In repair

I never thought I would say this, but it's gotten to the point where I'm kinda sorta maybe really relieved that Tim broke up with me.

I've always loved the single life. This was the Year of Yes, afterall. Being single means being able to go out without having to reassure antsy boyfriends that yes, you're being a faithful girlfriend. Singlehood means not having to waste two hours on the phone every night, when you know I'd much rather spend that time getting some much-needed sleep.

That's not to say that I don't miss being a girlfriend. I think I can be pretty fabulous at it. And yes, I miss having a boyfriend. I miss having someone kiss me goodnight. I miss having a bug/spider exterminator on speed dial. I miss having someone call just because they missed me, and not because they want to know where this meeting is at this and that time. And having a boyfriend? Meant that you could have guy friends without girlfriends becoming jealous. Could have guy friends without worrying about them misinterpreting your flirtatious-by-nature behavior. I miss all the things Tim represented, all the boyfriend-y things he did.

But I think I can cautiously say that I miss Tim a lot less. I miss having a boyfriend, not necessarily the boy in particular.

I think that's a step in the right direction.

But I'm nowhere near getting there yet. I'm in repair.

I don't think I'm going to be dating for a long while. What with juggling med school and trying to define myself as a person, I can't deal with adding signficiant other to my list of responsibilities. This is officially where I kiss the Year of Yes goodbye. Ten months to the day. Two flings, three flirtatious encounters, and one boyfriend later, I think we can all agree that it served its purposes.

I dated people I never thought I'd be open to. I talked to people I'd have run away from before. Bad boys. Smokers. Long-haired hippies (although I suppose he thinks of himself as emo punk rock). TAs. Shorter boys. Republicans.

It's been a busy year.

Today it ends.

Not to say that it wasn't useful. I learned a lot of new things about myself. Deal breakers turned out to bearable. Seemingly inconsequential things turned out to be huge annoyances.

But here's the thing. You can't teach an old Michelle new tricks. No matter what happens, I'm still me. Having flings? Pretending that I'm not emotionally involved? Not caring? So not me. I'm a die-hard romantic through and through. And regardless of the guy, I'm still the naive, goody two-shoes girl who doesn't want to hurt anyone.

Which brings us back to the point I was trying to make in the beginning of this post. I'm glad Tim broke up with me, because I wouldn't have been able to do it. Reading my old posts, it seems almost obvious that I knew it wouldn't last more than three months. That it wouldn't last the distance. But I would have held on for a long time. Let's face it. Our relationship had nothing going for it. And it was dying a slow and painful death. But I would have held on, just for the sake of holding on. For the security of having someone.

So I'm glad it's over. For better or for worse.