Queerbot: Working relationships out with workaholics

2:30 a.m. and a gorgeous girl whose orbit I’d just fallen into asked me, “What do you think you’re doing after this?”

“Sleeping, although I’d really like to hang out again later,” I said.

She gave me her phone number with enthusiasm, threw a pair of very honest eyes across the table at me, and said, “The sad thing is, after this, I think I’ll be studying.”

Her workaholism both excited and worried me. On one hand, I have always loved workaholics, with all their passion and momentum. On the other hand, dating workaholics can be difficult, if not impossible.

In Manhattan, and especially at Columbia, it can sometimes seem like everyone is a workaholic. It isn’t all bad—at its best, Columbia can feel like nerd camp without any rules. Intellectual chemistry can tumble into the sheets, and some workaholics will display an intense commitment to sexual excellence and willingness to learn the art of pleasuring their partners. And the mind fucks can be unforgettable.

One semester, I dated a charismatic workaholic who had a sexy, unbounded sense of academic and professional adventure. Brian* was a fast talker who didn’t know exactly what he was doing in life, so he went in multiple directions at once. He was a pre-law, pre-med, humanities major who interned, researched, and read for pleasure. He had interesting stories to tell about his life, and the sheer joy he had for all his work colored my own.

Our fling ended over coffee at Hungarian. That day, I was deeply upset and shaken by life happenings, but Brian filled my uncharacteristic silences with his own chatter, oblivious. There was a glaze in his eyes from hours in Butler and a slight shake to his caffeinated body. Was he self-absorbed or just too tired? Both, I decided.

There are more extreme examples. My friend Yunus broke up with his boyfriend who he said “worked too much.” I asked him what that meant.

“He forgot my birthday,” Yunus said. “And there was a week where I went to Europe, and I kinda thought we’d hang out when I came back, and he decided to book up his entire week’s schedule with work.”

The scheduler, iCal, or Google Calendar, is often the dominatrix of a workaholic’s life. How well a workaholic manages a romantic relationship often depends on whether or not the dominatrix acknowledges the romance accurately. A relationship that has one or more workaholics in tow cannot expect to neatly fall into the gaps of a highly scheduled life—the relationship must be scheduled in with the rest of it.

My boyfriend, for example, works a 70-hour week, yet manages to make me feel like a fabulous queen whenever we are together. “I’ve blocked this time out for you,” he explained to me. “With this time, I’m not doing anything else but you. Pun intended, dear.”

Some couples set up a shared Google calendar to manage dates and shared time. However, dating couples probably shouldn’t share their entire personal Google calendars with each other—lovers can easily lose autonomy over their own schedules this way, precluding conversations about how much time lovers actually want and can spend with each other.

If these talks don’t take place, workaholics turn down their lovers routinely. Worse, they might spend time that they don’t really have with their lovers—utterly exhausted, sometimes even working, or otherwise unavailable. Their lovers can take it hard, even if they are workaholics themselves. Reflecting on her exbot, Olivia said, “I wanted to see him every day, and he acted like he was allergic to that. I felt I wasn’t good or strong enough for him, like I was too needy.”

Each couple needs to talk about what’s important in terms of time spent together. My boyfriend and I don’t see each other unless we can truly cast aside all worries and block out time for each other. This means that we don’t see each other every day.

“Coffee with Boyfriend @ Joe’s” is listed on my Google calendar as a half-hour, mid-weekly event. When it’s over, it’s time for us to go to our respective meetings. As he pulls on a scarf, my boyfriend looks me in the eyes and says, “I miss you, darling.”

“And I miss the heck out of you,” I say.

* All names are changed.

Lucy Sun is a Columbia College senior majoring in economics. Queerbot runs alternate Fridays.