Friday, December 28, 2007
Observations
My parents are capable of having a Christmas that does not involve tears, and, like so many other important events in my family’s existence, I missed it. I am resentful of God, and find prayer an exercise in futility. Singing in the car drives me crazy. My parents-in-law are better people than I give them credit for. Anthropologists scare me. The holidays bring out the worst in me. I miss my brother. My sister needs to speak to someone who knows what they are talking about, and my family and I are not the answer. I am overly argumentative. Sister-in-laws boyfriend is a solid man and would be a fantastic addition to the family. A sense of family pride is invaluable, and too often overlooked. I can go months without drinking, unless told I am not allowed to do so. I lack control around food. Regardless of how we feel about the war, the men and women spending these days overseas deserve our utmost respect. And last, but not least, this Country is ready for either a President of color, or of a different gender. Happy holidays!
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Sad. . .
How do you tell your little ones that mom and dad aren’t going to live together anymore? I was younger than he is now, about his sister’s age, so I don’t remember what my mom told me. Luckily, their mom was. Maybe she recalls the conversation and knows exactly what to say. Perhaps she comforts herself with the knowledge that we turned out okay, so they will do the same. I can only hope that she knows what she is doing, and that those children have the constitution to fight through this, and understand, without hatred, frustration and regret, that sometimes, life is just destined to repeat itself.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Relationships
“Relationships either work or they don’t”
I cannot accept this as a general proposition, can you? Are relationship just supposed to work? If so, please let me know – kill the skeptic in me. Let me know that it isn’t work, a struggle.
My feeling is that the constant back and forth – the grind if you will – is what makes it worth while. Without the pain, doubt and worry, relationships fade, get taken for granted, and eventually, forgotten. Don’t get me wrong, I do not think cycles of misery necessarily lead to lasting and fulfilling bonds . . . but they can aid in that process.
There is a reason that humans, as a default, look for excuses to create conflict; we need to know that the time is worth it, that there is something worth a struggle. Anything easy is just that, easy, and we all know how that turns out (or am I wrong?).
Every great relationship I have ever had was worth fighting for, and it took just that.
My Wife: She is everything I have ever wanted. I loved her the moment I saw her, I knew that she was it – and we had never spoken. After months of perpetual flirting, she informed me, with some trepidation, that she would never date a man who was not of her race (and, preferably, religion) – a challenge. She faltered, I fought, and, to the best of my recollection, her parents cried. Upon meeting them, I knew what she was fighting against, and it was for me. Since that time, we have battled, screamed, and doubted, but we have persevered – seven years on, and our heads are still above water. During that time, we have come to understand that we are different people, with separate passions, goals and desires. She is religious; I question the existence of a G*d who subjects so many to so much. She believes; I am a skeptic. She is honest; I have more secrets than I can admit to myself. She loves to talk; I prefer silence. I drink; she lacks the desire to mask pain. I am angry; she is happiness in the human form. In sum, we are different people, and that causes tension, confusion and questions. Out of that, we probe and attempt to understand. In sum, we don’t always see eye to eye, but we understand that the fight is worth the end game. It could be easier – she, with someone of like color and beliefs; me, with someone lacking good judgment and morals; but why, where is the fun in that?
Partner in Crime (a/k/a Best Friend): I hated him at first glance, and wished him ill will, and he to me. How we worked past that, I don’t recall – but he is the only person I have ever been honest with. He knows my pains, thoughts and understands the deviousness of my soul. When my brother passed, many disappeared, never to be heard from again. He forced me to face reality. Instead of heeding my call to back off, he talked with his parents, paid for a counselor and demanded that I deal. He may have saved my life. For that, he will always be worth the fight – I would walk away from life as I know it if asked. But, as easy as that sounds, we differ. I walked away, left him to fend for himself. Eventually, he moved on, out, and is experiencing a life you only read about. Through it all, we fought to make it work, maintained contact, and refused to give up. It would have been easy. I hate the phone, he has an active social calendar. Yet, never lost contact. He is my support system. My brother. My best friend.
There are others: my Twin – getting past your tough exterior was not easy, but one of my greatest joys, a life without your companionship would be a life lacking. My Sparring Partner, a difficult wall to climb (and I am not sure I have scaled it). You keep me on my toes, and make me sad. One day, hopefully soon, you will recognize that you are an amazing, talented, intelligent person and worthy of so much more.
If I had accepted the above as true, I would have missed out on all of this. I would have bailed, as none of these relationships “worked” from the get go. Truth be told, if relationships just “worked”, I would be moving aimlessly through life, never understanding what it meant to love. So again, I ask, are there relationships that just work – no struggle involved? If so, are they strong? Do they make your heart hurt when you feel a blip? No judgments, just curious.
I cannot accept this as a general proposition, can you? Are relationship just supposed to work? If so, please let me know – kill the skeptic in me. Let me know that it isn’t work, a struggle.
My feeling is that the constant back and forth – the grind if you will – is what makes it worth while. Without the pain, doubt and worry, relationships fade, get taken for granted, and eventually, forgotten. Don’t get me wrong, I do not think cycles of misery necessarily lead to lasting and fulfilling bonds . . . but they can aid in that process.
There is a reason that humans, as a default, look for excuses to create conflict; we need to know that the time is worth it, that there is something worth a struggle. Anything easy is just that, easy, and we all know how that turns out (or am I wrong?).
Every great relationship I have ever had was worth fighting for, and it took just that.
My Wife: She is everything I have ever wanted. I loved her the moment I saw her, I knew that she was it – and we had never spoken. After months of perpetual flirting, she informed me, with some trepidation, that she would never date a man who was not of her race (and, preferably, religion) – a challenge. She faltered, I fought, and, to the best of my recollection, her parents cried. Upon meeting them, I knew what she was fighting against, and it was for me. Since that time, we have battled, screamed, and doubted, but we have persevered – seven years on, and our heads are still above water. During that time, we have come to understand that we are different people, with separate passions, goals and desires. She is religious; I question the existence of a G*d who subjects so many to so much. She believes; I am a skeptic. She is honest; I have more secrets than I can admit to myself. She loves to talk; I prefer silence. I drink; she lacks the desire to mask pain. I am angry; she is happiness in the human form. In sum, we are different people, and that causes tension, confusion and questions. Out of that, we probe and attempt to understand. In sum, we don’t always see eye to eye, but we understand that the fight is worth the end game. It could be easier – she, with someone of like color and beliefs; me, with someone lacking good judgment and morals; but why, where is the fun in that?
Partner in Crime (a/k/a Best Friend): I hated him at first glance, and wished him ill will, and he to me. How we worked past that, I don’t recall – but he is the only person I have ever been honest with. He knows my pains, thoughts and understands the deviousness of my soul. When my brother passed, many disappeared, never to be heard from again. He forced me to face reality. Instead of heeding my call to back off, he talked with his parents, paid for a counselor and demanded that I deal. He may have saved my life. For that, he will always be worth the fight – I would walk away from life as I know it if asked. But, as easy as that sounds, we differ. I walked away, left him to fend for himself. Eventually, he moved on, out, and is experiencing a life you only read about. Through it all, we fought to make it work, maintained contact, and refused to give up. It would have been easy. I hate the phone, he has an active social calendar. Yet, never lost contact. He is my support system. My brother. My best friend.
There are others: my Twin – getting past your tough exterior was not easy, but one of my greatest joys, a life without your companionship would be a life lacking. My Sparring Partner, a difficult wall to climb (and I am not sure I have scaled it). You keep me on my toes, and make me sad. One day, hopefully soon, you will recognize that you are an amazing, talented, intelligent person and worthy of so much more.
If I had accepted the above as true, I would have missed out on all of this. I would have bailed, as none of these relationships “worked” from the get go. Truth be told, if relationships just “worked”, I would be moving aimlessly through life, never understanding what it meant to love. So again, I ask, are there relationships that just work – no struggle involved? If so, are they strong? Do they make your heart hurt when you feel a blip? No judgments, just curious.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Lifetime of fun
It was an honest conversation.
It started innocently enough with me mentioning -- in passing -- that I had spoken with my Partner in Crime, and that his life was crazy (fun) at the moment. I should have known. After a few probing questions, it quickly spiraled into me explaining that, if I were single (i.e., not dating and/or married to the love of my life), I would be a completely different person. I would be an animal.
She played it off, but I think I hurt her. I think she believes that I feel caged, that I would rather be overseas, lusting after nameless, faceless women.
Truth be told, while part of me will always envy my single friends, I would not trade my place in the world for anything. The past six years have been the best of my life. While my friends are out struggling to bed models, I have perfection, at my finger tips, on a moments notice. No clubs, no awkward moments, no drunken fumblings. I know what she wants, what she requires, and that brings me untold peace.
Let those guys have their momentary fun, for mine, while seemingly mundane and repetitive, is real, and will last a life time.
It started innocently enough with me mentioning -- in passing -- that I had spoken with my Partner in Crime, and that his life was crazy (fun) at the moment. I should have known. After a few probing questions, it quickly spiraled into me explaining that, if I were single (i.e., not dating and/or married to the love of my life), I would be a completely different person. I would be an animal.
She played it off, but I think I hurt her. I think she believes that I feel caged, that I would rather be overseas, lusting after nameless, faceless women.
Truth be told, while part of me will always envy my single friends, I would not trade my place in the world for anything. The past six years have been the best of my life. While my friends are out struggling to bed models, I have perfection, at my finger tips, on a moments notice. No clubs, no awkward moments, no drunken fumblings. I know what she wants, what she requires, and that brings me untold peace.
Let those guys have their momentary fun, for mine, while seemingly mundane and repetitive, is real, and will last a life time.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Details
I started reading American Psycho yesterday, and while obnoxiously thorough, it got me thinking -- what happens to the details?
Looking back on my life, I recall the who’s, what’s and when’s, but the details are gone, lost to my subconscious. I remember the first and last name of almost every person I have ever done anything with, but the intricacies of the moments are gone.
Without these seemingly minor memories, it is impossible to accurately reconstruct my life -- it is nothing more than a seemingly endless string of actions. I haven’t had enough alcohol, drugs, or hard hits to the head to justify this outcome. Since I don’t have an answer, I am going to blame it on my complete and utter lack of an attention span – if only I focused for an entire conversation, sexual experience or show, it would be different.
Accordingly, I am going to spend a week trying to appreciate the smallness of my day, actions, and statements. I am hoping that if I operate on the micro level, the macro will take care of itself.
Looking back on my life, I recall the who’s, what’s and when’s, but the details are gone, lost to my subconscious. I remember the first and last name of almost every person I have ever done anything with, but the intricacies of the moments are gone.
Without these seemingly minor memories, it is impossible to accurately reconstruct my life -- it is nothing more than a seemingly endless string of actions. I haven’t had enough alcohol, drugs, or hard hits to the head to justify this outcome. Since I don’t have an answer, I am going to blame it on my complete and utter lack of an attention span – if only I focused for an entire conversation, sexual experience or show, it would be different.
Accordingly, I am going to spend a week trying to appreciate the smallness of my day, actions, and statements. I am hoping that if I operate on the micro level, the macro will take care of itself.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Simple request
By all measures, I have a perfect life -- great job, beautiful wife, three loving families, and money in the bank, but I am scared. I am scared because no matter how much I achieve, or how many “goals” I check off my list, I am still the kid at the back of the class wondering what the fuck is going on. I just don’t see it anymore. I lost my voice.
When I get excited, people find it immature. When I get impassioned, I am getting ahead of myself. When I am insecure, I am seeking attention. But you have a warped perception. I am twenty-nine, worried to death that I will fail, that I am nothing more than a highly paid cart attendant – performing tasks that allow the masses to function effortlessly. When taken apart from the whole, I have accomplished nothing more than pulling the wool over the eyes of over-worked and underpaid professors, falling into a job or two and hanging around just long enough to be liked, but never long enough to be tested.
To be great is oversold – I don’t long for it. I have smaller ambitions – I want to be understood, appreciated and accepted for what I am not.
When I get excited, people find it immature. When I get impassioned, I am getting ahead of myself. When I am insecure, I am seeking attention. But you have a warped perception. I am twenty-nine, worried to death that I will fail, that I am nothing more than a highly paid cart attendant – performing tasks that allow the masses to function effortlessly. When taken apart from the whole, I have accomplished nothing more than pulling the wool over the eyes of over-worked and underpaid professors, falling into a job or two and hanging around just long enough to be liked, but never long enough to be tested.
To be great is oversold – I don’t long for it. I have smaller ambitions – I want to be understood, appreciated and accepted for what I am not.
As I remember it, X-Mas 1988
They are nice honey.
Try them on!
Maybe later, they are too big, and I am tired.
But just try them on, they will look great on you.
I told you, I will try them on later, now be quiet.
Okay . . . Merry Christmas.
Try them on!
Maybe later, they are too big, and I am tired.
But just try them on, they will look great on you.
I told you, I will try them on later, now be quiet.
Okay . . . Merry Christmas.
Monday, December 3, 2007
Love of my life, Pt. 1
We had one rough patch – our final year in graduate school. I gave her every reason to leave – I was aloof, cold, and mean. I wanted to see if she would stay with the me who wakes up angry at the world; who asks ridiculous questions, like “why?”. I think I wanted her to bail so I could continue to think the world was against me. I had broken lesser women, and figured she would fall in line. I didn’t give her enough credit.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Love will set you free
It creates emotional attachments, worries and irrational thoughts. When I was alone, void of feelings, I thought of no one, moved untouched through life with nothing but my own existence to keep me awake at night. Now, I spend my days worried about those I love. I worry that I have not given the woman I love the emotional support she deserves; that my twin will move on, find a new side kick in my self imposed exile; that my partner in crime will spiral out of control before I can get to him; that my older sister will resent my failure to be her rock during her time of need; that my little sister will never know me for anything more than her absent brother; that my sparring partner will forget our comedic banter; that intelligent will give up and settle into a life of what could have beens; that Mr. Comedy’s life will find its stride, and I will miss it. This is what it has brought me, a world of self-doubt and concern for others – it was easier when I was slowly suffocating on my own-self pity.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
The good fight
He lost it all – the wife, the house, the dream – but he is fighting. Fighting to prove that he is every bit the person he knew he would become. I admire his desire, perseverance in the face of daunting odds, and I hope he knows that I love him. Keep up the good fight, without people like you, people like me lose hope, and allow ourselves to be defined by life’s many failures.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Stupidity
I am generally not one to criticize, but I just read an article about a football player, Troy Williamson of the Minnesota Vikings, who was docked $25,000+ for missing last Sunday's game to attend his maternal grandmother funeral (http://sports.espn.go.com/nfl/news/story?id=3100835), and was blown away. I don't know about anyone else, but I find this absolutely absurd -- who the hell docks someone pay for attending the funeral of a family member?? I understand punishing someone for juvenile, illegal and/or asinine decisions/behavior, but penalizing someone for attending a funeral is downright offensive. We, as a society, need to recognize a mature, adult decision when we see one. Instead of suiting up on Sunday to play a GAME, this man took it upon himself to be with his family in a time of need, to arrange a funeral for the woman who helped raise him, to make travel plans for his siblings who are serving this country as members of the armed forces, and to take time to grieve. This is wrong, plain and simple. I have never been a Vikings fan, nor have I ever rooted against them, but this one act has turned me into an ardent non-supporter of this organization (the same organization that continued to pay players a few years back who were allegedly involved in the "sex boat" scandal(two players were ultimately fined by the NFL (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2005_Minnesota_Vikings_boat_cruise_scandal)). This is what is wrong with sports, and I truly hope I am not the only person outraged by this decision.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Another in a long line
She truly loved me, and, looking back, she did just about anything I asked, which, in the end, benefited neither of us.
I can’t recall when it started, but it flickered in high school. She asked me to a dance. I wore suspenders with no sport coat, was coated in hair spray, and didn’t want to be there. She looked overwhelmed, but beautiful. I met her dad, he hated me, and, as it turned out, he had good reason. It was the only dance I ever enjoyed.
Fast forward to college. I was a Sophomore and my “girlfriend” (we will call her the Devil) was studying abroad. This girl went to school hours from me, but we stayed in touch, often driving to each other on the weekends. We had something. She turned me on, drove me crazy, made me feel stupid, yet strong. She was outwardly confident, but horribly insecure, I needed to be loved. We had fun, and lots of it. It wasn’t serious, but it was exciting. The Devil was happily ignorant.
Then he died. I was in a daze, but called her from the hospital – it was 6am, I have no recollection of the conversation – but it was the beginning of the end.
She was home in hours, stayed with me, alone, in the room where he slept, and, to be honest, masterfully distracted me from myself. The next week was a blur, but I know I spent it with her. She was a rock.
What I did over the next few months was nothing short of appalling.
I needed a sense of control; I needed something to make sense, so I latched on and fed off of her. She loved me, and would have done anything; I loved nothing, but needed her being. I let it linger, sapping her energy, gulping down her kindness, without so much as a thank you in return. I gave just enough to provide hope, but not enough to relinquish control. It was a game. I couldn’t understand how she could want me -- I didn’t sleep, smoked nonstop, and stopped eating -- and made her prove it to me on an hourly basis. She smiled, threw compliments, gave me her body and listened to me cry, often cradling me, a grown man, promising her eternal presence. I didn’t let her keep that promise.
I pushed her harder than I knew I could. I loved the energy, the destructive power was my purpose -- she didn’t stand a chance.
As planned, the Devil returned, and I dropped her as if she had been a momentary fling. She threatened to tell, I cried, she disappeared.
I never told her, and never admitted it to myself, but I loved her. She was my best friend, my lover, and my support system. Yet, I trampled her. I needed to feel strong, to be in control. I succeeded.
I saw her this year, I tried to talk, she walked away. I emailed her this week, just to say I was sorry, she has yet to respond. I understand, I wouldn’t. They say we should have no regrets, I have many. But of all the cruel, sick things I have done in my short life, this was my masterpiece, and all I have to show for my greatest triumph is the emptiness caused by the loss of the first person who cared enough about me to sacrifice her own sanity and well being for my greater good. What a waste of a great personal attribute.
For what it is worth, I told the Devil, she was, not surprisingly, upset. It felt good, for it was the first “right” thing I had done in some time.
I can’t recall when it started, but it flickered in high school. She asked me to a dance. I wore suspenders with no sport coat, was coated in hair spray, and didn’t want to be there. She looked overwhelmed, but beautiful. I met her dad, he hated me, and, as it turned out, he had good reason. It was the only dance I ever enjoyed.
Fast forward to college. I was a Sophomore and my “girlfriend” (we will call her the Devil) was studying abroad. This girl went to school hours from me, but we stayed in touch, often driving to each other on the weekends. We had something. She turned me on, drove me crazy, made me feel stupid, yet strong. She was outwardly confident, but horribly insecure, I needed to be loved. We had fun, and lots of it. It wasn’t serious, but it was exciting. The Devil was happily ignorant.
Then he died. I was in a daze, but called her from the hospital – it was 6am, I have no recollection of the conversation – but it was the beginning of the end.
She was home in hours, stayed with me, alone, in the room where he slept, and, to be honest, masterfully distracted me from myself. The next week was a blur, but I know I spent it with her. She was a rock.
What I did over the next few months was nothing short of appalling.
I needed a sense of control; I needed something to make sense, so I latched on and fed off of her. She loved me, and would have done anything; I loved nothing, but needed her being. I let it linger, sapping her energy, gulping down her kindness, without so much as a thank you in return. I gave just enough to provide hope, but not enough to relinquish control. It was a game. I couldn’t understand how she could want me -- I didn’t sleep, smoked nonstop, and stopped eating -- and made her prove it to me on an hourly basis. She smiled, threw compliments, gave me her body and listened to me cry, often cradling me, a grown man, promising her eternal presence. I didn’t let her keep that promise.
I pushed her harder than I knew I could. I loved the energy, the destructive power was my purpose -- she didn’t stand a chance.
As planned, the Devil returned, and I dropped her as if she had been a momentary fling. She threatened to tell, I cried, she disappeared.
I never told her, and never admitted it to myself, but I loved her. She was my best friend, my lover, and my support system. Yet, I trampled her. I needed to feel strong, to be in control. I succeeded.
I saw her this year, I tried to talk, she walked away. I emailed her this week, just to say I was sorry, she has yet to respond. I understand, I wouldn’t. They say we should have no regrets, I have many. But of all the cruel, sick things I have done in my short life, this was my masterpiece, and all I have to show for my greatest triumph is the emptiness caused by the loss of the first person who cared enough about me to sacrifice her own sanity and well being for my greater good. What a waste of a great personal attribute.
For what it is worth, I told the Devil, she was, not surprisingly, upset. It felt good, for it was the first “right” thing I had done in some time.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
You are missed
I want to tell you that I loved you, that I wanted to be there for you, but that I was so young, so preoccupied with my own miserable existence, that I forgot to show up.
I want you to know that you were my hero, that by the age of twelve, you did more than I ever will. I never recovered. I knew I wouldn’t. The second I was told you were gone, I knew my life was going to be a shit show. I wish I could say that I am different, that I took all of the good you did in your life and turned into a positive, but it would be a lie, and you know that. I am as fucked up today as I was the day you left us. I said that I would have traded places with you. That it should have been me. But it is one of my many lies. It shouldn’t have been either of us. You should have been here for me to infect with my insidious ways, and you could have taught me to have compassion, to see love in pain, understanding in incompetence, and freedom in a cage, but you aren’t. I admired you, and wanted to emulate you. You laid the ground work -- I left it to rot. I have, once again, failed you.
I am young. You were younger. I have no excuses. I made a promise to God on the way to the hospital – if you were okay, I would change my ways. He didn’t keep his end, I didn’t keep mine. That excuse is getting stale. I have everything you didn’t. You had everything I don’t. But I am still here. . . .
I want you to know that you were my hero, that by the age of twelve, you did more than I ever will. I never recovered. I knew I wouldn’t. The second I was told you were gone, I knew my life was going to be a shit show. I wish I could say that I am different, that I took all of the good you did in your life and turned into a positive, but it would be a lie, and you know that. I am as fucked up today as I was the day you left us. I said that I would have traded places with you. That it should have been me. But it is one of my many lies. It shouldn’t have been either of us. You should have been here for me to infect with my insidious ways, and you could have taught me to have compassion, to see love in pain, understanding in incompetence, and freedom in a cage, but you aren’t. I admired you, and wanted to emulate you. You laid the ground work -- I left it to rot. I have, once again, failed you.
I am young. You were younger. I have no excuses. I made a promise to God on the way to the hospital – if you were okay, I would change my ways. He didn’t keep his end, I didn’t keep mine. That excuse is getting stale. I have everything you didn’t. You had everything I don’t. But I am still here. . . .
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Dinner and coffee
I eat alone. I use to go to resturants, but I hated confirming that I was in fact a table of one. I now eat at home. I have no tv. I have no radio. I sit on my futon. Me an my food. I finish in under ten minutes and go to a coffee shop. It isn't weird to be by yourself there. They think I am college student. They don't feel bad for me. Its better than the silence.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Where are you?
I have been thinking a lot about an old friend, we will call her LC. I didn’t spend all that much time with her, but somehow, I managed to make her hate me on at least three separate occasions.
She sat across from me in a freshman political theory seminar. I hated that class. Its only redeeming quality was this spark plug of a redhead -- shapely, great teeth, and an opinionated talker. After a particularly heated exchange (how I knew enough about political theory as a freshman to have a heated exchange I will never know), we got coffee. I knew then that she would end up hating me. She was everything I couldn’t be – sincere, funny, caring and smart. I was an ass. After months of late night conversations (and one incredible night on the beach), she grew increasingly frustrated with my antics and disappeared (to this day, I don’t remember what I did, but I do remember her leaving).
How, I don’t know, we reconnected my senior year (she had transferred). As luck would have it, she was going to be in town for my college graduation and wanted to meet up. Again, I was an ass. She spent the weekend with me, and I spent the weekend distracted by a girl who disappeared shortly thereafter.
After months of avoiding my phone calls (and listening to my absurd apologies on her voicemail), we began talking again my first year in graduate school. She had an interview. I had an apartment. She stayed two nights. I stayed one (the girl I spent the other night with was a mistake, and gone within a month). Needless to say, we did not part on good terms.
Here is the kicker -- I never slept with her. I never saw her naked. We kissed briefly a few times in college. For the first and only time in my life, not sleeping with someone was my downfall. She liked me. I thought not sleeping with her was the answer. I was wrong. She hated me for “rejecting” her.
Regardless, the point of this is that I miss her. Selfishly, I enjoyed what we had. I don’t connect well with people. I have a lot of friends, but not many that I actually talk to. I talked with her. She listened. Now, she won’t acknowledge my existence. It hurts. For what it is worth LC, I am sorry.
She sat across from me in a freshman political theory seminar. I hated that class. Its only redeeming quality was this spark plug of a redhead -- shapely, great teeth, and an opinionated talker. After a particularly heated exchange (how I knew enough about political theory as a freshman to have a heated exchange I will never know), we got coffee. I knew then that she would end up hating me. She was everything I couldn’t be – sincere, funny, caring and smart. I was an ass. After months of late night conversations (and one incredible night on the beach), she grew increasingly frustrated with my antics and disappeared (to this day, I don’t remember what I did, but I do remember her leaving).
How, I don’t know, we reconnected my senior year (she had transferred). As luck would have it, she was going to be in town for my college graduation and wanted to meet up. Again, I was an ass. She spent the weekend with me, and I spent the weekend distracted by a girl who disappeared shortly thereafter.
After months of avoiding my phone calls (and listening to my absurd apologies on her voicemail), we began talking again my first year in graduate school. She had an interview. I had an apartment. She stayed two nights. I stayed one (the girl I spent the other night with was a mistake, and gone within a month). Needless to say, we did not part on good terms.
Here is the kicker -- I never slept with her. I never saw her naked. We kissed briefly a few times in college. For the first and only time in my life, not sleeping with someone was my downfall. She liked me. I thought not sleeping with her was the answer. I was wrong. She hated me for “rejecting” her.
Regardless, the point of this is that I miss her. Selfishly, I enjoyed what we had. I don’t connect well with people. I have a lot of friends, but not many that I actually talk to. I talked with her. She listened. Now, she won’t acknowledge my existence. It hurts. For what it is worth LC, I am sorry.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Monday and I am exhausted...
I see my arms wrapping around her, strangely refusing to stop. I don't love her, I know that, but I need her. Maybe not her so much, but something in her being -- strength, compassion, love, warmth -- something I lack. I know, even as I am doing it, that this will destroy her, but I don't care, I have needs, wants, desires, and she has the ability to temporarily fill the void. Does this make me a bad person -- probably. People forget that about me -- my lack of a heart. I feel deeply. I cry often. I hurt constantly. But none of those are to be confused with a heart. I have left nothing but carnage in my wake since I was a child, and have no intention of changing my ways. I am good at it. Awkwardly, I miss people. I long for the failed, the impossible, and the destructive. The chaos is my curse. I realize in my advanced age that my words are my sword, my emptiness the shield, beauty and free time my enemy. I watch those around me fall and I applaud their failure, it lowers the bar, and I can once again slide safely below the radar, left to my selfishly degenerative ways.
Monday, September 10, 2007
And so it begins
I don't have anything unique to add to the blogging world. But due to a recent change in employment (and location), I am alone (as in I don't really know anybody, don't talk much during the day, and have lost the ability to converse with strangers). So as an alternative to talking with myself (or drinking excessively), I decided to write. There is no format, no central theme, and no agenda, all I know is that I have an abundance of free time, a computer and an internet connection -- we will see where if goes from there.
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