Today is somebody's birthday

I know because facebook tells me so.

I know because I got invited to a party and I didn't go.

Today I am a little less frat boy and a little more outlier.

A little more lonesome.

--

Mel wrote. She called, too, about six weeks ago. From her office phone, which I don't think she realized I had saved.

I may have deleted it since. I don't remember. It made me hold my breath when I saw the call come in. But then she didn't leave a message. It was only the sound of a phone hanging up.

You'd think when you're feeling your heart break all over again you'd actually hear something different.

But c'est la vie, right?

--

I miss her. I don't want to admit it, because I wish I could hate her, but I do. And I don't. Hate her, that is, even though she surely deserves it.

I miss Kim, too, even though she's de facto married and a million miles away. "We live in Concord together" she told another acquaintance that I overheard by way of facebook.

I would not have thought it would hurt so much.

It is surely better that I am not reading Mel's blog, not actively wondering, not seeking, not knowing.

It would hurt a lot too. More than a lot.

Did I ask too much? Did I disappoint you? Did I leave a bad taste in your mouth? Is it too late tonight to drag  the past out into the light?

--

Probably. I probably did. Disappoint. All of them.

Mama's love passed on. I'd love if... if you weren't married. If you were more considerate. If you were blonder. If you were more sexually free. If you challenged me more. If you were smarter. If you were hotter. If you were more supportive. If, if, if.

If you only loved the same god I do.

Oh, wait, no, that's not it, is it?

If I were capable of it. Her, I mean, not me.

Maybe the mirror is still present. Maybe I don't know how to, either.

Or, like I've said many times before, maybe I just like the pain. Maybe I like the loneliness. Maybe the absence of meaningful connection is now so strongly normal and habitual that I cannot change it.

I still miss them. All of them, a little, but especially the ones I loved. The Amandas and Lauras and Kims and... fucking married chicks.

Sigh.

It will pass. I won't remember what their embrace felt like first... it's long gone with Amanda, for instance... and then their look of affection -- every girl has one -- and then how sex with them, it's own unique and special flavor, felt. And finally, last to go, you forget their smell, their sayings, and finally, their touch altogether. Even the fleeting moments, like the way they looked at you the first time they knew you were getting under their skin, that were memorable and pure...

Gone. It will all be gone.

--

Stupid question?

Why don't you ever realize the brevity of meaningful relationships as they are happening? Why does it always seem like you might feel that way forever? That it could be real? That maybe, just maybe, it might actually last and become the new normal?

Why don't I ever realize?

Sigh. Sometimes I do. Hell, I usually do. And I don't care, because it feels so fucking great. Those few precious moments are worth it.

--

I'm still sad. I don't want to socialize, I don't want to go out, I don't want to date, and I don't want to change it.

(!)

But I am still sad. It's normal, and I'm used to it, and times are not that dire, but the melancholy, the loneliness, and the hopelessness remain. There will be no progeny from me. There will be no wife someday. There will be only the ex-girlfriends. The count will grow, the notches will continue to multiply, and the list of names will continue to extend.

But I will always be alone and sad in December.

Always.

:-(

Things you want to say... but don't.

Hi there.

You've caught me at a pensive moment. Or, rather, your profile has. Apologies in advance. At least you know what you're in for if you reply.

There are those profiles that that make one go "wow". Then you read. And you realize that you'd HATE this person. Ok, yeah, hate is a strong word, but you know what I mean... hate in that "you're really pretty and I'd soo enjoy your company more if you just closed your mouth and stopped talking."

That pretty much counts as "hate" (insert air quotes here) in this context, right?

And there there are the ones where you think "hmm. Yeah, that could work. I'd probably break her heart in three months, though."

Pass.

Usually, given moments of desperation (or just exhaustion, I'll opt for the former. But it's really all just a pacifier for what we're really after. Or, at least, what we all like to think we're after. (A pity that they are so often different things, isn't it?)

And then, occasionally, once in a blue moon, you'll run across a profile that you're actually afraid to reply to. There's this little bit of fear, because, you see, it would just be too perfect... same town, similar outlooks, hotness factor, and their profile makes you laugh out loud. And, to be completely honest, truth be told, (insert yet another silly cliche here), you'd probably blow it.

And then, naturally, you actually DO blow it with some long silly email that really should have showed up on the Craigslist rant page. Uhhhm. (looks around nonchalantly)

--

(No, truth be told, I'm not sure if any of the last bit is actually true. Such is the nature of flirting in the Gen Y era.)