After the May trip, Ormsby told me he was emotionally unavailable. And also that, even if he were not, he had respect for Botboy and his situation and didn’t want to do anything with me – at least nothing any further than what we’d done already – until I wasn’t waiting for him anymore. And of course there was the long distance thing, which was a major dealbreaker for both of us.
I conceded. I was waiting. I’d said I was going to wait, I don’t break my word, I was going to wait until Botboy either came home and back to me, or until he came home and didn’t come back to me (which was, admittedly, the more probable of the two).
Time passed. Ormsby and I talked (or texted) quite a bit – not daily at first, but it soon became so. We made plans to meet up in Savannah.
But they didn’t happen. Because Ormsby’s shit hit the fan in July. And Ormsby needed me. And I had a choice to make.
His shit hit the fan, in other words, at the same time (thereabouts) that Botboy was due back home.
And so I could either choose to go to Ormsby, leaving Tampa knowing that Botboy could return at any moment. Or I could stay, wait, and keep watching the way I had been – the way I’d done despite the lack of contact from Botboy (and despite the fact that Botboy had not one but TWO blogs he’d been posting to while he was away (yes, Botboy, I’m good at what I do)).
It wasn’t really a question anyway. Ormsby needed me. I go where I am needed. I used my emergency fund to buy some tickets, a hotel, a car, and I went. Not because I was trying to make him change his mind… that was, honestly, the furthest thing from my mind. But because I felt called, compelled, whatever you want to call it, to be there.
And I’m glad I went.
Together, Ormsby and I fixed his shit.
We started dating (but unofficially so, since he was still adamant about the long distance thing).
I started considering a move. Not for Ormsby specifically, but because a lot of my own family shit hit the fan, and I felt like I needed to be closer.
I flew up a bunch.
And finally I came to the conclusion that I was going to do it.
So, about two months ago, I gave notice at my Tampa apartment complex. I hired movers.
About a month ago, I gave two weeks’ notice at my job.
About two weeks ago, I had my last day at work.
About a week and a half ago, Ormsby flew into Tampa to help me pack and to drive the truck that was full of my belongings back to Louisville.
I turned thirty-two. This blog turned two years old. And my, how its contents have evolved.
About a week ago, as we crossed the Florida/Georgia state line, we made it Facebook official. Yes, I now have a boyfriend.
And now, I’m sitting in his apartment, where I am currently living, typing this (very belated) entry.
I have unpacked my things (at least, the stuff I didn’t put in storage). I have changed my number back to one with a 502 area code.
For the first time in a million years, I brought someone home for Thanksgiving. I no longer sleep alone. We go grocery shopping together. We cook together (unless he’s working on photos, in which case, I do the cooking). We veg out on the couch together.
I may have been out of my mind to leave a perfectly good, well-paying job and spectacular weather for snow and unemployment, but I am happy. Happier than I’d been in Tampa in a very long time.
Tampa was okay. The weather was great, but the traffic sucked, and the dating scene left much to be desired.
But that era is over.
Louisville 2.0 begins now.