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.
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