Why did he end that text with a period? Do you think he’s trying to end the conversation, or do you think he just pressed space twice and it autofilled the period? Am I overanalyzing this? Or does a part of me know deep down that he’s distancing himself and I can sense it through his use of punctuation? Am I crazy for reading so much into this?
Within five minutes, I’ve spiraled into an overanalysis of my overanalysis.
But here’s the thing–I’m not necessarily the crazy one. I’ve been ghosted, cheated on, booty called, etc. so many times that I can recognize the pattern. When I’m having a conversation with a guy, I have a gut feeling about how it’s going and how he feels about me.
I’ve been keeping a journal as way to approach my gut feelings from a more rational angle. Write it all down, sleep on it, reapproach with a clear head–it’s saved me more than once from sending a rash text.
Reid’s been a thing for a couple of months now and he’s the most confusing guy I’ve ever met in my entire life.
– My entries about him so far –
- 12/6/16: Big fan of Reid
- 12/26/16: Reid drunkenly introduced me to his mom over Facetime. During the same Facetime call, he also told me he’s talking to other Bumble girls.
- 12/27/16: Reid apologized and told me he’s going to treat me how I should be treated. We’re going on a nice date next week.
- 1/1/17: I think I’m paranoid.
- 1/2/17: He flaked on the date.
- 1/3/17: The date ended up working out and it was the best date I’ve been on in years. We talked about quantum physics and I genuinely laughed until my stomach hurt.
- 1/4/17: Reid noticed I have a freckle on my palm. No one has ever noticed that before.
- 1/10/17: Reid sometimes makes me feel like I’m the butt of a joke I’m not in on. I think he’s messing with my mind because he’s bored and it’s cold out.
- 1/14/17: I’ve barely heard from him. It’s been a week.
- 1/15/17: Reid calls me and tells me he bought a bottle of wine and to come over. He said I look more beautiful than the last time I saw him.
As you can see, WTF.
I find myself scrutinizing his texts like he’s the sphinx and I have to pass the riddle to get by.
He holds my hand then tells me he can’t hang out this week.
He’s a goddamn human rubik’s cube and as soon as I get one side all lined up, I turn it over and it’s completely fucked.
My phone’s photo stream is straight text message screenshots. I recruit my friends for help because I don’t want to be the idiot girl who lets a guy play mind games with her, but I also don’t want to be the idiot girl who overanalyzes a perfectly good thing to death.