has burned me out. I went to the gym last night and said to the Queen of Quantity, “I want to love a man as much as I love my dogs.” She didn’t think that was stupid at all, in fact she agreed wholeheartedly.
I dried off and fired up the laptop. The date of this post is staring at me in the face: Today is AtlantaBoy’s birthday. Another man I fell head over heels for. Another sign. It’s time for me to get up to bat and send the other team home. This game is finally over.