After the match, she said, 'I got lucky. You're much better than me.'
Alas, tennis is a game of consistency; this is especially true at the club level. She outlasted me in that department. I was too impatient, wanting to end rallies with a winning shot because I was not wanting to keep running after the ball under the scorching sun; and I unwittingly play with very narrow margins and kept missing the lines. I also kept hitting my forehand long, even when I was just hitting a routine shot. Etienne was seated behind me, and he told me, 'Calm down. Make her run!'
I couldn't. She's older than me, but I felt like I was dying under the sun. She's English, and I'm Singaporean, and I couldn't handle the heat. What the fuck was wrong with me?! It didn't help that I wasn't thinking at all - not thinking about what I should change, what I was doing wrong; all that I was thinking was, 'OH MY GOD I AM DYING I WANT TO GO HOME.'
I suck. I really do. I gave up towards the end; mentally checked out of the tiebreak. I also hit a double fault on her match point, so yeah, I really fucking suck. What Etienne meant by 'make her run' was to hit the ball left and right. If I'd thought of that, I would've stopped hitting it down the middle.
I need to start thinking my way through matches and stay mentally focused no matter how much I felt like I was dying. This can't go on anymore. I need to beat her. I need to find a way to break down her consistency, force her into errors. The errors were coming fast and furious from my racquet, and every time I missed the lines, I got so frustrated that I started berating myself. 'Stupid' was the word of the day.
This could have played a part too: I woke up slightly hungover today. I went out drinking last night with Kaara and some PhD people. I really wanted to see Kaara because she's cool and she understands what it feels like to struggle with the PhD, so I went over to Michael D's place where he hosted a dinner party at the rooftop of his accommodation. It was really nice. I ate too many pieces of brownies, had too much wine; and later, we went to an LGBT party at the Cambridge Union.
Kaara and I told ourselves to just drink water there. We ended up having two G&Ts. I felt so sick towards the end that I couldn't finish the second one.
It was fun though. I was really glad to be there with a friend and some acquaintances and not wallowing in my room. Actually, I was supposed to get a drink with Kevin, but I really didn't feel like meeting a guy, so I told him I couldn't make it because I was having a hard time. I needed to be with a friend yesterday, not a date; and so I was glad I did it.
The party wasn't the most fun, and it was curious how the lesbians there took one look at me and either didn't find me attractive, or knew immediately that I wasn't one of them. It was quite disappointing; I was hoping it would be a gateway to my long-awaited lesbian experience.
Then again, I didn't find any of them attractive anyway.
Kaara and I left at about 12.230. The Cambridge Union is less than 5 minutes from Magdalene, so I walked back. On the way back, I walked around two guys standing on Magdalene Bridge with their bikes. One of them looked at me, then kept looking, and then said, 'Sorry we're blocking your way.'
That started a spontaneous conversation. I had some rhinestones on my face; Michael made a butterfly-like/Wonder Woman pattern. They commented on it. They were both MPhil students in some politics/religion kind of thing. Then the guy's friend went off and it was just me and him. We walked around Magdalene as he'd never seen it, we talked, he asked if I wanted to get a drink somewhere but I was tired and had too much to drink and I had a tennis match. Then before he went off, we exchanged numbers. He said it was really nice to meet me.
He was kind of nerdy cute. But I have a feeling he's like, 25; he's American doing an MPhil, so on second thoughts, he's probably even younger. There were two reasons I was kind of friendly: I was a bit tipsy and I was in a bad emotional place because Gareth, a.k.a. Unmitigated Asshole, so the attention was nice. We sort of agreed to meet on Sunday. We'll see how that goes.
Unmitigated Asshole is simply an asshole. I would give him the benefit of the doubt and interpret his behaviour and his complete silence in the best possible light, but why should I? Occam's Razor applies here. I texted him yesterday asking if we could meet because I needed closure. Unsurprisingly, he has not replied; nor do I expect that he will.
It wasn't closure from him that I sought, not really. In an admittedly manipulative move, I hedged my bet on the most likely outcome of him ignoring my request in order to place the blame squarely on his shoulders and say, I've done everything that I could; I gave you one last chance to do the decent thing; you failed; and so I am entirely justified in harbouring these negative feelings towards you. Of course, these feelings will go away sooner rather than later; and when they do, he will be insignificant, an anecdote that I tell the next guy that I date about this time I was 'dumped' via a text message, which was also the longest text message that this person had ever sent me. He is insignificant, a mere speck of dust in the annals of the history of my love life. He was never good enough, I never once saw any long-term potential, I was intrigued because he was a novelty and fulfilled a fantasy. Beyond that, he offered absolutely nothing. So if dumping me made him feel less bad about himself or whatever, then good on him. I don't care.
Also, I had to know whether he would really refuse or let go unanswered an explicit request from me to meet and talk, a request that promised no drama and emotional outbursts and which stated that I was having a hard time. I had to know the true extent of his indifference and apathy. This was the first step towards getting my own closure: confirmation that he is deeply selfish, emotionally messed up, unable to handle a mature conversation between two people who had enjoyed each other's company, but who are ultimately incompatible. This is really not on me. We could have parted ways on a positive note, but he chose to handle it this way.
Of course, it doesn't matter. He won't spend another second of his life thinking about me, and I will forget him too, and I will date someone better because no one can be worse than him. So this is pointless, coming mostly from a place of residual anger.
But it doesn't matter. I am already feeling better. Once I drop off his book and a letter telling him exactly what I think of his behaviour, I will put this behind me.
He was right when he said that I'm robust, strong - because I am. And I will not be undermined by an insignificant, selfish man.
On a brighter note, Matt knew instantly that I was hungover when he saw me this morning.
Just now, I talked to him for a bit; he's selling ice-cream outside the cafe. I tasted two flavours and almost let him talk me into 1) getting some ice-cream and 2) getting an affogato (?) but I decided against them because I am getting fat.
He's such a lovely person.