Dreamy's disorder

Monday night found me standing in the middle of a dark , frigid street in Cambridge, yelling at the top of my lungs into my cell phone at Dreamy (who didn't seem so dreamy to me at that particular moment): "I know that you didn't hear your phone ring. I figured that out when I called and got your voice mail THREE TIMES. The bigger question is, WHY THE F*** AREN'T YOU HERE?"

I'll admit it, sometimes I'm crabby during the week. Especially when I didn't sleep super well the night before, when it's late (e.g. after 7 p.m.), and when I worked and then went straight to pottery class. Which is why I tried to make my needs very clear to Dreamy when he called and asked if it was all right if he met a friend for a drink before I came over: "It's fine with me, but I need you to be there when I arrive at 9:30. Can you tell him you have to leave at 9:15 even if you're still in the middle of a conversation? Please don't forget."

Can you tell I'm developing some strategies to deal with Dreamy's executive functioning disorder? With limited success, apparently, because when I pulled into a choice parking spot at exactly 9:31 and dialed his number, there was no answer. So I tried two more times. Then I broke into his building by following on the heels of someone else walking in and went and knocked on his door. Then I stormed back outside and headed for my car, vowing to head straight for home and screw it if I didn't see him again for another two weeks till he gets back from his business trip. And that was when my phone rang (9:50, for the record). "Hey babe, just saw I had three missed calls from you! Oops!"

Yeah, oops is right. I let him have an earful as the undergrads on the street turned to look at the crazy yelling lady. When he tried to tell me where he was, I screamed, "I don't care where you are. Make it so you're HERE, PRONTO!" And then there was, "What kind of excuse is that, that you didn't have your watch?? Bring your goddamn watch when I tell you to meet me at 9:30!" I mean, come on, he seriously deserved it.

But as soon as he showed up, looking all sheepish with a silly little smile on his face, I forgave him. Because after all, I know he has an executive functioning disorder (in fact, I diagnosed it with the help of a social worker friend), and I'm dating him anyway. Not that he shouldn't try to be better; I made him sit down for a brainstorming session afterward about what he could have done differently -- text me his location before he met his friend, leave his door open, leave his phone on the table, etc. But at a certain point you also have to accept people's limitations.