Rebounds

I've been closing over a half dozen bugs a day on my baby. It's tiring.

I've been drinking more. Well, no, not really, but I'm just finishing my third glass now, and such a state makes the current buzz feel constant and incessant. Heh. Love that enthanol stuff.

I started dating Brie again. She was there. She pushed. I saw/see the great attributes she has, I was questioned by friends I trust about my ability to push the few things I find in her I can question, and I decided to give it a go.

I was wrong. I am now an asshole. I will break up with her in a day or two... and it will be terrible. I will make her cry.

Again.

I'm not over the last one. Nothing she could do would be good enough. Nothing she could say, be, or become would change the fact that my heart is still broken.

It sucks. She's such a great girl.

My inability to push her away makes me a prick. I want to push through this and pretend to love her just because.

I might even try for a few more days.

I'm pretty sure it's a bad sign when you turn down sex with the girl you just started dating last week. Right?

I blamed the desire to be romantic. "I don't want to love you and then leave you."

Sigh. Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Rebound. It sucks. No-strings-attached sex was nice. Free-spirited. Release.

But thinking I could give it a go with someone else... I'm an idiot.

I'm no better than her. Yeah. Her.

I could blame it on the state of drama I'm in, on the fact that my head is and has been spinning for quite some time. And, truly, a god worth believing in would forgive me. A parent worth loving would forgive me.

But Brie shouldn't. Just as I shouldn't forgive Mel.

I'm supposed to be better than this. I'm supposed to not push shit downhill. I'm not supposed to crap on employees when I get shat upon. (love that word, "shat". LOL!) I'm not supposed to make another girl cry because someone is careless with my heart.

I'm not supposed to pass on my pain. It is supposed to be the cross I bear, the tragedy I swallow, the melancholy I quiet.

It's not fair.

She's a good girl. When I break her heart tomorrow, I'm pushing her one step closer to being among the self-centered bitches that have scorned me over and over. And over.

This week I have not made the world a better place. I have taken back six months of effort.

This week I am a bad person.

All that is left is for me to decide what I can possibly say to make it not scar.

--

I suppose the best thing to do would be to tell the truth. Figure out what that truth is for myself, first, then convey it as best I can.

The truth is that I need a couple of months of loneliness. As much as I lament it, these times are needed. As strong as I think I am, the truth is that I am weak. I need crutches to make it through life -- work, coffee, gym, booze, and vagina. In that order.

Could it work out with her later? Maybe.

Probably not. She'd have to become more free-spirited, less rigid, and more athletic. I'd have to become less adventurous, more satisfied with less, and place more emphasis on potential motherhood than a mate who can be actually be a confidant, friend, and lover. I need to be challenged... and she doesn't. Not in any way.

A pity. If I were ok with cheating, or overt using... she'd be like manna from heaven.

But the truth is not that either of us are "too good for each other" or "deserve better". We just aren't a good match. I seem attractive to her because... well shit, I don't know. 'cuz I'm awesome! duh! And she seems attractive to me because I'm used to getting shit on and it's nice to have someone appreciate me and show it.

But it's not enough.

:-(

Ok today

I've noticed that people tend to worry when reading this.

I'm ok today. I worked six hours, ran six miles, and drank six beers with friends. I have a date tomorrow with a pretty girl, and I today I saved my last house from foreclosure by cashing out the last of my retirement savings.

My baby (biz) is finally starting to pay off, and life is... full of empowering choices.

Some are stressful. Bitches break my heart. Sweethearts love me unrequited. Tenants are still leeching whores.

But customers show more love and patience these days. Employees, sans lil' bro, are amazing, respectful, and hardworking. And girls are always there... it is, perhaps, my fault for not simply choosing or settling. Missing the last one and the one before don't exactly help. Kim just announced via facebook that she has a new boy... it's struck me a little. Not really a big deal. Surely Mel's blog about fucking and loving her husband is far worse. But yeah, it all bites a little. Or stings. Whatever the verb is.

Sigh. Women.

There are lots of pretty girls out there. Lots who won't even cheat on me. Heck, there are quite a few who are pretty, will cook for me, and are good listeners. 

Why do I want so much? Why do I give up on day jobs to struggle with my own startup, push away the Bries to be with the Kims, or entertain the crazy notions of love from a woman who goes home to another man?

Some days I think it makes me a better man. An innovator. A game changer. Ambitious.

Other days I think it makes me a fool.

The question is always the same. The wonder is always an echo.

Am I really holding out for something better? Forging my own path, waiting for the perfect circumstance, opportunity, or ideal package? Or am I just delaying the act of settling, awaiting the day when I choose from the ever-shrinking pool of available options?

I think that, maybe, I will never know. I think that these choices are half-chance. Mel could have left him, and it was nothing I really did or didn't do that effected it. I could yet choose to date/love/marry Brie and be very happy. RDDS could be the one. Someone I've never met could sweep me off my feet tomorrow... or Precious could show up on my doorstep and ask me to love her. Kim could come back and tell me she didn't appreciate me, either. I could run into any of them at a bar next week and we'll both wonder what went wrong. 

Or it's all just bullshit. Maybe I just need to learn to like cock. LOL.

But, yeah... it's always work. It's always vulnerability. It's always scary with a dash of drama. It's always a leap of faith. It's always a mystery what makes one attracted, then crush, then love, then fall in love. Sometimes they are even independent... in love, yet not attracted. Weird, yes. But real.

Sigh. Life goes on. Love goes on. The high of being in love still causes the pain of heartbreak. Broken hearts still cause tears. 

And tears are still feeling alive. And another sigh... and life still goes on.

Rinse, lather, repeat.

Happiness is probably not finding the perfect woman. It probably isn't running a successful company, or building a fantastic product. It probably isn't driving an Acura really fast nor a Ferrari. 

Happiness is loving all of these things whether you have them or you don't. Happiness is being... all of the time. Present. Engaged. Pursuing something of value. Enjoying something simple. Believing in something bigger than you, whether it be community, a company, a cause, a god, or even a girl.

--

I should end there. But my world is far too trite, too mundane, and too selfish to be quite so poetic.

I wish Brie were a little better in the sack. I could love her. But I think I'll want to cheat on her. And no, I wouldn't, but wanting to means I'll leave her. It's just a matter of when.

Bummer.

I cried today

I've been working so hard I can't sleep. So focused that the next feature, the next release, the next support question... they are keeping me awake, jerking me to action at 3am, urging me to the next task at hand.

Tonight I retired from my workday at 10pm and went and had nachos and beer. And another. And another. And.... then I declined, but my waitress, who was probably cute 10 years ago, misheard and brought me another.

I went to my car and sat for awhile. I wasn't ready to drive. I felt sad. I felt like sleeping, yet couldn't stop thinking. I felt like crying, yet couldn't feel. I felt like running, yet couldn't find the energy.

I went home eventually. I worked in the meantime, doing thoughtless tasks that only I can do, responding to silly emails about triage and support and 2nd level decisions and ship steering of an aircraft carrier I didn't even know I was responsible for.

I got home, and steered a little longer. I put off thoughts of Mel, of Brie, of Rebecca, of RJF, of Serino and Corban, of uncles and fathers and sisters and brothers. I neglected my heart and my emotions, denying my fading inebriation and heart that is still breaking.

And then I found myself googling "I wanna cry". A moody song by Keith Urban came up. And then the tears came. I'm not sure if it was "everybody knows" or Keith or somewhere in between, but by the time Gravity turned up, my cheeks hurt from crying. I looked at myself in the mirror, and, stopping for a moment to take in how ugly I looked and felt, it was but a small reprieve from the waterfall of emotion that I've been bottling up for weeks. Distracting myself with work. Entertaining futures with ex-girls and wondering about new conquests. Reading more, drilling basketballs more, running harder, pretending to fight with a fire that is usually left to twenty year olds. Hitting on 90 pound central valley transients and drinking martinis with friends and colleagues in a vain attempt to remake memories that shouldn't be so powerful.

And now, all alone on a Tuesday, with wet eyes and sore cheeks, all I remember is how she talked about weddings and cookware and our make believe house that will never be.

Sarah plays on, over and over, to the echo in my brain that no longer fills my dreams with  nightmares nor fantasies. And still her memory lives on, the pain ever so present, the longing of yesterday a memory of a memory, yet the absence of which seems to never subside.

It huts. I hurt. I wish she knew. I wish she could feel it. I wish I could feel her....

I almost just wrote "feel it", but I don;t. This is selfish. I just wish I could feel her. Again. Even if just for a moment, in my arms, in our (my) bed, in my heart, in my soul. Was it real? Would it be like I remember, or a but a painful injection of reality?

Was that day on 4th street when I first accepted, realized, and believed in a future with her all just a lie?

Ironic... that was just a few days from the end. A few days before she was gone, even if reality took several weeks to catch up.

I suppose I will never know. I will just forget the power of the emotion as it fades to a faint memory. I will only have the public facebook photo and the faulty, ever more fuzzy representation in my minds' eye.

I miss her soooo much. When I admit it, when I think of her, when I realize how alone I feel without her, it hurts as bad -- maybe worse, even, because I can really feel it and don't have the luxury of denial -- as the day she left. As the first audience of her harsh words that I was nothing, am nothing, will ever be but a blip, mistake, and fraud in her life story.

I don't need to be remembered by her. No, this is much more selfish. I just miss her.

I don't want to seek.... but I wish I knew what was going on in her life. The harsh reality of her return to married life without me would probably do me good.

--

Brie is back. Or would like to be.

I went to her birthday BBQ a week and a half ago. We chatted. We joked. We drank. We played.

We slept together.

I went to breakfast with her on her birthday. I met her Mom, her aunt, and was welcomed, gingerly, into her family.

"Wow, he's really nice. I pictured him so much more... macho." they said, per Brie. As in douchebag.

It is hard. I told her half the truth. I told her that I was reeling from a recent bout of "drama" with a "girl I shouldn't be so affected by, but nevertheless am". I told her I needed a couple of weeks, at least, before I could date anyone. Even a great girl like her.

She is great. Loyal, compassionate, smart, pretty. I wish she hit the gym... um, ever... but.

But.

She sure isn't Mel.

I don't know. I have a date with her in two weeks. I better figure it out before then.

--

I'm not sure why. I should marry her. But I'm afraid... she doesn't call me on my shit. She doesn't work out. She doesn't want the world. She just wants babies. I'm not even sure she really wants my babies. Maybe any good-enough guy with moderately favorable genes and a cute smile would do.

Maybe that should be good enough.

But then, I don't dare actually tell her I'd like to kill my dad. I don't dare tell her that she's not that good in bed. I don't dare tell her that most days I'd rather be alone. I don't dare tell her that my mom is a selfish bitch who loves her make-believe god more than she'll ever love anyone, including her children. I don't dare tell her that I could deal with her being a lot less clean and even more selfish if only she were a little more ambitious, wanted to fuck a little more freakily, and could run the lake without.... oh wait. Run at all.

Shane said, "yeah, dude, you could be crazy. You could date her for awhile just to see. But mostly, it just sounds like you aren't that into her."

Sigh. She would treat me as good as any girl since Kait. And... no one before that.

I may be a fool.

--

So I went out with RDDS last weekend. Not RJF, but another one. Same first name, yes, but this one is a dentist-to-be.

Preppy. Completely uncool. Her language is off. She uses terms she heard twice on MTV, but she uses them wrong. Like with extra consonants where they don't belong. "Hells yeah" -- that kinda shit.

Nerd. Pretty enough to overlook it, but the nerd is so strong, this isn't an "adept at hiding it" situation. She's not a pretty girl who happens to be smart. She's a nerd who happens to be kinda pretty.

But she's a freak in the sheets. Yeah, first date hook-up. Woot. Strike that one from the bucket list.

It was awesome.

I like her in spite of her nerdiness. Because of it, probably. Someday I'll correct her on those extra consonants, though -- it sounds like a six year old trying to use profanity, for cryin' out loud -- and for a girl who has fallen back on her brain for self-esteem most of her life, I'm not sure how well that'll go over.

BUT. Friggin' hot lovin'. Worth it!

If I could just put her and Brie together... I'd get... oh. Right. Mel. Single, with a slightly higher dash of compassion, kindness and introspection.

Or just single. The other parts were there when she wasn't rushing home to her husband and forcing the dissonance required to make her double life rational.

Fuck.

Why couldn't Brie just be a little more..... sigh. Never mind. Maybe ambition/sexuality/adventurousness is mutually exclusive to nurturing/compassion/loyalty. Maybe I'm not an anomaly; maybe I'm just lying to myself. Maybe I'm not both extremes.

Maybe no one is.

--

Yeah, I'm drunk and tired. This shit is making no sense.

Sigh.