Merry Xmas

It's cold in my house.

I shall miss this day, this feeling, this presence someday a long time from now.

Today, right now, with a little wonder, a little tiny bit of sadness, a little regret, and a taste of reflection, I'm crying.

It feels so good. I haven't cried in so long. And now, typing with my  eyes closed, I can feel those tears rolling down my face, and ...

I'm not really crying over anything, Or anyone.

I do sorta vaguely want a drink, though.

This sensation... it's like seeing and old friend and not remembering that it's been years. Well, I guess. Have I ever felt that way? Maybe.

I'm not even sad, now. Not even a little bit. I feel... almost... happy.

Weird.

Slutbag on the brain (yet again)

It's been two weeks since I saw you.

It's been a stressful two weeks.

I miss Kait. She reminds me of Counting Crows and Adele and John Mayer and I want to listen and cry.

But, so often, the tears don't come. Because, you see, I didn't love her. Even though she deserved it.

And I loved you. Even though you didn't.

It hurts to think about. Seeing you... was disturbing.

Seeing you messed with my head in ways I still haven't processed.

I love you still. A little. The thought of touching you, of cherishing you, of holding you... all of that seems so foreign, so far away, so distant, so like a movie viewed while dreaming or drunk. And yet, there you are, in the hidden back rooms of my subconscious, skirting observation, holding on despite my best efforts to forget,

My best efforts to hate.

And I did. I hated you for a long, long time. I hated all women under the sun for a time. I threw the might of my baggage down on the ground in front of any woman who would hang around long enough to make me push her away.

And I hated. And hurt. And forgot what it was to be me. Forgot the humanity, forgot the love, forgot the hope, forgot the faith, and forgot my soul.

It is astonishingly frustrating to realize that I miss those that gave me support even as I push all that support away with everything I am.

I am an island, alone, now. I am solo, independent, on my own, and self-sustaining.

I am the shell of a man you always wanted. Even as you became a girl who -- possibly -- would have deserved my love.

I miss me. More than anything you ever did, more than anything you ever could have done, I miss the open-minded and hopeful youth I used to be. It's not you I hate, slutbag. It's what I became because of you.

The next level of acceptance is being okay with that. Saying goodbye to that person I used to be. Tolerating the shell I have become.

I'm mad, today, because you have become so very much the woman I deserved. Then.

Today, not so much.

Today, I deserve... what I have. Attention with no substance. Stress with little reward. Pain with no cause. Depraved indifference, perhaps.

I miss that guy I used to be. I miss Kaitlin, because even as I pushed her away she believed I was that man. And I miss...

Eh. That's about it right at the moment.

Oh, yeah

I'm kinda into K. I could totally commit to a two month trial relationship right now.

Hey, that's a lot for a reformed player! I'm saying I'd focus on her and only her to give "something real" a genuine chance with her.

This is also being said with lots of other opportunity currently on the table... sigh.

Drinks with Slutbag

Two disturbing things happened to me this weekend.

1. I saw Slutbag Laura on Friday. I don't know why, but we traded a few emails a couple of weeks back, and I agreed to meet her. It was... surreal? I had all of my defenses up. There were a couple of moments when I felt sad as she talked, but for the most part I just stayed disconnected and didn't get too deep.

She got really deep. She got teary two or three times. She said things and expressed feelings that, if she had only conveyed back in the autumn of 2005, might mean we'd still be together today. (That was one of the moments I felt sad.) As she put it, her "house of cards" came tumbling down sometime around the beginning of this year. She went through a little crisis, realized that she was basically a superficial bitch, hated her job, and was disgusted with her life.

She had her quarter life crisis, I guess. Figures... she turned 27 this year, I think.

It was really hard for me to just sit there and listen. I was pretty superficial with her and to her. I approached all the data before me in as objective and rational a way as I could... answering to statements like "as I've gone through this crisis, I've thought about us a lot, about not simply how things ended, but about what an absolutely horrible girlfriend I was" with little emotion, saying only that it didn't much matter now.

And it didn't. Or so I thought at the time.

We chatted for about 2.5 hours. She paid for her own drink and took a cab home even though I could have offered her a ride easily that would cost me only a few minutes.

I think I should talk more about what she said, even though I don't really want to... it will be cathartic for me. And I've been really, really stressed about this for the last couple of days. It's not completely obvious, but I can see it in how I'm acting with the other girls I'm dating, which I'll get to in a bit.

So, let's see.

She talked a lot about her identity crisis. It was an accessible topic because it was recent and related to her current status (unemployed + working part time under the table), her upcoming plans (she wants to go teach English in a foreign country for a year or so, then go to grad school, subject currently unclear), and her more-or-less limbo existence that is the result.

This led to a discussion of how I fit into that crisis. Peripheral things came up, like how the very friend that influenced her the most when she and I were dating -- she was jealous of my time with Slutbag and would regularly express disgust with our status as a couple -- just got married and is living happily ever after.

She talked about how she thought about me every day for six months after it all ended. "It was probably July before I stopped wondering and feeling guilty about you every day."

My internal thought at that point was... well. I sorta relished her guilt. I liked it. Cause, well, fuck her, right?

As she continued, she said that, post-crisis, the pain she felt surrounding me was so much more dramatic than even that extended period of guilt. Something about "bringing up old stuff I didn't really deal with from my childhood was part of my therapy process. And what happened between us was in there throughout it all -- it kept coming up -- for months and months I kept seeing myself through what I imagined to be your eyes. And it was so very, very painful."

I asked her if she thought it was really empathy. She responded that it was the most empathy she's ever felt. "When I think of the way I treated you, how I thought of you, and how you thought of me in spite of all that, I can't help but cry. I was such a so very, very horrible friend, girlfriend, and person with you."

"You took me... for granted." I replied.

"Um... yes, well, I suppose that's a way to put it, if overly broad."

I shrugged my shoulders.

This kind of conversation proceeded for a few more minutes, when I changed the subject and asked about her family. I always liked her family. She gave short answers, then returned to what was apparently her catharsis, noting the non sequitor.

"Nice change of subject."

I laughed. Then I shrugged.

"It's cool. I'm not sure I'm completely comfortable either. But I've been rehearsing what I wanted to say to you for a long, long time.

She continued. "The thing is, I decided -- not that long ago, actually, maybe last summer -- that I was never going to see or talk to you again and that that was going to have to be ok.

"And I want you to know that no matter what happens, that regardless of whether we'll be friends again someday, or even more than friends, or if you never want to talk to me again after this... I want you to know that I really appreciate being able to sit here with you and tell you these things.

"I want you to know that you were -- and are -- great, that you didn't deserve to be treated the way you did with me. I can't believe the person I was, and I can't possibly hope to understand how much it hurt, but if I could, I really would take it all back."

I swallowed hard then. I remember thinking, vividly, "If you had only told me that in Hawaii. If you had only told me that when I still loved you." I didn't say it out loud.

I remember her also talking about... oh crap. I just took the time to hit skip on my music playlist and I totally forgot what was just on my mind.

Sigh. Let's see, what else? I told her -- before this part of the conversation, I think -- that I had become a player after we parted. Oh, that's what it was.

She also talked about how she couldn't bear, when were together, that is, to deal with any of my depth. It came up because I commented on how she seemed much more self-assessing and introspective than she used to be, and that I thought that was a good thing. I think I said something like "I sometimes don't do that when I should," and she responded that I was always good at that, always was pretty up front about the demons I dealt with, and how that to people who acknowledged their demons, that must be refreshing.

She went on to say, "Back then I just wanted you to 'stop bring up this bullshit and just be happy', but the truth is that seeing you -- who had everything so well organized life-wise -- acknowledge your inner demons made me notice my own huge ones. And I hated that sensation."

I said something like "yeah, but it's not very attractive."

She said "no, it wasn't. Then. I just wanted you to be superficial like me. But now I can't stand that skin deep 'everything is perfect as long as I portray perfection'."

This led to a tangent on how she dealt with her now-married best friend, who strikes me as one of the single most superficial, selfish, inconsiderate bitches I've ever met. And this is Alfie, the bitch magnet, talking here.

Laura admitted that, on some levels, it was difficult to stay friends with her. "There have definitely been periods where it was only the twenty-five years of history that brought us back together. When you left was one of those -- I lost you, and she wouldn't take my phone calls for two months afterwards. I was like, 'You bitch! You got what you wanted. [Alfie]'s gone, now where are you?'"

When she talked about how she just wanted me to be this vision of superficial, perfect, independent man, I chuckled and said, "We both became what the other wanted."

That led to a discussion about me, and how I've led my life since leaving her. (Is it right to say that I left her when she spent the last six months of our relationship fucking other guys? Pssh.)

"I've hurt a whole lotta girls after you. There was one time in the summer of 2006 when I was on a road trip with a buddy of mine and, after coming back into range, I had something like 9 voice mails on my phone from 9 different girls, across three countries and three or four states."

"Wow."

"Yeah. And I'll tell ya... the rumors are true. The less you care, the more it really is like manna from heaven. I went through so many girls in 2006... it was just silly. It was great -- 4-5 new girls a week, all over western Europe as well as here [in California]. I'm sure I hurt a lot of them, but I was so busy chasing the next girl I didn't even notice.

"Ironically, during the first half of 2007, I was really, really depressed. And the girls I dated in that time frame got the truth -- I would tell them how messed up I was, and they pretty much invariably told me off. It's really strange, but there are quite a few girls from the 2006 period that I still trade the occasional friendly email with, but the girls that got the whole truth all hate me."

--

So. What did I learn?

Well. I have neither forgotten nor forgiven. During the conversation, I consciously felt myself feeling the humanity in her... and actively denying it. I didn't want to see her side. I didn't want to understand her, feel for her, nor have any sensation about her, for her, or because of her.

The person that she is today may, in fact, be a better person. She may be worthy of my friendship. She may be worthy of someone's love. She may even make a good girlfriend or wife.

But I don't care. Or, at least, I don't want to care. I want to hate her, want her to feel guilt and pain and empathize over transgressions from years ago... forever.

And, I think, that I'm sad because of that.

I don't want to be consumed by this hate. I don't want to...

Sigh.

I think that the problem with forgiving her is that I have to forgive myself. For becoming the selfish, cynical, angry person that lives somewhere in my soul, now. I have to forgive myself for the misogyny. I have to acknowledge all those girls with broken hearts and take responsibility for them. For Kimmie Sue and Lola and Sarah K and Sarah S and Jill and Martina and Marina and Paulina and Susan and Lauren and Megan and Simone and Sidney and Marcie and Tracy and Carla and Allison and Katrina and... Kaitlin.

They weren't all treated terribly, to be sure. But they all invested, at least a little, and with most of them, had I not been in that scarred state of pseudo-misogyny I still won't let go, I'd have either not dated them from the outset or, maybe, fallen for them.

Now, if I take a Machiavellian stance with this, it's not so terribly important. There are grays and considerations associated with every single one of those names. After all, if you're hooking up with a guy that lives in the United States in his London hotel, how far can you really fall? But this isn't really about them. There are a couple of people there that are, perhaps, owed an apology, whether cosmic or personal, but this is about me, today, and how I treat people in the present. And the future.

I'm proud of the way I dealt with Kait. I'm not sure how I could have handled that better. Perhaps "better" is knowing myself well enough to realize, and take decisive action, earlier in the dating process. Perhaps "better" would have been pushing her away the day she said "I want to be your girlfriend" two months in instead of admitting that I'd never fall four months in.

But in the human tapestry, I don't feel too bad about this. She knew. I told her. I just kept hoping I would start to feel something, as did she. So maybe I already am a better man than I was in the wake of betrayal, and I don't need to forgive Slutbag in order to forgive myself. I think I might need a little more time, still, to really do it. I need a couple of more interactions with women where I feel really proud of how I treated them.

And I can do that. Maybe I'll never ever forgive Laura. I don't think that this is not okay, that this indicates some sort of major shortcoming on my part. I know that a bigger man -- that the man I would like to be, someday -- would forgive her and genuinely wish her well. But I'm not that man today.

Sigh. This is tangential. I'm seguing to the second topic.

2. I had "performance anxiety" with K. last night. Yeah, no shit. First time, ever. Ok, I had to psyche myself up once or twice back in the day faced with a really bad kisser. And in the few months after I left Amanda I had some "close calls", but never have I been in a state where I'm (a) not in love with some other girl and (b) super attracted to the girl I talked out of her clothes and had any random thought whatsoever about performing. "Performing" is usually a question of whether she's gonna get some tongue action or not. Heh.

I mean, I had no problem getting excited, but then after the trip across the room to put on a rubber and coming back to the mission at hand... bleah.

I didn't realize this until today, but I was incredibly stressed out yesterday. It's not like Laura was on the brain -- hell, she wasn't on my mind at all. K. was the only thing anywhere in site, mind's eye or otherwise.

But it was Laura. I'm 99% sure of it as I think about it today (and yes, I admit it, that's the reason I'm writing -- I didn't actually want to!) The act of putting my proverbial force-shields on at full strength in order to absorb (ignore?) the emotional experience of seeing her must have shut off a whole lot more than a couple of tear ducts.

Of course, this pisses me off. Damn bitch is still fucking with my heart and my head. And now my penis, too! Slutbag, indeed. Heh.


I think I just need a good cry, but the tears really aren't coming. Time to dig up some sappy music and look at old photos, maybe? Heh. I kinda already tried that...

Sigh. Or, maybe, this is all that I needed. Guess I'll find out.

Got to be cruel to be kind

Tonight I made someone I care a lot about cry.

I said, "I don't think I can ever love you the way you deserve." And I meant it. She deserves better than me.

She loved me. In as pure and healthy a way that any girl probably ever has. She never said so, but I could tell from how her body trembled in my arms, like someone pierced her heart with a spear and held it here while she died a painful death.

I was that someone tonight. I hurt her so bad. How could I do such a terrible thing?

I know (I think) what that feels like, I know what a terrible sensation it is to feel pain and loss so profound that you cry yourself to sleep and wake up in tears at your nightmares that used to be happy dreams. The same people with the same looks are there, saying things that might, actually, be wonderful, but a trembling soul has no joy.

I can't believe I became that person. I can't believe I let someone so good fall for me when I couldn't give it back.

I'm crying, now, not for me, but for her. I'm crying now, secondhand, like the moon to her weeping sun.

I wish I could take it all back. I wish I could love her the way she deserves. I wish I could be the Prince Charming she hoped I would become.

I'm sorry, Kait.

Come Down Now

...they'll say... but everything looks perfect from far away. Come Down Now.

I saw two ex-GFs at the gym today. One hugged me goodbye and the other smiled and called me sweet. Both were accompanied by a "good to see you".

It was good to see them. One of them was crazy L. and I have to admit that I've missed her. Because I'm crazy, that's why. Because the sex was great and everything looked perfect from far away and maybe, just maybe, there's a little something left over after that much drama and an abortion to boot.

Imagine that.

--

Went to Jupiter tonight. I miss Sam too. Crazy again.

--

I'm living alone again, and it's... lonesome. I feel the urge to dump the girl who is just starting to care about me in favor of better sex and sheets dirty with the smell of women I don't know.

I feel the urge to fill something empty that she cannot fill. Or, perhaps, to just try.

I feel stupid for wanting that, foolish for not loving her, wondering how much I'll miss her when she's gone.

And I simultaneously feel like a better man for realizing this, for wanting to push her away to somehow hurt her less.

A little part of me wants to just maintain it and cheat. A little part of me wants to become all that which I despise and hate.

A little part of me has become that which hurt me so.

But I won't. The lack of "official" commitment notwithstanding, she cares more than any of them, and I'm healthy (!) enough to have offered real hope, not the chaos that every girl has received for years. The chaos of seeking fairy tales just to crush them, to prove them wrong.

Eh. It was never that bad. It sure was painful when the storm ended and all that remained was the memory of how good I had imagined it was. And how stupid I turned out to be.

Pick your "L". It was true of all of them in some form or another. Well... the ones I've cried over, anyway.

--

I miss AZ. I don't know what I miss, really... the youth, certainly, both that which surrounded me and my own renaissance. The energy. The sense that everything worth doing was ahead rather than behind. The unity that is the belief that everything as far as the eye can see is just like you -- even if it was always a little bit of a lie.

I miss the reduction in responsibility. This small biz thing is really draining. The firm is doing more than I could ever do single-handedly, but, my god, is it a tether.

And so I miss...

Maybe I just miss being someplace new and unfamiliar.

Funny... I just moved. I haven't even finished unpacking. LOL.

--

Bleah. I'm tired. I'm not depressed or even remarkably thoughtful. I am, perhaps, experiencing a worrying reluctance over breaking up with K.

I'm probably making a mistake. She's probably as perfectly compatible as I could ever hope for.

But, maybe, at last, I'm comfortable enough with being alone (or just single) that I don't need her. Maybe that means I want more than just acceptance within a nurturing environment.

Maybe I need more than I should have received as a toddler, now. Heh.

Maybe wanting really great sex with a girl I'm proud to show off that also happens to be loyal, nurturing, thoughtful, and considerate is possible?

Sigh. Well. I guess I'm making the decision to hold out for that.

--

A little part of me thinks this foolish.

Good sex with hot chicks seems readily available. The loyalty and genuine care seems really hard. Is it worth giving up that experience for someone that really cares about me?

The "growing old" cliche comes to mind. The one about "she won't always be hot, so look for inner beauty."

Of course, the cynic in me is whispering right now, "the guy who made that up was really ugly".

LOL.

And, perhaps, he used that cliche as an excuse to settle.

Let me see... date a girl near my age who is "cute enough" with whom I'd prefer watching porn over her most of the time, who treats me very well and is emotionally available,

OR, date another thirty 23 year olds, have great sex, and maybe get lucky on the emo tip?

--

Oh, how times have changed. It wasn't so very long ago I'd have dated the Swamp Thing if only it loved me and cooked breakfast once in awhile.

Maybe. The not-so-hot chicks I've dated before were always pretty darn good in bed. Harumph.

The sweet ones don't seem to be.

(does an internal survey)

Yeah, great sex requires a little chaos. The more fucked in the head, the better the lovin'.

Sigh. Maybe I'm doomed to be a playboy.

This would be a lot easier if I could cheat... like all of my friends.

And most of the girls I've loved.

The Switfly Tilting Planet

I don't know why invoking Madeline L'Engle seems appropriate for my mood, but wtf.

My cousin (K) picked on me tonight about my aversion to relationships. It was meant to be constructive, but it came off as condescending. Actually, it didn't, but I found myself furious at everyone for no reason in the hours following. So, yeah, it was fucked up.

I think she was trying to push me into (re)trying therapy. But if came off as "you're fucked up, don't you realize that you should do something about it?"

I don't feel particularly fucked up. I've been in the zone for awhile, actually. There are hiccups, sure, but I've been chill -- as evidenced, by nothing else, but the infrequency of my posts. I suppose you could argue that I've just been filling up my life with bullshit so I don't have to deal with things that are important, but well, fuck you. I think K. would agree to some degree.

Feel free to re-read the last paragraph. Especially the sentence that begins with "I suppose".

So why am I angry?

Well, let's see... the insinuation that I'm too dumb to realize that I have issues that need to be handled. Um, I'm handling them. Perhaps it's via dissonance and redirection, but you know what? Fuck drugs. Fuck anti-depressants, fuck pharma, fuck self-medicating, and fuck paying to have someone almost smile at you for $150 an hour. I'll take a beer (just one or two) and a textarea any day over that bullshit.

I don't recall being unhappy very often in the last three months. Or angry. Or depressed. Oh, yeah, until just now, when someone decided to tell me I was fucked up.

I never said I wasn't. Let me deal with it in my own way. If you want to suggest a tool, fine, do so. Hell, do it once a quarter for a year or three until you get tired of the routine and give up. Then go ahead and assume (or even hope) that I find my own way to nirvana.

I might even suggest (gasp) that you trust that I'll figure it out. I've done pretty good on my own, all by myself, without you, or your god, or your therapist, or your goddamn opinion thus far. One might even say, objectively, that I've done pretty well for myself. Imagine that.

In fact, if you need to divorce yourself from me because you can't handle "the negativity", or otherwise want to hang out with me less, that's even ok. I'll be pissed at you, I'll think you're kinduv a pussy (or, perhaps, just an idiot), I may flame you in this blog, and I'll miss you, but wtf. I will, at least, still respect you.

(Well, mostly.)

But don't hop up on a high horse and tell me that my life sucks. I already think that my life sucks often enough without any reminders. I mean, really! What the fuck was she thinking?

--

She accused me of being scared. Of girls. Well, no, more accurately, of an intimate relationship with a girl.

(Excuse me while I pick up my jaw from the floor.) You really think so? You don't say!

I'm sorry... ahem. So what?

(Never mind that I've been trying in recent memory despite that reticence. Jeez.)

--

While I'm ranting, can I point out that the presentation seemed an awful lot like "hey! you need to go to therapy so that you'll settle for some bimbo that you'd otherwise reject out of hand!"

So. In the several months that have passed since my return from vacation -- er, I mean, school (and anyone who thinks they worked harder in school than I do now clearly didn't deserve whatever degree they received. Privileged fuck!) -- I've come to the conclusion that, in spite my incessant question about the location of that strange book club where all the attractive, gym frequenting, articulate, educated, emotionally available, sexual, sensual, understanding twenty-something women of moderate maintenance level happens to be, there are, in fact, plenty of "almost" girls out there. I've been dating one for four months, in fact. Scratch the good-in-bed part, the gym bunny part, and... ok, she's got 'em covered. So, not too shabby. Solid settling material. Hell, I even think she'd be loyal and not cheat on me! Fancy that.

(Part of it was moving out of the valley. Sigh. Too bad I kinda like it there.)

Still, when did my mental health come into question as a reason to settle or not?

I'm sorry, did I miss something? I'm mentally handicapped because I want someone, oh let's see... who is like me? When did that become a sign of mental illness?

So, again, I ask, what the fuck was she thinking?