Guest Post: WHY HASN’T HE REPLIED? He must be dead, the jerk.

Today, I am at Versailles. I have taken the train there, and while the Hall of Mirrors is lovely and all, I am wondering what we’ll have for lunch because I guarantee you nothing I eat in France is coming from a concession stand. But YOU are about to get a glimpse into the secret, obsessive world of modern romantic communication from one of my favorite commenters, who wishes to remain anonymous in order to maintain her laid-back facade.

I hate being ignored.

I start off being perfectly sensible and then suddenly, someone, somewhere is ignoring me. Maybe I text you and you don’t respond for two hours. My imagination runs wild. You’ve died. You were driving, my text distracted you and you veered off the road and you are now descending into a coma in a ravine off of 395. It is entirely my fault. I’m inconsolably upset. I’ve ruined your life. Then you text me back, and my life returns to normal. You’re alive. I’m not responsible for your death. You had a meeting for the last two hours and I’m a psychotic person with an affinity for over-dramatization. Further, there are no ravines on 395.

I think I’m a normal person. My friends ask me for advice in relationships and I listen intently and give them reasonable answers. I am typically regarded as completely level-headed and laid back. I think I’m likeable, even. I can carry on a conversation with anyone; I’m smart but not overbearingly intellectual, and I very rarely overreact in trying situations.

And then I start dating someone. And that person I’m dating doesn’t text me back within a reasonable window that I’ve designated for that period in the time and space continuum. Perhaps we’ve been emailing all day at an approximate rate of one email per 13 minutes and suddenly an email goes unreturned for an hour. He must be at lunch, I reason with myself. Ninety minutes pass. Maybe it was a long lunch. A long lunch meeting and his boss expensed some beers.

At the two hour mark, my thoughts become less rational. Lunch doesn’t last until 2 p.m. He has obviously met someone else during lunch who is insanely witty and weighs 90 lbs. They are cavorting throughout Farragut West on a foodtruck tour that will end in marriage. At three hours, I’m off the charts. It was something I said in my last email. Maybe it was the way I signed it, should I have used four Xs and three Os instead of an even split? This was clearly the crux of our relationship’s demise.

And then lo and behold, an email reply. Sanity is restored. He didn’t meet the Princess Leia of his dreams at Barnes and Noble; he was at a doctor’s appointment. I can write Xs and Os with abandon! The email rate resumes its previous rhythm. All is well. I assure myself that the blip in communication meant absolutely nothing and I can continue writing my first name with his last name on scraps of paper. Later that night, he doesn’t return the text I send at 1 a.m. Did he fall asleep? Was my text rhetorical? Should I eternally write texts in the form of a question to elicit a timely reply?

I assume one day it will become clear that a slight delay in returned correspondence is not a clear indicator of relationship implosion. I mean, back in the olden days, people waited full weeks for letters to be returned from lovers. Perhaps this disordered thinking is a result of advancing technology; maybe it is the growing obsession with instant gratification. Or, um, maybe I’m just crazy.