Life Lesson #18: Commuters, Beware! Ride the 6 train today at your own peril.

I have no balls.

Get your minds out of the gutter people. I mean this figuratively.

The reason why this concerns me is because I used to think I did – for most of my life.

I’m not so sure if I should be upset about this or not. I’m still trying to weigh the pros and cons of this recent self discovery (or admittance - also debating that as well). But I can say for certain that I am perturbed at the notion that I’m not nearly as tough as I thought. Or that I assume most others to believe.

This week has brought three events that have led me to this truth.

Monday, I gave my notice at work. Sure, sounds easy enough. It was not. I was terrified. To the point that I spent most of last weekend running to the bathroom and breaking into a cold sweat at some of the most inappropriate times. I made myself so sick with the idea of sitting down with my boss to bear the news that I’m guessing I averaged about an hour of sleep on Sunday.

When I got off the elevator Monday morning, I barely made it to my desk without vomiting.

Now, the actual conversation my boss and I had lasted only two minutes, of which twenty-five seconds or so was spent in silence as El Jefe stared at me in what I’m guessing was disbelief. It’s almost ironic, given how much time I had wasted worrying about it. And unnecessary, since I gave him till the end of the month and promised to help train someone to replace me.

Nevertheless, it was awful. I sat on my hands to stop them from shaking and sounded like Gilbert Gottfried my voice cracked so much. Anyone watching would have laughed at my display of fear. While I had envisioned it going down with me acting like Peter from Office Space, I wouldn’t be surprised if I looked more like poor, bumbling Milton.

“Um, so I, well, I needed to talk to you, because, um. Okay. So I’ve decided – and not at all because I don’t feel like I’ve really grown here and that I don’t love working for this company, it’s just that, well. Um. So basically, I’ve decided that I’m going to move. And, well, my last day is going to be the end of this month. Unless of course you really need me to stay! Because, well then I can probably stay if you really needed. I mean, I have plans for the summer, but if that’s a problem, I guess I can change them. And I’m so sorry to do this, it’s just, well, it’s something I really want to do and…”

Really, I’m glad no one else had to bear witness to that conversation. It might have made their ears bleed.

Cinco de Mayo brought another incident that made me second guess my thick skin.

A friend had a fiesta at his giant apartment, which also has a massive roof. There were a good two hundred or so people there. Many of whom I knew, if not by name, then definitely by face, including a guy who I had a thing with not too long ago. You could even say it’s still going on, since he simply stopped calling me after three months. Yep. Just stopped. After I gave him a second chance, which I now blame on no one but myself.

A side note here, but amusing enough to mention: My first ‘serious’ boyfriend, eighth grade. We went out for the better part of the last two semesters and were still ‘bf and gf’ when we had our graduation at the Westchester County Center. And then he stopped calling. And so I stopped calling him. When we ran into each other over a year later (my parents decided catholic high school was in my future, his did not), he came up to me and asked if we were still going out. To this day, when we bump into each other, we joke about how we’ve been cheating on each other for so long now, maybe we should just get married and make it official.

My point is, though, this isn’t someone I just met out one night and gave my number to in the hopes he’d call. Nope. This is someone with whom I went out on dates. I was the first person he showed his new apartment to. I was the girl he called, every day, while he was in another country on business for one week and the other side of the country for three.

So generally speaking, being he moved on to hotter and/or better without so much as a warning (maybe a "hey, its not working”, or “sorry, I’m not interested anymore”, or “well, I kind of met someone else”), I figure I have a right to be at least slightly annoyed. At this stage of the game, a little common courtesy shouldn’t be that hard to come by. When I don’t get that, well, really, that’s just not cool.

I could have very easily taken Friday night’s festivities to be the bigger person, go up to him and say hello – especially since I was a few margaritas-with-vodka-instead-of-sour-mix in (Not my idea. Rather, some guy manning the bar who insisted it was the perfect replacement. I promptly hired him to make said margaritas and flavored snow cones at my going away party this summer).

What did I do instead?

I pretty much ignored him. Then booked out of there at the first opportunity. And this is someone who I wasn’t really even upset about having reached a dead end with in the first place! I mean, sure, I was a little shocked and slightly disappointed, but once it was over, I didn’t care very much. And yet I couldn’t bring myself to confront him. A horribly lacking display of toughness, to say the least.

And finally, Sunday.

I woke up with the worst head cold and fever combo I’ve had in a while. Like the wimp I’m proving to be this week, I’d do anything for someone to take care of me right now.

Usually, when I’m sick, I take to turning off my phone, closing my door, and huddling under the covers. All I want is to be left alone to sleep for countless, uninterrupted hours. I don’t want to deal with people or problems or anything of the sort.

But the new, wimpy me wants someone to lay in bed with her and make her tea, to watch some crappy daytime dramas and eat chicken soup. I’m like every guy I make fun of who reverts to a small child when he gets hit with the first sneeze. I actually started crying when I stubbed my toe on the way into the shower. Kind of makes me want to kick my own ass.

And now that I think about it, there’s even a fourth reason for me seemingly turning into a girly girl! Being I gave my notice, have a buttload of unused personal and vacation days, and feel like total crap, I most certainly could (and probably should) have called in sick.

But no. Instead, I came in and will sneeze my way through the day. I’ll probably even stay later than usual. Just because.

Life Lesson # 18: While I always considered myself to be more on the strong side than not, I might have some softie tendencies after all. At least this week I certainly did. I’m hoping it’s just because I’m feeling under the weather and my mind is clouded over with Vitamin C and Nyquil.

I might have to go kick someone’s ass or get into a screaming match on the subway to get myself back into the true spirit of self.