Cullen left. It’s unclear if he has dumped Melissa. I think he has. (If you missed earlier installments on this story, here’s where I find Cullen in Melissa’s bed.)
This photo is from when Cullen was excited to be in lots of photos on my blog.
It was the day that a TV writer emailed me about adapting my blog for the big screen. Or semi-big screen. Or whatever we are calling TV now, but I have to say, as an aside, that TV is the new hipster medium because episodes allow for more character development than a single movie. I heard this from the Farmer, and he’s not a guy who could make this stuff up. And we are watching Breaking Bad and I want to be absurd and funny like those writers.
This is what happened with Cullen. He agreed to redesign my blog in exchange for free room and board. And then he realized he didn’t have time to do that, because he has a full time job.
Meanwhile, we were having big Facebook drama on the farm because Melissa does not feel like she has a boyfriend unless the guy puts in on his Facebook status. So Cullen did that.
And then, the day after the status changed I told them that I think they need to live together as boyfriend and girlfriend somewhere else because it’s not working for us here on the farm.
So Cullen went back to Austin. He told Melissa that she can come back with him, but he doesn’t want to live with her.
Melissa said, “How come you want to live with me on the farm but you don’t want to live with me in Austin?”
Cullen said, “I don’t know. That’s a good question.”
Melissa decided to stay on the farm. Cullen decided to go. But they decided that neither of them will change their Facebook status. Cullen said, “I’ll be back.” And maybe to show that, or maybe because they were so cheap, he left his green rubber boots behind.
We said goodbye to Cullen at 6am when he left to catch an 8:30 am plane. Melissa drove him to the airport.
But not really. Because five minutes after Cullen says to me, “Okay. See you soon. I’ll be back,” he said to Melissa in the car, “I actually don’t have a plane ticket. I have a train ticket. I just didn’t want to tell Penelope.”
I’m not sure why. I do not have anything against trains.
Three days pass. Cullen writes an email to Melissa explaining why he had to leave. We read it at lunch even though I told Melissa she is not allowed to bring her iPhone to lunch.
The Farmer reads the email and says, “Guys should never send stuff to girls in writing. They just show it to all their friends.”
Melissa tells me she is going to die if I don’t write on my blog that Cullen and Melissa are not together. “I need closure,” she says.
I tell her I have to write about careers.
“When I am independently wealthy like James Altucher then I’ll write about your love life.”
The Farmer says, “Penelope’s career advice chapters are like the whaling chapters in Moby Dick. You like the storyline about psychotic behavior, but you need the whaling chapters to keep things based in reality.”
I wish there were something on Facebook for me to quantify how much I am in love with the Farmer. I give him a ten for his combination of intellect and strength to hold my goat down so I can milk her. I think maybe I can make a plan for my blog that is a little scary because I feel secure with the Farmer. You need to feel secure in one place to create instability in another.
Melissa gives me more blogging instructions: “I want to make sure you write that I’m sad.”
The Farmer shakes his head. “No. You can’t do that.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Do you two know anything about playing hard to get?”
I laugh. The Farmer broke up with me about 50 times. Twenty-five of those times were because he thought he should be the one doing the chasing. “Guys do the chasing,” he would tell me. And then I’d kiss him.
“No,” I say. “Melissa and I have no idea how to play hard to get.”
The Farmer says, “You cannot email Cullen to tell him you miss him. That gives him an opening. He left, and he has to make his own opening to come back. People care more about their plans if they make the plan themselves.”
This seems true. It seems true for all plans. For all departures. For all entrances. And you can tell if it’s your own plan by how lost you feel. People who do their own plans feel lost most of the time. People who do other peoples’ plans feel on track most of the time.
Melissa says, “Fine. Is that going to be your post? Fine. But I want to take a picture for the blog post about being sad.”