Hanging

limbo (n.)

1. A Latin dance native to nursing homes in Miami. (2.) A now defunct warehouse for unbaptized infants of the Roman Catholic variety. (3.) Latin for “my relationship with Daniel.”

Another fabulous weekend came and went for my friends and me in Manhattan. This Saturday night was an unusual one; it was “girls’ night.” Are those ever fun? A more important question is whether it is truly ever “girls’ night.” I mean, the men are still around and about, looming through our minds. It’s 2006; men are almost always a phone call away from ruining our lives, right?!? When they’re far away, they’re either calling when they shouldn’t or they’re not calling when they should. Whether any of us wanted to admit it, this was one of those nights.

Keith called multiple times this weekend after months of not speaking and years of not living together. I didn’t see his calls until Saturday night. He even text-messaged me. What does he want? Why now after so long? Odd.

Jared, another ex, has been trying to contact me with “big news” for almost a week now. He too texted before Shabbos. It feels like he just left NYC. I guess it’s only been three weeks. On my way out, he called, and I finally answered. His news: he’s becoming a Jew. Maaahhh? I was speechless (a rarity). I can’t help but feel responsible … for so much. He’s moving to the City this summer. Again, odd.

And, despite all that we should talk about, the one guy who should be on the scene is not. I’m not surprised. I’m not sick. I’m not even sulking. I am, however, in limbo.