It's happening again

no writey, no bummers, right?

Well, I'm writing.

Part of it is it that I want to cry. I want to feel a glass of wine (or two), I want to enjoy the solitude, feel alive in my own solace that is... that just. Is.

A part of me misses ex-GFs. A part of me hungers for the new ladies that are out there, floating, teasingly, just out of reach, wanted, like only someone I show the "real me" exists... unattainable. Therein, I suppose, lies the neverending source of angst. Why aren't I good enough as-is? Why must I put on the mask of confidence (or arrogance), the mirage of having it together, the distance of selective unavailability?

Why can't I just like you. Just want to be with you. Just hunger for it, not have "better things to do", have responsibilities. I do... for real. I just want to like you so much I'll set them aside. And that's... bad?

Or I can stay out too late, tease the animal that is a potential relationship that scares me. I can respond to an 11pm invite for tea and be put in a situation that can't end well. A situation that makes me an asshole for leaving, or her a slut for letting me stay, or me immature for wanting or not wanting or hoping or rejecting. Makes me feel evil no matter what I do.

But then, of course, I feel pretty shitty a great deal of the time anyway. And, likewise, maybe so do they. And so, then, why not have more sex? Why not have more teasing? Why not have more touch, more mock-intimacy, more pleasant dreams even if short lived? Why not?

I don't know why not. I think, generally, that more sex is good, that more intimacy, faux or not, makes people happy, that the world would be a better place if only we all screwed more.

But maybe I've been sad and angry and in pain for so long that it's just more comfortable. Maybe I like it.

I'm almost there. (sip of wine) I can almost feel the tears coming. I want them. I want to feel. Something. Anything.

I want to love and hope and dream. I want to be angry and hurt and feel pain and hate. I want to scream for no reason and laugh instead of cry. I want to cry just know I'm alive.

I want to remember them. I want to remember them all. I want to remember the pain from when they left. And I want to love the world enough to heal it, to heal myself, to gain, to feel, to earn... to deserve to be loved back.

Here they come.

Release.

--

I don't miss anyone today. Whether that means I'm over them all, or just used to the solitude is anyone's guess.

I must like it. I've rejected dozens of fantastic, attractive, intelligent women for seemingly no reason.

--

The contradiction is definitely there... I think of these "new", unattainable women, and yearn, yet know that once I have them and they want me on Mondays and Tuesdays I'll feel stifled, pressured, and smothered.

No, I don't get it. Yes, I think it's possible that someone out there could be compatible with me, as contradictory as I am. No, I have no idea how I'll ever find her drinking wine and crying alone. Yes, it's lame. No, I don't give a fuck.

--

Maybe I just need a god damn vacation. Oh, wait, that's right! I only do those with women I care about.

Sigh.

Marriage and such

I was just facebooking and was struck by how many of my peers are married.

It makes my singlehood feel a bit weird. I know, this is nothing new, but it is somehow more "real" seeing pretty much every single girl I've ever dated married or pregnant. Or, you know, both. I guess that happens sometimes too. (muted snicker)

"Raining in Baltimore" is playing on my not-a-goddamn-iPhone. It wasn't for you, J., but I still remember. I really really need a raincoat... really need. Really need...

Unfortunately, I don't think he's about to get laid and looking for a condom. I think it's an allegory to the storm of living with depression -- whatever the cause. Bummer for him.

Maybe for me too. Sometimes.

Slutbag is with a dude she's into enough to announce it to the world on Facebook. Her cousin is getting married. Her best friend who wanted us apart ("why would any girl living in the city ever have a boyfriend?!") is married and just had a kid. All the girls I ever loved (ok, except the last 12 months) are married, having kids, and by all external appearances, are very happy.

Without me.

Julia Dempey (sp? correct?) from that scene in Before Sunset comes to mind. "It's not that I wanted to marry them. It's just... why didn't any of them ever ask?! Why did they stay with me, live with me, love me, and then break up, only to marry someone else right after?" The quote is obviously very fucked up from the 5 years and 200 bottles of wine since seeing it. The idea is close, though.

I don't really miss any of them. Well, maybe Kim, because it's recent, but that's fading every day, and I'm not even sure what I miss. The level of intimacy, perhaps. The feeling that she had my back and was on my side. Which, I guess, she was... sorta. Weird. She could drop me over nothing yet I felt like if faced with external hardship she was my girl through and through. Probably a side effect of being crazy. Her, in this context, but yes, both of us.

But anyway. I'm not really all that sad. I have found a certain solace in my work and a good glass of wine. Could it be that this is it? Acceptance of "never finding someone" or whatever the cliche is?

Arrrgh.

I suppose I don't really care. I really, really want to be so genuine with women right now, despite the fact it never seems to work that way. No girl ever wants to date me when I'm touchy-feely, attentive, and actually excited about them. I've never met one.

Remember your training, young Alfie. Selective unavailability. It's not hard. You run a startup for fuck's sake.

LOL. #1 way to get out of a relationship fast: fall in love with them! I hate to say it, but I totally used that back in my "I hate women" stage. Maybe not quite love, but certainly a flavor of it. (Hi, we just had sex and I totally think your bed is uncomfortable and want to bail and sleep in my own bed. So what do you think about kids? Picket fences? Suburbs? Oh. Yeah, I guess I can go. You want me to leave? Really?)

It's pretty fucked up that the road to actual intimacy involves a shitload of pretending you don't like someone when you actually do.

--

I suppose the problem, actually, is that I'm still nuts. I want to fall in love in three dates and feel intimate in 4 days. Like, well, back in the day. Fairy tales and being sixteen and all that jazz. I know it's crazy, but I actually kinda like that about myself. I kinda like that romantic fairy tale notion, that idea that it could just work with a stranger you just met.

It's fucking stupid. But I miss that in myself. And I wish I still believed in it.

I guess part of me still does believe. Or, at least, wants to badly enough to hope for it.

Another part of me thinks it is downright pathetic. Yin and yang. Maybe they will always juxtapose.

Maybe that's the point.

I'm lonely

There's really nothing else to say. The problem with being the guy everyone turns to for answers is that no one ever calls just to say hello.