2008: It Sucked

So, last year sucked, and it sucked looong and hard. A brief moment of elation in the early Spring, harrowing health-related event in July, and general suckiness throughout the year. Mostly romance related.

Grad school proved to be a mistake, but by the time 2008 was over, I was halfway through. Too late to quit now.

Fancy was sick most of the year. But seems to be better now. Lying on my belly as I type.

Things started turning around before Christmas. Since then, they’ve gone a bit more South, but overall I’m doing okay.

One thing worth mentioning – Quite some time has passed since I’ve indulged in the guiltiest of pleasures. With time, the urge and desire has waned to nothing, the motivation has disappeared, and a resigned acceptance has set in. I’ve started dating again and have met someone I may be able to tolerate in large doses. For all accounts and purposes, I’ve moved on, and there is no room for relapse.

That being said. . . I once predicted, privately, that I would become an empty, emotionless shell of a human if he weren’t a part of my life. I was right. Nothing has ever hurt as much as it has hurt to watch him gradually write me out, to go from an important person he appeared to care about to a nuisance he was completely indifferent and apathetic to. In all fairness, I haven’t made this an easy year for him either. I just wanted him to hurt as much as I was hurting after the summer and I tried to inflict that and get his attention in a million wrong ways. But to be ignored, discounted and rejected by someone I would gladly give up anything for has been the impetus for some extremely dark days and the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever lived through. If I could, I would tell him what happened, why I put him through this, and how incredibly sorry I am for it all.

But I did live through it. At a macro level, I’m really much happier as a result. There’s a certain comfort in hitting rock bottom, and a calm moderation in finally just knowing where I stand. I’m happy with the friendship we share now and look forward to the days ahead. Examining my life at a micro level, I’m unsure whether or not I’ll ever have feelings for anyone that come close to those that I had for him, but a friend once told me that we only get to feel that way once in our lives. And I’m okay with that. In the meantime, I’ll explore the way I feel about others. Maybe someday I’ll find someone who laughs like him, with the same kind blue eyes and quick wit and mature demeanor. Maybe not.

In short, having lived through 2008 gives me confidence that I can live through whatever 2009 throws my way.

Getting the Power Up

The scene is this: it’s the day before Thanksgiving, 2008. A Wednesday, naturally. Over the four days prior to this particularly dreadful day, my heart and mind had been trampled by a vast array of assorted traumatic events and emotions: having potentially lost one of the most important people in my life, dealing with new breeds of stress at work, trying to decide whether to stay in grad school or not, several family issues cropping up here and there. And in dealing with this, I found sleep impossible. So Tuesday night I took my standard three over-the-counter sleeping pills. Long story short, by the next night I no longer trusted myself to be alone. So a benevolent friend invited me on a short road trip the next night and my immediate mental reaction was “Of course I’ll go. That increases my chances of being hit by a large truck.” Sharp as she is, friend made me take one of her kids in the car with me. Good call.

Grateful for the change of scenery and happy to see this friend’s sister for the first time in ages, I was already feeling a tiny bit better by the time we got to Columbus. I hauled my overnight bag into the guest bedroom and friend and I collapsed across the bed while her two kids piled on top of us. The oldest (7), snuggled up next to me as I stared at the ceiling fighting back tears. He looked at me, took a deep breath and said, quite randomly:

“Hey, Leslie, you know how when you’re playing a video game the first level is really really easy? Then the next level is still easy, but not as easy as the first one? Then the next one is a little bit harder than the second one? And then the next and the nextandthenextandthenext….”

“Yes, Sean, I know…”

“Well, they do that on purpose, don’t they?  They make the first level really easy so you’re ready to do the second level, then the second level is a little harder so that you can handle the third level. So each level is just like practice for the next level. So if you can get through this level, you know you’re ready for the next one.”

Then he got up and ran into the kitchen.

I remained there for quite some time after my friend, too, departed for the kitchen, ceiling-staring and thinking about what Sean had said. Either he’s very intuitive and perceptive or totally random, or I’m reading way too much into what he said. Regardless, I stayed still, trying to imagine what level could possibly be worse than this, and the last of the tears I had for that situation fell from my cheek onto the nondescript, guest-bed comforter. Then I wiped my eyes and stood up, shook it off, and followed the crowd into the kitchen.

I beat this level, but not without sustaining some pretty major damage. But that’s okay. I’m taking time to heal, and when I’m powered up again, I’ll get back in the game. Significant health already restored, prognosis promising. And as much I hoped that week would be the hardest level I’ll have to get through before beating the game, I keep in mind now that it’s just practice for the greater challenges that lie ahead.

My Sunday Secret (On a Wednesday)

John Hodgman turns me on more than Hugh Jackman, Harrison Ford, George Clooney, and Jude Law all put together.

The End of a Day

There is so much healing in the sunset. How is it that time can heal hurt and addle anger? I don’t have the energy to keep this up.

Protected: Thank you, Tommy Johnson

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

Boys Club

“I immediately wind up in the friend zone,” I half-complained as we walked back to the office, an unseasonably warm November sun bearing down on us as we crossed the street to walk in the shade of a tree-lined park. “Maybe it’s because I act too much like a guy, and maybe I act too much like a guy because I grew up with three brothers.” I shrugged and kicked my sensible heels at a random pebble on the sidewalk.

“Leslie, when you find someone – and you will,” he began, his hand slicing through the air between us for emphasis, “he’s going to really, really love you for exactly who you are.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because,” he explained. “There are two kinds of girls: the ones we date and/or screw, and have no other use for, and the kind we can actually talk to, who can make us laugh, and who actually have something in their heads. You’re the second type. Add to that the fact that you’re completely comfortable in your skin and you are not afraid to be yourself, and eventually a guy is going to come along who you just click with, automatically, and the rest will be history. It’s really going to be that easy.”

I regarded him for the first time since I’ve known his as a man. Not as a co-worker, not as a friend or brother or confidante, but as a man. He is, quite literally, the best man I’ve ever met. And while I’ve never – and still don’t, just to clarify – hold any romantic notions of him or any amorous feelings toward him – for a moment I hoped that the man he spoke of would be something like him when he did come along. I believed him. And I smiled at him despite myself as he took his turn kicking at the ground, obviously a bit embarrassed by this rare moment of sincerity.

My little heart felt hopeful for the future to come.

“Can I be both types, just to different people?” I asked in jest. He laughed that shoulder-shaking, eye-rolling laugh, but said nothing as he started to cross the street and I followed him. A car passed slowly before we got too far and he put his arm out in front of me to keep me behind him.

When it was safe, he looked both ways again before dropping his arm and saying “Okay, now we can go, ” and pulling me along behind him.

Definitely, I thought.

Definitely at least *something* like him.

Thrill-seeker Seeks Thrills

What the hell am I doing?

What the hell is HE doing? He’s a man of the cloth, for crying out loud.

I feel guilty about this in a way that I should have felt guilty for the past three years. I’m playing with fire here, and so is he. We’re going to get burned. But if it works out, it’ll be worth it.

Protected: My Sunday Secret

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

Protected: Dangerous Territory

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

Try It, Mr. Tennyson

I envy not in any moods
The captive void of noble rage,
The linnet born within the cage,
That never knew the summer woods;

In envy not the beast that takes
His license in the field of time,
Unfetter’d by the sense of crime,
To whom a conscience never wakes;

Nor, what may count itself as blest,
The heart that never plighted troth
But stagnates in the weeds of sloth:
Nor any want-begotten rest.

I hold it true, whate’er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
‘T is better to have loved and lost
than never to have loved at all.

Gee, why do I feel insecure?

From an article on Yahoo.

Are You About to Be Jilted?

• His cell phone is always off. He might be spending time with someone he doesn’t want you to know about… or he just doesn’t want to make himself available.
• He’s reluctant to make plans. If he hems and haws about committing to anything — even if it’s in the semi-near future — he’s thinking about making a break for it.
• He’s meaner. The passive-aggressive breakup is a guy standby. Some men intentionally turn into whiners to make sure you break up with them.
• He’s distant. He doesn’t want to feel connected to you — or he’s getting his needs filled somewhere else.

No, Seriously – It’s Not Easy Being Me

I’m driving myself crazy. I can’t *imagine* the effect I’m having on those around me.

First, I’ve been mad at one person, off and on, but generally consistent. And I. Don’t. Know. Why. No effing clue. No clear, discernible reason. So I cling to the only thing I can – constant unavailability. Which is not this person’s fault. All of this perfectly reasonable, understandable stuff. And while I can’t help but feel even the tiniest bit justified, I know I’m being completely unreasonable and petty. But I can’t seem to hold back. So I unleash whatever stagnant fury I’ve built up inside and this person takes it – infuriatingly indifferent to its intended effects. Then I realize I’m being a crazy person, but can’t figure out how to reconcile that understanding with the fact that *something* is bothering me, and dammit, I deserve for it to be addressed. Only I don’t know how to do that, because I don’t know what it is. So I apologize. *I* apologize. Not for feeling the way I’m feeling, but for lashing out against this person because of it. Which is okay, I guess. In the end I realize that I’m not mad at this person at all, which only makes me mad at MYSELF for lacking resolve. What particular brand of crazy is that? It must be new and there must have been a sale, because I’m apparently all stocked up.

I hear people getting bored with me.  Doesn’t matter that I’m bored with my job, doesn’t matter that I’m hating school, doesn’t matter that I’m about to tear my skin off. I don’t even care anymore, so I know nobody else does. I’ve entered semi-isolation just to try to spare some of those around me (others, like above, aren’t so lucky… sorry… I’ll make a mental note that you got to bear the brunt of this and move your name to the top of the “Please Spare the Following People…” list next time).

I know at the root cause of a lot of this is WHIJ, and I’m dealing with that. Maybe when I can start to figure that out I can let go of some of this.

But I think I also get antsy if the pot isn’t stirred up every few years or so. Coming up on three years in current job, according to the studies, it’s typical for my generation to want to move on by now. I – and the majority of my peers – haven’t held a job longer than 5 years since college. I think what’s frustrating me on that front is that I don’t know what I want to move toward. I’d love to chase my dream but now there’s the student loan, the growing 401(k), the benefits and tuition reimbursement and flexible scheduling. All working to dry up that corporate concrete around my feet.

And as if it were bad enough, we’re apparently living in the end times. People losing homes. Gas is more than four times what it was when I started driving. But is still cheaper than milk! You can drive, but you can’t eat! I read a meme that says “In Soviet America, banks borrow money from you.” The Dow plunges farther than it ever has. EVER. Not since 1929 – EVER. But of course it bounces back. As America will. As I will.

Two days ago I spoke of finding the good in even the crappiest of times. So here.

I still believe America is the greatest country on the planet. I still believe we’ll win whatever conceptual war we’re fighting wherever today. And even our bad days aren’t that bad.

I still love the people in my life, even when I’m mad. I did note today that, while *I* may understand that, the other person may not. When I’m upset or while I’m tongue-lashing or criticizing the people I love, I keep in the back of my mind that I can let them know how I feel because I love them. I count on that fact to remind me that no matter what, no matter how bad I feel or no matter what I say or they say, I want them in my life and that the love I have for them is stronger than the anger I feel right now. But I don’t think they know that sometimes, and I never seem to take into account that they may not feel the same way. I should tell these people more often that I love them. I used to do that.

I have some time off tomorrow. Maybe I’ll use some of that to get to the bottom of what’s going on and get the old Green back. I think we all liked her a little better.

Protected: Say What You Need to Say

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

Lack of Follow-Through

There are some nights when, for whatever reason, I can’t even remember what your face looks like. Whether it’s stress or fatigue or alcohol, I cannot conjure up your face in my mind. Like last night.

I’d never felt so awake, so energized. So at 11:00, afraid that I may actually rip my skin off or go stir crazy if I sat in my apartment for another minute, I left for the casino. Heels, blouse, full makeup, perfect hair, earrings, and a confident swagger brought on by something I couldn’t identify. Table was hot and so was I.

A few hours later I had tripled my stack. High fives, laughter, drinks flowing. I was alive, on fire, imbued with something rare and wild. Making eyes at the strangers who were making eyes at me. Smiling at the stocky blond with the square jaw at the table across the pit. It was late when the cards turned and I was tired but never more vibrant. With a jubilant farewell to the gentlemen at the table and a handsome tip to the dealer, I cashed out and let my bouncy gait carry me back to the car.

High on the thrill and all dressed up, I still had a few good hours left in me. My eyes fell shut and I imagined myself, feral and confident, swaying towards a faceless, broad-shouldered man who just happened to be sitting on my couch. Climbing towards him, straddling his lap, capturing his mouth with mine in an unprecedented affront to my insecurities.

The thought made me shiver with anticipation. I was on a roll; why stop now? A quick text message to an old flame soon landed me at Sully’s. Drink in hand, dancing in my seat to too-loud hip hop as he leaned in close to speak in my ear. He smelled of expensive cologne and light alcohol, an intoxicating combination of seduction and promise that set my head spinning. Some carefully-crafted words and strategically-placed touches to his leg worked like a charm. Ten minutes later found us exactly where I imagined: he sat on my couch, hands behind his head, grinning like a petulant schoolboy as I leaned against the doorway to the kitchen. The confidence I felt sent delicious sensations licking at my thighs. The scene played in my head again and I imagined his hands on my hips, his lips on mine, muscles beneath my fingers and not a thought to the world outside the window. The moment carried on just a tad past awkward and finally I shoved off from the doorway to make my move.

At the same time that he observed, “That’s a very interesting-looking fish you’ve got there.”

My new betta. Twitch.

And then he was up, across the room, tapping on the bowl.

My stomach sank. I suddenly felt utterly ridiculous in my low-cut blouse and trouser jeans, high heels and thick makeup. My confidence vanished, the mood passed, and I sank to the couch, resigned and rejected. Told him the story of how I came to own the fish, how he got his name. Then Fancy appeared from nowhere and he mooned over her for a while and sat down next to me.

I had been sultry and vixenish all night long; he knew what was on my mind. I waited for him to make his move. Instead, we spoke of politics (American and British), the illusion of diversity, the $8.00 drink he bought me and what I could do to make it up to him, his allergy to cats, finances and retirement, our mutual aversion to regularly-scheduled television programming, the increasingly-late hour, what turns us on and what turns us off, the languages we studied in college, and sleep-deprived nonsense. At 5:45 am, I laid my pride to rest and drove him home. I watched the sunrise from my empty couch and then went to bed.

With your face in my mind.

Good Morning, Beautiful

This is so going straight into my spank bank. Jensen Ackles is on well on his way to my short-list of the most beautiful men in the world. Can you imagine waking up to this every morning? Or any morning, just one? With sore muscles and a slight flush? Hell yeah.

It’s suddenly very warm in here.

A Quiet Mind

Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.

Before it was a movie, it was a line from a tragic poem by Alexander Pope.

It means that the mind with no blemishes, no pain, no sorrow or regret, and especially no love, is eternally blissful. Never remembering those events, places or people that cause our hearts to freeze and our breath to hitch.

My inclination up until this point has been to forget him. To ignore the phone when it rings, to delete every message, every email, every picture physical or mental, to remove all things from my life that he touched. Chicago was paradise because he wasn’t there. He wasn’t on every street corner, in every park, in every vehicle that passed by. He wasn’t in the shops at Navy Pier, he wasn’t sitting next to me on the speedboat tour, I had never eaten lunch with him at Bubba Gump. There was nothing there that I had experienced with him. It. Was. Blissful.

But there’s one place I can’t escape from that he never leaves. And at night while lying in a strange bed in a strange apartment in a wholly strange city, after an entire day of basically frolicking in all this blessed, refreshing strangeness, he was there on the back of my eyelids in the dark. And I was strangely comforted to see him there. His memory’s arms wrapped around me, his phantom breath echoed in my mind, and I drifted off to sleep easily with him there.

What if I could erase him? Would I give up every good memory just to alleviate the pain?

Not today.

To My Abelard

No, fly me, fly me, far as pole from pole;

Rise Alps between us! and whole oceans roll!

Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me,

Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee.

Thy oaths I quit, thy memory resign;

Forget, renounce me, hate whate’er was mine.

Fair eyes, and tempting looks (which yet I view!)

Long lov’d, ador’d ideas, all adieu!

Oh Grace serene! oh virtue heav’nly fair!

Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care!

Fresh blooming hope, gay daughter of the sky!

And faith, our early immortality!

Enter, each mild, each amicable guest;

Receive, and wrap me in eternal rest!

Wanted

It occurred to me last weekend, when I woke from a nap blind as a bat and in excruciating pain and decided I needed to go to the hospital and started calling all my friends to see if anyone could take me, that none of the people I was calling would ever have to do this. They will never have to worry about trying to find someone to drive them to the hospital.

But I do.

I have never felt so lonely in my entire life. And I’ve known some loneliness.

So I decided that it’s time to get back out there, start dating again, try to find. . . whatever.

I’d like to find someone who is capable of some sincerity every once in a while. Who gives and receives. Who doesn’t seem repulsed by touching me. Who doesn’t hide things from me and who returns phone calls and actually initiates contact every once in a while, God forbid. Someone who looks forward to seeing me, thinks about me when we’re apart, knows what I want to eat when I get sick, isn’t just keeping me around until something better comes along or just as filler for what he’s missing in life. Someone who wants to be the first person I see when I wake up and the last person I see before I go to sleep.

What I’ll take – what I’ll settle for – is someone who is willing to occupy the same space, eat dinner at the same table, and drive me to the hospital in the middle of the night. Just SOMEONE, preferably male, with a pulse and a halfway steady job, who could tolerate me during the scant hours we’d spend together and help me get through this shithouse life. Help me do the things I can’t do myself, like hang curtain rods level or pick up the dry cleaning before Thursday or carry heavy things downstairs to the storage closet.

The only thing love has ever done for me is to leave me like I am right now – red-faced, crying uncontrollably, alone, and wishing the night would just hurry up and get over with. And it doesn’t last. Maybe a few years, ten if you’re lucky, but eventually a relationship, a marriage, seems to end up exactly as I described above. A partnership to help get you through life.

I’m tired of doing this alone.

Protected: Before and After

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

Protected: Just an FYI

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

Wish List

Things I Want to Do On My 26th Birthday

1. Go for a walk in Cave Hill
2. Ride a roller coaster
3. Listen to the waves at the Falls of the Ohio
4. Eat cotton candy
5. Have spaghetti for lunch
6. See a movie
7. Pet and kiss my cat
8. Hear my mother tell me the story about the day I was born
9. Take a nap in my underwear
10. Get a massage
11. Play some blackjack
12. Dance to my favorite song
13. Smile about the past and wonder about the future
14. Hug everyone I love
15. Forget about school and work
16. Look at old photos
17. Take new ones
18. Feel beautiful
19. Hear someone whisper something in my ear
20. Be tickled until I cry
21. Share it all with someone special

Lying Dormant

I haven’t felt lonely for a while now. Haven’t missed. . . anything. Anyone. I’ve simply been too mercifully busy. Didn’t leave work until nearly 12:30, almost 1:00 am last night. Been staying until well after dark for several weeks. Finals and presentations and group work and case studies fill up whatever time I do have outside of work. My mind has simply been too flooded with an endless supply of alternative sources of absorption to dwell too much on things like emotions and love and missing someone.

And tonight was no different. I did manage to force myself out of the office at a manageable hour, but only to go run errands, visit a friend, come home and put together my new kitchen table, then hit the books. Somewhere in the middle of building indirect cash flow statements, there was thunder, and the skies opened. And something shifted.

And the missing him hit harder than it ever has. The being alone was more blatantly apparent than it was before. The wondering what he’s doing was more heart-wrenching and the bittersweet smile more forced. As if that one crash of thunder and bolt of lightning split in two the hard shell of distraction I had built up around myself. And now I wish for longer days and shorter nights, so that work and school may drive the memories out of every minute. And for a drier climate. Funny, how something I never shared with him should bring him to me so strongly.

Equally odd is the strange sense of welcome toward and relief for the feelings the rain brings. Even now, thoughts of him comfort even as they torture, and still make me smile. Something familiar, tangible, and wholly ours. This sweet species of pain, not unique to us in the world but to us in ourselves. The one thing we could call ours. The one thing I shared with him. The one thing I can hold on to.

Disclaimer – the above entry aside, I’m still in a relatively grand mood, still busy studying, and will be working all weekend to prepare for talent reviews. I’m not sad, just reflective. No flames, plskthx.

Selective Memory

I’ve forgotten why I was so angry, so hurt, so upset. I can’t quite remember exactly what it was that triggered the thought in my head that I had to do what I did. Memory of the conversation itself now seems muddled and garbled, like something from a bizarre nightmare, or a CD that skips, with only meaningless snippets of sound seeping through. I don’t remember the speech I had spent that entire day rehearsing. I don’t remember every response. I have forgotten how it ended and why it began.

And I fear this. My normally sharp memory seems to have turned on me, making me question prudence and reality. It is denial, I’m sure, or an absurd rationalization. I only know that I feel several conflicting emotions. I simply don’t know which ones are true anymore.

Day Three – Believing

I’m slowly beginning to realize that this isn’t killing me. I’ve heard before, “All you have to do right now is survive.” They’re right. Just keep breathing, keep the heart beating, keep the brain waves flowing from day to day, and meaning will come back to all of those functions gradually. One day I’ll wake up and it will have returned completely. I’ll look forward to tomorrows, plan for the future, and when I laugh, my heart will be in it again. But for now, all I have to do is keep living.

I just watched The Shawshank Redemption in its entirety for the first time. I can’t help but feel like something hit home. This man was trapped in a prison for nearly twenty years, the whole while making his plans to escape. And while he was there, he made the best of it. He was patient, resilient, held onto his ideals, his sense of self, and his hope. Doesn’t mean he didn’t get beaten down from time to time or wasn’t affected by the horrible things that happened to him. But he did what he had to do to get by, to survive, until he was free.

So, that’s what I’ll do as well.

Protected: Reality

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

Day Two – Denial Sets In

Everything is going to be fine. *deep breath* Just get through this week, then we can pretend like none of this ever happened. We’ll go back to the way things were, everything will be okay again.

It’s strange – I’m watching Forrest Gump right now, and it’s my favorite part:

I don’t know if Mama’s right, or if it’s Lieutenant Dan; I don’t know if we each have a destiny, or if we’re all just floatin’ around accidental-like on a breeze. But I think, maybe it’s both. Maybe both happening at the same time.

I don’t know, either. I don’t even know if I believe that everything happens for a reason anymore. I don’t know if everyone comes into our lives for a reason anymore. I don’t know if you came into mine for a reason. But I know that there’s something here, something to be learned, something to be gained, something to be valued and remembered.

I don’t know if I can do this without you. I don’t know that I can do it any other way.

The problem (there are many, but the prevalent one) with the way things were is that I don’t know that I won’t be right back here in a week, a month, a year – trying to push you away again. And I don’t know that either of us can live with this back-and-forth.

But, for now, a day at a time. Two down. I won’t look beyond that for now.

Rock –> Me <– Hard Place

I can do this.

No you can’t.

Yes I can. No you can’t. Yes I can. No you can’t.

I *will* do this.

No you won’t. You’re not strong enough to say no to the first opportunity.

Yes I am.

No you’re not.

Yeah, you’re right.

——————————————————–

What’s this life going to be like? Not picking up the phone and hearing his voice on the other end? Not hearing his outrageously corny jokes. Never feeling as beautiful as I feel when he looks at me? Not hearing his laugh, seeing his smile, watching his eyes dart here and there when he’s thinking really hard?

Will it be harder than wanting him there every night? Harder than never knowing when you’ll feel that beautiful again? Harder than always being the option, never the priority? Harder than missing him every day?

It was worth it.

For a while.

Still is.

Why?

Because the way I feel when I’m with him for one hour trumps over and over again the way I feel when we’re apart.

But it’s getting harder.

But why cut him out completely? If I want *more,* why deliberately impose *less*? Is it all or nothing?

No.

Yes it is. It has to be, if I’m going to have any chance of getting past this and trying to find someone I feel even remotely as strongly for as I feel for him.

He’s one of your best friends, too. That’s worth holding on to.

Yeah, you’re right.

————————————————————

Is living without him going to be harder than living with pieces of him?

No.

Yes it will.

This is better for everyone. It’s better for you. It’s better for him. It’s better for four others who don’t even know they’re fighting this fight. He can forget you and be happy with them.

But he’s not happy.

There’s more to life than being happy.

Maybe there are multiple ways to be happy.

If there are, none of them include you. Leave him alone. Let him live his life.

What about my life?

You’ll survive.

Yeah, you’re right.

———————————————————-

I can’t do this.

Yes you can.

“That’s not going to work for me,” he said.

It’s the only way it will work for you. This whole relationship has worked the way he needed it to work. It’s time for something to work the way you need it to.

He doesn’t want this. I don’t want this.

You need it. Both of you need it.

I need him.

Does he need you?

Shit, you’re right.

—————————————————

I’ve done this before. I didn’t touch him, barely spoke to or saw him for almost a year. I can do this. I can have him around, but still move on.

Of course you can.

I may always feel this way about him. But I can feel this way about someone else, too. Love isn’t mutually exclusive.

Of course it’s not.

Ultimately, my life is better having known him, with him as a part of it.

Just with less ability to control the way you feel.

Less subjectivity to his schedule, his life. No more relying on the way I feel with him to make me happy. But still mutual respect and care for one another.

That’s called “being friends.”

Yeah. I can do that.

That means turning off the way you feel about him.

I can do that.

That keeps you hanging around, wondering, waiting, hoping, wishing, for something that’s never going to happen.

No. Knowing is easier. It was the uncertainty that killed me. But knowing for sure that things won’t change, I can put those feelings aside and focus on what I can have.

Okay, then. See you back here in a year.

Yeah, you’re right.

Day One

And even if I change my mind

Don’t let me hurt me one more time

This is never what I wanted

And it’s killing me to say

It just has to be this way

Wherein everything changes

And I met someone tonight. I don’t know his name but he’s handsome and and kind and one hell of a card player and he’s exactly what I need right now. I may never see him again after tomorrow night, but by god, I’ll make tomorrow night count. Thank you, Circumstance.

Happy Green

Where did you go this time? You swoop in and out of my life riding on circumstances and too heavily reliant on others to encourage your company. We need you back. Nobody seems to like the rest of us, and you keep us in check at least long enough so that they don’t have to be subjected to us. Used to be you were never stronger, never more pervasive than when he looked at us like he did today. I felt you there today, but weak and whimpering, a faded, muted version of your former brilliance. I imagined you beaten, dirty, bruised and broken, wondered if you would ever come back to me whole and healthy, and he saw it. Saw the sad loss of you reflected on my face and called me on it. Your absence weakens Strong Green as well. Funny Green misses you, too; she’s not quite the same without you. Studious Green tries really hard, bless her little heart, but she runs out stamina quite quickly. Career Green has basically given up, rarely even makes it through a full day at the office anymore. Gambling Green is enjoying a brief spike in activity, but she runs hot and cold.

But Neurotic Green, Self-Hating Green, Self-Punishing Green – your absence leaves a door open through which they can all emerge and dominate for a time, until we can build you back up. The havoc they wreak leaves me exhausted at the end of every day. One more thought, one more question, one more scenario at the end of every day, and I believe it might be enough to use up what little life energy I have left. I can keep the worst of us in check with whatever means I have available, for now. But without you, we live in peril of perpetual sedation, denial, and distraction.

Perhaps it’s my own fault. I hear you sometimes, muffled but fighting, and imagine you under the bell jar. You’re in there and we’re out here and there are no fewer ways in than there are out – give in or get it all. But the limited fight I have left in me is promised to other deployment. I just don’t have enough to break you out of that prison. But we’ll make a few compromises.

For now.