He texted. She texted.

Later in the week, usually by Thursday but sometimes Wednesday, I am able to sit at a desk and analyze the genetic tests sequenced earlier in the week.  I had been ahead of schedule, which allowed me to sit, contemplate, and send back several lengthy retorts to Jay’s message after returning to the lab.

Me:  Look I called and apologized for how I talked to you after that happened.  And as soon as I got back from talking with you that night, the thought of not being friends with you hurt worse than sucking it up and dealing with you having a girlfriend.  Not hearing from you at all or getting a “talk to you later” followed by nothing showed me how little I meant to you.  Today hearing you couldn’t call me because you didn’t want to stir the pot is on you.  I would’ve more than respected your relationship because I cared about you first and what i wanted came second,  And I had liked you “that” way for months so it wasn’t a sudden thing.  Plus, when I was pouring my heart out to you all I got was shrugging and silence.  How would that elicit a nice response?  All I for sure know is that all of it (the situation, the way I responded, and finding out my place by your lack of response) left me absolutely completely devastated.

Me:  And as far as what I said, you could’ve talked to me about it when I was able to get over the shock of things.  Hearing from Em that it was a surprise you returned my call because you were too hurt to ever talk to me again…yeah, that didn’t exactly feel great either.

Me:  Another correction, I wasn’t hurt that you were dating someone.  I was upset that I didn’t get the same consideration I would’ve given you if it came to me meeting someone.  Had you let me know, I would’ve told you how I felt and wished you luck if you didn’t want anything more than friendship from me.  Instead, I felt like an idiot who was talking to someone she cared for but apparently knew nothing about.

Me:  For earlier today, I apologize.  I should’ve held back on any hurtful, smart quips.

By this time it was almost 4 pm and the Brazil game was over.  I was ready to head out the door when a response on my phone finally appeared.

Jay:  Well you had a lot to say.  That’s good you got it off your chest.  This friendship will not work because we will never see eye to eye.  The past will never be forgotten.  Take care and I hope you do well in life.

Jay:  And I am sorry for making you feel the way that you do.

My stomach and heart hit the floor simultaneously.  Right on cue my eyes began to water, and I bolted outside to avoid someone seeing me visibly upset.  The Kia provided the cover needed as I hopped inside and blasted the AC.  We continued back and forth while I sat in the car and attempted to collect myself.

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Had it and I lost it.

Those first few moment on the phone were like trying to find a light switch in the darkness of a new place.  You can barely remember what it looks like until your eyes adjust and you’re able to navigate through the shadowy space.  Our journey through the initial salutations felt like that awkward fumbling, stumbling to figure out where the conversation would lead, and I definitely wasn’t ready for where it would take us.

My feet hit the pavement as I pushed the speaker button to hear him better.

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Taking a break for a “fren”

I’m a firm believer in dreams.  Professional photography may not be his dream but, based on our picture talks, is at the very least a cherished passion.

The Malaysian recently entered a photo for a contest based on shots involving graduates.  Because I know what it feels like to have people believe in something you love, I offered to put up his entry on my site.  He takes the time to read my posts, as long as they’re within a couple hundred words, so I wanted to help him out.  Plus, it’s a welcomed upper from writing about all the downers lately.

If you would like to help out my fren, please vote for the picture below at this site.

The Malaysian and I thank you for your support, or as I tell him when he mentions a post I didn’t ask him to read, “Preciate it, man.”