I don't like going out on the weekend, but I had been in most of the day, I have to work tomorrow, and Saturday night going out is worse. So, after midnight, a quick ride out into the mayhem of the East Village, up to the Phoenix. Crowded, not too awful, made my way to the bar, beer, walk over to pool table and look around. No one I know, as I would've assumed, make my way to the jukebox's glaring neon light and lean off to the side. Half-way through the beer, the ex comes walking thru the crowd, we see each other, smile, no kiss, but light arm-touch hello. Chitchat chitchat nothing, he goes to bathroom, I try not to think about how damn good he looks. When he comes back, he says something like "well, have fun" implying he's leaving, but I see he just goes around to the side of the bar, talking to someone I can't see. Well, I was leaving after this beer anyway, and staying and wondering who he's with, me alone and grumpy before i even got here or saw him, it was best to leave.

3 years. 3 years and I've only ever seen or talked to him in that bar. Funny, early on, I would avoid most of the neighborhood bars on the weekends, knowing I didn't want to merely bump into him, and deal with all that awkwardness of having stuff to say, but wrong place to say it. Earlier today, I was realizing that I don't even spend much time with friends, let alone potential boyfriends, here in my home. I miss that. I miss being here where it's comfy, and nice, and I can make food, and play music, and laugh and share with people I like. Where did that go? I few months back I had a glimpse of that with someone, and when I got too into it, it was over before it really started. Sometimes that makes me very sad. Sometimes I look back at it and think "hey, you still got it in you, just be patient" - just be really fucking goddamn patient.