There is no secret that I feel a tiny bit anxious and perhaps even a tad stressed when looking for a new lover.

I was doing something benign and unrelated the other night – probably brushing my teeth – and the thought occurred that I was looking forward to meeting someone. The thought wasn’t bound with conditions or doubts; it was just a clean and clear flash of hope with a trail of warming optimism. I must have been brushing my teeth as I then remembered looking in the mirror to make sure I was still myself.

Of course, things changed the next day.

In less than 10 minutes I decided to meet Seven, I sent The Drummer a message to let him know I was organising a drink for that night and, oh, the Country Boy sent a message or five. He leaves me be for several weeks when I want to know what happened and then lucks on the precise time I organise to meet someone else. I have upgraded the firmware on my phone and text messages now scroll line-by-line at the top without opening them; the downside of this nifty feature was that I could see an essay of the last few weeks’ happenings unfolding, together with a never-ending editorial about how I had failed him.  Each line brought me closer to tears but I quickly confirmed drinks with Seven before I could change my mind and throw the damn phone in the bin.

I read the Country Boy’s messages properly: his horror year continued with a family emergency on Christmas Eve and it was the first Christmas Day without the family member who passed away recently. Once presents were opened and lunch was cleared, he appeared to have drunk himself into trying not to care any more.

He was upset with me for breaking my agreement to take it easy on each other and he said any meaning behind his absences was in my head only. He concluded by saying if I meet another man interested in a threesome, he’d like to participate (I don’t know where that came from).

I replied later that night to address some of his points and I also said it was too early for me to consider his request to stay in in contact. He came across as immature and still feeling sorry for himself at times and I need to maintain distance until we are more resilient. I would never tell him what to do but I think he needs to look for and meet other women when he’s ready, not for me to rub in how fantastic and suitable I am by comparison (although I have to admit that would be my ideal outcome), but maybe there is someone else who is content with what he can give.

To return to the initial point of this post, I met Seven for a drink that night and will write about that next time.