We got back "together"

I talked to her on Sunday. She came over Monday.

I told her, "You think that I'm not there for you, that I won't be. You think that I don't really have your back. But I do. You question how I feel about you.

"So I'm gonna show you. It doesn't matter that you're indecisive.

"You get to have me on your terms. And I'll adjust my expectations accordingly."

I didn't say "if you fuck him, I get to fuck other chicks", but it was part of the deal in my head. But she assured me she isn't. And I believe her.

So, basically, I can have a live-in GF/wife, I just can't fuck her! LOL. And I'm all hers twice a week when holidays, my travel, and, you know, pretty much anything else under the sun that doesn't really make sense in a "normal" relationship gets in the way. I suppose this does mean I get to date other women, though. I just can't do any more than hug them. Or, you know, sleep in my bed, as long as we keep on some minimal PJs and don't cuddle much. Hot damn... Perfectly healthy, perfectly normal. Heh.

But I love her, so it doesn't matter.

It's still hard. Sometimes, like every weekend, like late at night like this, like when I wake up reaching for her at 2am, it's abso-fucking-lutely miserable.

But if it is what she needs, than I'll do it.

--

Actually, I'm not miserable right now. I had two pretty young ladies stare with mouths open recently. Sigh. One was at basketball today. Yeah, right, I know, she's like a giant oaf of a six-footer, a friggin' basketball center on a NCAA team, but what the heck. It still felt nice. She was pretty, too... just way too tall and way too young.

And, you know, not Mel.

Oh, and she basically weighed as much as me. According to her, I have an inch and 8 pounds on her. I joke about being gay and all, but it'd be like dating a man with tits and a vagina. Not exactly my version of Aphrodite. 5'4" and tossable around the room is more my cup of tea.

Still, it felt nice. I won't remember her name tomorrow and it was a fleeting moment of approval, but a reminder that there are options is... well. A sanity check at worst. And simply complimentary at best.

(The other was at a client site last week... but I interacted with her just long enough to shake her hand. Also far too young. Plus she's probably the client's daughter or niece or something. I'd run from that even completely single and on a dry spell.)
--

She says she wants choice. That him divorcing her isn't her choice, so she has to do his bidding until she chooses otherwise.

A little part of me thinks that I'm being a fool. That she'll leave me, sooner or later, and go back to the familiar. The "unconditional".

Except that if it were unconditional, you know, you could tell him you love/fuck/want/adore/need me and his love would endure.

Sigh. I suppose that's not really fair. Love can exist even as boundaries are enforced. I am more distant, now, even as I've committed to loving her in spite of her indecision and my admittedly pathetic second string status. I suppose, even though it's not really a conscious decision, that is a function of my own boundary setting. And him divorcing her because of me... well. I'd would be lying if I said I didn't blame the guy, or that I'd act differently.

And I'd still love her. It's just a boundary. An act of self-protection, of self-preservation.

And so I am alone every night. Because I understand.

This is forcing me to be a very big man. Forcing me to have compassion where I want to scream. Forcing me to see the pain in the soul of my enemy. Forcing me to be a better person when I want to cheat the system to get the girl.

I still don't think it's fair, of course. But again... I love her.
--

The reality is, of course, that it probably will be all for naught. She may yet love me forever.

But.

There's always a but.

If it turns out that way, I wonder what the speech will be like. It better be a good one. Heh.

--

Today I am grateful for good health. My shot felt good today, my shoulder felt tender but not injured like it has for over a year, my right arm's follow through felt unencumbered, and I performed almost as well as I did back in college. Back before running a startup.

I am grateful that despite the dozen grey hairs that are now undeniably present and the crow's feet that are not gone after ten hours of sleep, I can still pull undergrads based on my looks alone. And maybe a game-winning 25-footer. But then, that's just a function of being "in flow"... happy, healthy, balanced, focused. Pick any two and add a solid night's sleep. ;-)

Today I learned that love is really, really hard sometimes. I suppose I've been learning this my whole life, but the realization that "when you love somebody, you have to love all of them" is an epiphany that seems very fresh indeed. I'm still not sure I really understand all its implications, in fact.

--

She is at least as arrogant as me sometimes. I rather like it, actually. It's over the top, repetitive, vociferous, and almost obnoxious. I dare say it is more over the top than me. I know. Seriously.

Mostly, though, it just made me want to fuck her dirrrrty. Restraints, bruising bite marks, and difficulty walking kinda dirty. I found it neither annoying nor obnoxious. I just wanted to shut her up by...

Ahem.

(She had a really good month. Sales chick and all.)

--

I suppose you could say I'm not moping today. There's that, at least.

--

Alright. Let the therapy continue.

So if, when you love someone, you have to love all of them, what does that say about Mom? Or brother?

Do I simply not love them?

(ponders at length)

I guess, actually, I don't.

Gulp.

I appreciate my mother for being hardworking, for making sure there was food in the house and cooking dinner every night, even if we often didn't eat together and almost never as a family.

I appreciate her for making sure I had at least two new pairs of jeans to wear every school year, patching the holes when they came, and doing laundry 4 days a week so they were always clean.

I appreciate her for bailing me out of jail in 2000 when that crazy ticket from the 90s turned into a warrant. Heh. 8 employees, a millionaire on paper, and driving a 5 series... and I had to call my welfare mom to bail me out of jail because some dumb chick totaled my car in 1997 and I walked away from it. "Leaving the scene" they called it. The misdemeanor, no-fault version of "hit and run". Life can be quite humbling at times.

I'm not sure that appreciation is the same as love, though. In fact, I'm pretty damn sure it isn't. I appreciate the friggin' janitor dude at the gym, but I don't even know his name.

And there it is. My mother doesn't love me. And I don't love her back.

That was remarkably easy to write. I'm not teary or anything.

Weird. I feel like this should make me sad, but it doesn't. It is, actually, rather matter-of-fact. Almost nonchalant.

I wonder if that makes me a cold or disconnected person. I think that it might appear that way at a distance, but I don't think it does.

Actually, I think it makes me... mature. It is perhaps, even, evidence of a form of wisdom.

I'm still not sure I'm completely ok with it. She is my mother, after all.

--

Of my brother, I feel very little appreciation. I don't hate him, but I definitely don't like him. He is not a particularly wise, kind, nor even pleasant person.

I do want him to do well and be successful. I don't want anything to do with him.

I'm not sure yet if that means I don't love him.

--

Lil Sis told me today, "I think you're a lot of people's savior."

We were talking about mom stuff, about how she provided a place of refuge for her and Bro, but that in my case, I ended up saving her. She came to stay with me when she came of age (enough to leave dear old dad), not vice-versa.

It struck me as odd; still does.

It also made me really proud of myself. I felt -- feel -- like that means I've made a difference for the better. That I've affected the people I've touched, overall, in a positive way.

That thought makes me very happy.