Catskills

Another fine evening in the mountains with J and A. A has new love, D, and M and R came along with him to teach us French and style. Everyone is in love with M, which I guess is a casualty of being a French woman. She possess a beauty I do not. When you look at M, you want to look at her again. I felt ugly, so ugly, next to her. Ridiculous and pathetic. Fat. Above all things, I felt fat.

I went to the gym when I got home, to work on what me and A talked about.

I sat in the quiet room with the skylight amiss a house of couples. It hurt, to know I was alone. It hurts because you think, my God, something is wrong with me. But is it that, really? I've spent so much time being angry, showing every man nothing but evidence of my own distrust, my own failed expectations, my own doubts about them. There is a big part of me, deep down, that really has lost patience in them. They lie, they cheat, they steal, they deceive. The magic is gone. And that thought, in itself, makes me feel irrevocably sad. It depresses me to think, at 27, I don't want to be bothered. To admit to the world that I've all but given up hope of finding anyone. There are no good straight men. I look at dirtbags like S and know it. I'm just so tired of it. Rejection, false pretenses, they run off. They take, take, take. And what do we do? Give. Freely and surely, give. Even when we know it isn't going to work. We give!

We give up, really.

The reality is that I don't want to take care of anyone. I don't want to cook, don't want to clean, don't want anyone to beg me for my opinion, have me run their lives, only act for me. J was like that. I miss him sometimes, but just feel the pull back down, all the pressure of knowing I'd have to constantly hold everything together. When we ended, I felt so free. I felt like I could have peace at last.

He broke me; I've been empty ever since. All I feel is disappointment. I myself, am becoming bitter.

N, I love you, but you make me bitter. You remind me of all the bad things in the world, avarice and desperation. I will never want a man as you do, I will never give to a man what I see you throwing away all the time. There is no need, N. There is no need. You have to let go. You have to go on. You have got to get past this phase and move forward. This means accepting the fact that, there may never be. Simply put, there may never be.

What can we really do? Shall we throw ourselves into the ocean and drown? Shall we jump off the buildings into some dark abyss? Shall we hide from society and forget ourselves?

No. And no. You need something else to occupy your mind. I'm tired of giving emotion and energy to you. I don't want to spend hours on the phone analyzing nothing. I wish to be with my own thoughts. You can't be J and A. Stop chasing me. I refuse to give you anymore time. 

This is about me. 

A says he thinks there is an end to my perceived shortcomings. He thinks there is an end to all this, a salvation for the weak and weary. I love him. I prayed like a Muslim, crying over the jello shots to find it. I'm no longer a Catholic in spirit, but I want to hope there is something out there, even if only an energy. 

I want to man who will pursue me. I want to be taken care of, to find that man that is himself with no apologies. Who is strong, who is kind, who is generous. I want a man who can allow me to be myself, the light of the party, while being comfortable. I want someone who likes me enough to like himself. To want to create a life for himself and invite me into it. To support me emotionally and mentally. To love my body. To love my clothes and give honest opinions about them. I want a man who can take care of himself, not depend on me for every little thing. Who can cook and clean just the same as I can. I'll do the shopping, he'll write the taxes. He will allow me to read, encourage me to do what I love. He will be good with children, respectful of other ladies, no matter their appearance. Who buys me gifts for no reason, who treats me to mint ice cream because I love it. Who kisses my nose and pays for my female friends' drinks. I want to trust that he is smarter than me. I want him to be stronger than me, mentally and emotionally. I want him to want me to take his name, but allow me to hyphenate. I want someone who is proud of me. He will be good with his male friends, and laugh and make bawdy jokes with them. I want him to be proud I have my own female crowd, and don;t need to go with him to games. I want to have the knowledge that, though we lead separate lives, he is the person I can't wait to tell it all to. And vice versa. 

D read my palm, something I didn't know he could do. In broken English and French he told me I have a wall, I have to be strong to get through it. He pointed to the line on my left hand, tracing it with his fingers in his black wig. I, at first, thought I began at the bottom of this line, but maybe, it is really the top. Maybe this is the great challenge he was talking about. The line he pointed out had a huge cross I'd never noticed. 

I used to wish, a long time ago, that I'd eventually be found. Maybe I still want that.