Philly and the Single Lesbian

Punch drunk and (not) in love. By Crystal Fox

Punch-drunk. It’s an adjective meaning a medicine or pathology; demonstrating or characteristic of the behavior of a person who has suffered repeated blows to the head; dazed; stupefied.

In the metaphoric sense, this describes my current state.

Dazed. Stupefied.

Dating is really, really tricky. You hope that it’s not. You pray that once, just once, something outside of a stressful job, a full course load at school, and regular life worries would be easy. But it’s not. Inevitably something gives and something falls through the cracks. I feel like I am being chased by that faceless monster in a cheesy horror movie and I just tripped over a branch and twisted my ankle. (And what in God’s name was I doing in the woods with heels on in the first place?). I deserved to get caught.

My faceless monster is: truth. Truth that you can’t, in fact, have it all. You can’t have one’s cake and eat it too. My truth: You cannot go home again.

I have been “dating” two very terrific and wonderful women. The one is so far outside my box I question if the sender had the right mailing address. She is a nine-to-fiver, a business woman who takes calls, goes to meetings, presumably goes on business lunches, and has probably even seen a happy hour at a bar in real life.

All of these aforementioned things are so foreign to me, but I’m really intrigued by her because she is, so…different. Our conversations are fun, funny, intellectual, and we laugh. A lot. She doesn’t seem to pull punches and she says what she feels (refreshing to say the least). She is also really okay with her sexuality and showing affection, something I have been (secretly) craving for a long time in a woman.

The “other women” is my ex – and all that entails. This woman is also wonderful. She works in the same career field as me, so she gets it. She gets when I have to work late, go in on my day off, work on Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, and New Year’s Eve. My Valentine’s Day is Febuary 15th, something many women don’t like to hear. I’m not a workaholic, yet this is my chosen profession. And the woman I choose has to be okay with it.

My ex is okay with it. She’s scrappy. Totally Jersey. Italian. But we are stuck. I know we are. She doesn’t want to “just date” and I still have raging issues of abandonment, fear, and just a pinch of anger for good measure.

But there is one more emotion I wasn’t expecting with my ex: guilt. What kind of demented Catholic thing is this all about? And why do I feel all sorts of guilt about a woman that avoided me on my birthday, and dumped me the day after? Guilt is creeping into my psyche. I feel bad that she’s going through a depression. I feel bad she has closet issues. I feel bad that she hates herself for being gay. I also feel bad that I don’t love her anymore. It’s not because I “love” Woman A – I’m not that gay – I just don’t love my ex anymore. I just cringed when I wrote that, but it’s the solid truth. A woman that I devoted my time, love, energy to, and damn near became the axis that my world, has shrunk to a mere memory of what once was, and probably, will never be again.

That’s a tough pill for anyone to swallow. But I think it’s time for it to be dealt with – today. Better get that big glass of water, this pill is 600 mg.

Crystal Fox is a chef and blogger in Philadelphia who’s dating again. This is the third installment of her ongoing adventures as a single lesbian on G Philly. Will she find love? Stay tuned!