One of our flatmates picked up a girl on the weekend. Three days later, she turned up on our doorstep when he was out. She was in a bit of a state – agitated and twitchy, and against my better judgement I let her in to wait for him.
And holy hell! I unleashed a monster. She launched into a monologue about how she’d been sitting at home going mad waiting to hear from him, how he wasn’t answering his phone, how she didn’t know what the deal was with them and she NEEDED to know, how she already missed him, on and on and on…
It was all a bit intense, and way too much TMI for me. I really didn’t care about their relationship of lack thereof; I still don’t even know her name.
That being said, I do grudgingly admire people who are that open, who can be that that transparent. Who can get things off their chest without caring what others think.
And sometimes we’re the most painfully honest when we’re at our most desperate. I’ve been there: I’ve done that. It was a relationship based on physical attraction and further built on shaky ground. We really had no business being together, but I clung on to some romantic ideal and refused to let go. On the day it all fell apart, I made a last stab at saving us. It was probably the most honest I had been in our entire year together.