She Called

It was a drunk dial.

"What are you doing?"

I'm in on a street corner in San Francisco. What are you doing?

"I... I'm reaaaaaaally drunk. I went out tonight and then we came back and drank some more... Are you in Austin?"

(chuckle) No, babe, I'm in San Francisco.

"Ohhhhhh. Well, I wish you were here. I miss you. Why won't you come visit me?

I'd love to come visit you, L------. Why haven't you called and told me this? I'd have come to visit you ages ago if I knew you wanted me to.

"Well, I really miss you. You need to come. Come stay with me... oh... hold on a second..."

(background noise increases)
(line drops)

--

Of course, today I received this via email:

Hey, I'm really sorry to do this but you need to know what's up. I woke up this morning with a text from you and it kind of confused me so I did some research and found out what happened. A few of my girlfriends came in town this weekend and when I passed out last night one of them thought it would be a good idea to call everyone in my phone and really screw up some shit. I've been doing damage control all morning because although they think it's really funny I'm sure a lot of people got hurt, especially me. The person who called you from my phone last night was (...). She knows our whole story and probably thought it was hilarious in her inebriated state to stir up some shit. I cannot express to you how sorry I am, I'm not even sure what was said but I feel absolutely horrible about it. I really can't fix it because I wasn't even aware it was happening, but I did want to at least write you an e-mail to tell you the truth about the situation. Again, please please understand how sorry I am about last night. I hope everything is going well with you.

Sincerely,
...
--

I called today, after reading her message, got voice mail, and then just hit reply, sending a conciliatory message. No big deal, no harm done, ha ha, I miss you fwiw, keep in better touch.

I lied.

I feel more alone than ever today. Sad. Despondent. The way I've been feeling for the last two and a half months only with a little added salt in the wounds.

And today, sitting at my local Peet's, consuming the only drug I don't feel bad about having every day (but appreciate oh-so-much), I got a little angry. Angry at myself for raising one eyebrow when I saw her incoming call last night. Angry at the world for creating the situation in the first place. Angry at women in general for never following through. Angry at myself again for being angry at women, the world, and even at her, because the truth is that none of them really hurt me that badly. Two women did, perhaps. My bitch/whore/cheating ex that I'm over, but still wounded by (being over her is a lot different from being over what she did to me), and my wonderfully absent mother.

That same cheating whore of an ex said to me once or twice that "knowing how much you distrust women did make me want to prove to you that there were good women out there by being great, but it's this huge burden, too. It's too much of you to ask of any woman."

I'm sure you were thinking just that when you cheated, too, right? Whore.

But I digress. Goddamn it.

I want to cry, but I don't feel like I have anything to cry about. Some dumb chick who cheated on me over a year ago? Some silly little girl who I went out with for a month? Getting abandoned when I was 3? What the fuck is that juvenile shit, anyway?

And that just makes me angry again -- telling myself "grow the fuck up" or "man up" or whatever. That my sadness is foolish and uncalled for, that my feelings are inappropriate if not completely irrelevant.

@!(#*$^(####!

I was just lamenting a couple of days ago to a friend about how success has changed the way people approach me. There's this perception that I can absorb anything, that I don't need anyone, that I have all the answers.

The ironic part is that I've never felt more lost. More alone. More... sad.

I need guidance, love, and support now more than ever. And everyone looks at me like this superhero. I'm a millionaire, I get to retire at 30, I'm hot, I can get laid whenever I want, I play a good game of basketball, I can run a mile in six minutes, I know how to dance... I work so hard at being perfect just for acceptance, and I think I felt more accepted when I was looked at like a clumsy dumb kid with a cocky streak. They laughed at me for talking about how successful I was going to be ("You? Buy a house? But don't you work at Denny's?! Okaaaaaay..."), but somehow it was acknowledged that I was working my ass off, and even if I wasn't going to be as successful as I hoped, that was respectable.

Now everyone just wants to fuck me. Tenants hustle me on rent, clients hustle me on work/pay, woman hustle me for sex (why do y'all assume you can't have me for anything else, put me on a pedestal, then just disappear when I actually express interest in putting you on a pedestal too? Sheesh!), and my friends hustle me for support (except for spencer, it all seems to flow one way these days, and even his support is often at arm's length).

Sigh.

--

I just want to be loved. And, just once, just one fucking time in my whole life, I don't want to have to work for it. I don't want to have to pay somehow, whether that means the dance of courtship (I hate the two day rule too, ladies, but I do it because it fucking works), providing emotional support, buying an unreciprocated round of drinks, or just doing the high-maintenance routine of pushing the metrosexual envelope.

I just want it for free.

I want to wear baggy, non-designer jeans and not pay the check sometimes. I want to go out with my friends and not talk about chicks. I want my mom to call me even if my brother isn't in town, even if someone hasn't asked about me, even if she doesn't need advice on buying a car or refinancing her condo. I'm so sick of being judged, so annoyed at the burden of performing on the stage that is the world.

I want S. to look at me and NOT think that my malaise is because I haven't found Jesus yet. Just be my fucking friend.

I want F. to look at me and not talk about money. Mine, his, whatever. I have debt, you have debt, whatever. Just be my fucking friend.

I want C. to not take solace in my despondency, excusing his own snails-pace of making decisions and taking action because, see, look at JJ -- Happiness is unachievable even if you're a fucking superhero. Just be... oh fuck it.

I want S. to not look to me for inspiration, then be disappointed in me when I fall in love with his girlfriend's little sister after two weeks. Or express an interest in retiring so I can be a kid for awhile. I'd do anything to feel appreciated every day, jackass. How about you respect me and be my friend even if I feel needy sometimes? Never mind the laundry list of actual reasons L. and I got along so well. Just be... yeah. There's nothing weak about wanting to be with someone. There's actually, I think, something weak/wrong with insisting that you don't need anyone.

I want D. to call me and check up on me like she used to. I know you're busy, and I know I'm supposed to be a grown-up now, and I know you have dozens of other kids to take care of now who need you more than I do, but goddamn it, it's not getting any better, and I still need you.

Therapy is done for now. I'm hungry.