He’s ghosting me. I’m getting ghosted! I can’t believe it, this is so out of the blue. On Sunday, I texted him and just said, “hope you’re enjoying your Sunday.” And then he texted back, and invited himself over. And then we had sex. More than once. And he said we should hang out tonight to watch American Ninja Warrior. Why would he say that if he had no intention of seeing me again? I’m going to Google why guys ghost.
I started dating Joseph while I was unemployed and living at home with my parents in my mid-30s. I did not anticipate falling for someone in that stinky old mill-town while I was bumming around applying for jobs all over the province. It sounds terribly cliché; back at home on the couch in a sort of early mid-life crisis.
I was driven off the road by an vicious man in a truck who’d given me hell with a fist shake and a honking horn for the whole block to witness. It was because I had attempted to turn right on a red light, but apparently my understanding of what I thought was a universal road rule did not apply to this particular intersection. It was a muddling and bewildering experience, and so I rattled off onto the next exit into a strip mall of sorts. I was gratified and relieved to see there was a Starbucks in the vicinity, like a beacon in a storm. I would hide out here, with a coffee, until I’d collected my wits.
I met Randon when I was an executive assistant for an infamously crooked businessman known to have ties with a certain thuggish biker gang. My boss owned youth hostels and bars in the city, and my relationship with him was always tenuous and nerve-wracking. He’d often demand I perform some kind of shady administrative task; always willing to bend the rules for the sake of his wallet.
They were driving back from a documentary about farmed salmon, a topic that Janet was vehemently passionate about, sometimes overly so in Gary’s private opinion. Especially when the topic arose, or didn’t arise—at which point she’d force it into small talk—during cocktail parties hosted by his fellow professors. He didn’t always appreciate the zeal with which she sometimes sounded off; it appeared to him an exhibition of self-righteousness. But outwardly, he genially supported her causes. Gary was, after all, a wilting sort of person who avoided confrontation with the same extra sensitive caution one might undertake trying to lay a sleeping baby in a crib.