Heartbreak

Completely and utterly heartbroken.

"There is a poem in the temple called Loss, but the poet has scratched out the words. You cannot read loss, only feel it."

-Memoirs of a Geisha

There once was a princess who wanted something so bad she could taste it. She threw away everything as horrible just to get it. She didn't reach that goal and only made everyone around her suffer instead for her own failed perceptions. The king and queen could do so little to help their daughter as she fell. All the kingdom loved her. They put her in box and took her to parties. The worst men in the kingdom sent her flowers. They asked her to dress them. She cried because she couldn't see what she was possibly throwing away.

What do you do with a man who doesn't love you?

Waiting for the Break

Watching after you with anticipation. You know I'm standing here, watching the lights of your car move away, further off to the distance. There is something so sad in me, waiting, always waiting for something to happen.

When I was with J, I would stay up and watch the moon outside his window and wish I could feel again. I felt so numb, encased in this protected, muted little world. I used to wish I could get this again, this sad longing for something I couldn't describe.

Maybe it would be best if it just had a blowup, the heat just rising to the surface. Something I could feel in a second, cry my eyes out, complain to anyone I knew and just move forward. You keep me in the wings, its so frigging cruel. I could smile at you for hours. It breaks my heart and aggravates me all at once to watch you waffle around in your own personal misery. I doubt you could understand.

I never did know what to say to you.

I feel it in the air, walking along Crosby Avenue in the morning, the smell of the water I never noticed as a child, the cool summer breeze around my feet. Something big is about to happen.

I hope its you.

Charity Case

You told me over drinks that you follow me religiously online. You tell me I'm your favorite. You like my wit, my cleverness, my face. You think I'm confident. You want me to write a book; you'd take care of me to do it so I wouldn't have to work. I can have whoever I want to dinner at your bars. We can go to exotic locations I've only seen on maps. You tell me all the inside information on the family of a boy who I've been so pained over rejecting me (ever drama!); and how we wouldn't have made a good match anyway, because, you claim I'm smarter. You asked me to a party and offered to buy out all my friends. You refused to accept that I didn't want to go.

"I can't accept these gifts, but you're very generous." My mother nailed that line in my head decades ago; he spends, you always owe.

Bring anyone you want, you said. Make a day for it. Anything you want; buy a new wardrobe, hire a car. Get a hotel suite with the girls. Snapping your finger.

Just like that.

At a price.

"I want to show you off." You smile.

I have to admit, if I'm honest with myself and maybe with you (what have I got to lose?) that your infatuation flatters me. Being taken care of, never having to worry again is something that I think appeals to a lot of people. I could have anything. That doesn't seem terrible, at first glance. Even the office girls said so.

I had fun with you; forever the ugly child in me is yearning for everyone's notice, just part of who I am. You feed that psychological need. We walked into that bar to get this drink and everyone stared. People approached us and you bought their drinks to toast me.

A drunk girl complimented me on how nicely my "husband" looks at me. You smiled and told her we'd been married for five years. I didn't say anything. When you corrected her, telling her we weren't even dating, she refused to believe it.

But you aren't what I want. And I've just gotten my independence; maybe if I heard this weeks ago I would have seen it differently. I admit it scared me.

"He looks at you with like, this tenderness. You're so comfortable with him." I didn't have the nerve to tell this woman it was because I simply don't care to impress you.

You held my left hand and rubbed the ring finger, pouting at me. I asked what is it you wanted, since you had spent the night asking me to no avail. (How could I begin to explain?)

"I want a son," you tell me. "With green eyes."You pat my nose. "I never thought I'd consider getting married again, but I could."

That struck me as absolutely ridiculous. I laughed at how silly you were being, your face changed completely and you told me I was mean with more force than I prefer. You told me I was such an ice queen, claiming that's why I have the "number" of a practical nun. The people at the bar enjoying us moved away. Your face softened and you apologized, admitting you were just hurt. I apologized, not realizing how much this would affect you and slightly afraid.

"I like you, you're real." A huge compliment, but so unfortunate in that it proved you understand you aren't.

I realize I hurt your feelings, but I can't take you seriously. Men like you are so sad; my father's age, practically, and now with women even younger than me. I think it is a pity your wife didn't stay; I think its poetic you never had a son. Forever surrounded in this world of women; your mother, sister, daughters, ex wife, girlfriends, everyone but always alone.

You are the saddest man I ever met.

Some Guys...

They're actually quite bizarre. I'm always fascinated to know what straight men talk about with each other. Only recently have I started paying attention!

G and I are always surrounded by bromance, whether in public or a family party. We try not too be too obvious, just can;t help but listen at restaurants. We've heard it all, we were laughing about it last night. Different women (I love the conversations men have about women. It's always the same. The worst guy always has the most to say. Do men see this situation as women do? Do they recognize that he's bluffing, or is this just expected?), sporting events (we tune out), other guys (applause for anything disgusting or embarrassing), and, my absolute favorite, penises (Thank God never this conversation from our sea of relatives!).

You have to wonder what it must be like to walk around with that thing dangling between your legs all day. Is it painful like if you go to long without a bra? How do men run?! I'd be afraid to lose a... Why were they so against skinny jeans for so long? I would think its an excuse to show off - which explains why European men love them, or it just keeps it all in place. How do they deal with waxing or clipping it? Having been with men of all different, erm, types, you get the feeling they're all kind of looking for women to be impressed somehow, whether or not this is warranted - usually the man least warranted is the most transparent in this. Where do men learn that; this need for penis approval? From a young age, women's magazines always tell you to say something like "It just feel SO big" whether or not you have to lie. Are there women that actually say this?! Don't guys catch on after all these women say the same thing, or is it like "Oh, God, you're sooo skinny!" where you don't even care if it's true?

All of my gay guy friends tell me the conversations straight guys have with them and around them about penises. What is it about gay men that straight ones are so curious about? They look at A, I totally see it. They used to ask about his sex life, they're always amazed by it. Maybe men are curious about each other? They even enjoy a lot of the same 80's music he loves!

What I haven't listened to, however, in a very long time, is when they discuss emotion. I think that society picks women to be inferior, sensitive, needing some sort of protection from the outside world. But it strikes me lately how sensitive the opposite sex really is; especially when the negativity comes from females. Women are stronger, we carry on, we bitch, we moan, we get over it. Women are more resilient; we have networks, friends who'll scowl at the offending party and laugh over it with you for weeks, months. Guys don't have the same opportunity. That must be hard, it really must. I never appreciated that. Fortunate enough to be raised in a home with a father who valued strong women, I've never thought about what it must have been like for S and S to put up with me. They never yelled back. Obsessed with trying to prove myself; prove I could do everything myself. When does it end?

I've been terrible, really.

Enlightening.

Excuse me, Miss are these Yours?

A and I agree, this is ridiculous.

How horrible though is it that that's all there is? Damned Mother Teresa.

I know what I'm seeing here, though, oh, J. You remind me of C; the same. I feel like you meet the same people over and over again in life.

Touching all the lace in my dresser, I worked so hard to buy it; something you've never had to worry about, you wouldn't understand. For a moment, I was embarrassed of my apparent poverty all over your face. I wanted you out. The room was foggy, I felt dizzy.

Then you looked at me, smirked. I read it.

"You want them dependent," you told me in the cab, sizing up my reaction.

I couldn't believe what I had seen, the moment frozen in time. How I got up those stairs I'll never know, falling out of my shoes.

In a way, I'm glad we didn't do anything. It gives this situation a new tension; a world of possibility behind what I know now is nearly inevitable. You and I will meet in the way, and it will just happen.

You disgust me in a way I find irresistable. You excite me with the stories you told, peppered with insults for me to hear of course.

"You know these Irish girls," you told him in the cab. "Fiesty. They like to make a scene."

I certainly was not going to buy into your baiting. I can hit back, I see you didn't expect it, but it gets you, doesn't it?

Did I hurt you or you hurt me? Who knows. Who cares! You and I though, we must do something about this. I want to. Understand, I want to.

And so it Begins.....

Why is it that, when they finally get there, you've already left?

I waited all that time, and then, well of course. Always like that. But I can't even go there mentally. It's too much. So much wasted energy and time with no result. I made myself a promise recently, to never give to who can't give to me. I'd be telling you a bold faced lie if I said I wasn't even the least bit intrigued. Who wouldn't be? Even he knows it! I see that little number come up in my phone and, it was the strangest thing; for a second, I felt angry. I didn't even want to see it. I halfway wished he could take it back, that he would disappear. I immediately saw what was going on; I understood. I didn't want it at that moment; no more, I think.

I hate that I waited all this time and you come out (at last!) with something you need from me. I'm tired of thinking about what it is you want. Being something I don't even like because, in some stupid way, I believed this was what you wanted. I'm exhausted of dealing with you, trying to figure out your nonsense. I'm sorry all the silly girls you chose didn't materialize. I'm sorry it's obvious to you now how little you knew. I'm sorry I never saw in you exactly what everyone else could see.

You belong with those girls, love. You make sense there. And I think you will be lovely.

I simply don't care tonight.

It scares me to think, I've become this selfish. All I want lately is to lie in this apartment, completely alone with my thoughts. I only want to see my female friends. I only want to succeed at work. I'm clinging in a bizarre way to my freedom, something that, until recent weeks I didn't value the same way. Bars and clubs bore me. Parties are only fun if I know everyone. I'd prefer a million times over to have coffee with a friend then go on another date.

I'm finding you eliminate the bullshit in your life as I get back to living like I imagine other people must.    I'm not so different, am I? I'm finding I'm growing bored of all the desperation. I'm excited to just do what I want to do. Nothing big. Walking to work. Eating ice cream for dinner. Watching television. Sitting in the park for hours with a number of friends, just talking. Talking to A on the phone. Eating peanut butter and those cinnamon flavored pita chips I paid $6 a bag for. Lying on my sheets. Feeling the breeze out of my window.

I want to be happy. And for the first time in a very long time, I am. And, there is no real reason for it. I'm very fortunate. I have a million good friends and a wonderful family. I have everything I need. I'm content.

I need now, to focus. I need to master the job ahead of me. I need to sleep better. I want to do well, I really do. I know they see that.

And I'm seeing it in me. It hit me the other day, thinking actually, about you, that we have things in common I never considered. You brag about your education, and, I remembered, I now I have one, too.

Maybe I'll feel differently tomorrow. Maybe I'm just mad at you for taking so long. I see that neither scenario is productive. I can't do anything about either, and, in some bizarre way, I very much look forward to being friends.

I just haven't forgiven you yet. My biggest fear is being held captive, of giving to the point of depletion to someone who can't do the same for me. I'm a terrible caretaker for those I think can help themselves and just choose not to.

You're more scared of me than I ever was of you.

For My Father

"Whenever I have a problem, I go to my dad's house."

The stupidest show on television expresses how I feel. The calm
, no nonsense demeanor my father has always had with me is exactly the remedy I need to escape from my own melodrama. He sent me to school for decades with other girls, something I wanted as a little girl growing up in a house of brothers, worked hours each night to pay for everyone and everything, and never complained. I think it is part of the reason I never got seriously onvolved with anyone who was bad for me. It is the reason I am so picky about who I choose. My father and his father, loyal, honest, and chivalrous.

I look at my brothers, and know, for the most part, they are the same. I feel proud that they are good to their girlfriends, and to me and my mother. We may not always agree, but they are there if I need them. And having a large family is a bigger part of who I am than I ever really understood. A big piece of it is all the honorable men I'm fortunate enough to be related to.

I've had guys my age tell me that my father was a huge influence on them, more so than their own in some cases. I used to feel left out of this part of his life, simply because I couldn't be a Boy Scout. I think its incredible, now, that he was able to inspire pther people's sons. Sons of men who had left, who weren't the type of man to be a father. I'll watch these sad girls on television and even hear about them in my own life, friends who dated dortnags who stole from them, hurt them, used them, and just couldn't even compare and understand hpw rare that really is. The man I share initials with

I've been told I'm too hard, too mean to guys, but, looking around, I'm not sure that is a bad thing.

"Life is too short for that nonsense."

And he is right!

Moving Along..

A and D came over to cook salmon and shoot the shit. I have a bottle of red wine and great memories.

I told him off today. I was honest, I put it to bed. It was awkward, I hated doing it. He was petty, brought up all sorts of nonsense to turn it around on me. Try to pick at the holes in my story, I'm so embarrassed I fell for his nonsense. Self-obsessed little prick. His weird friend is twice what he is. I hate him. I'm mad at myself for taking it, for even answering the phone. Nothing good comes from that kid. I'm mad at myself for giving it all away. At some point, it's just a joke. Don't play with people and expect them not to say anything. Now, at least, I will be left alone. Dirtbag. Calling me to stalk some girl in my office. It's disgusting. It's such a shame when the people you know are nothing like what you imagined; you feel like you're losing them. Reality is, there just never was. It's a hard reality to accept. It hits you, it really does.

"This is the life, how it go."

What can we do?

We wake up and keep it moving.

Why Didn't You Call Me?!

I just don't get it. You stand in the rain, ruining your hideous loafers (praise all that was sensible) and talking some nonsense we both knew was completely bogus. I tried, I considered, I compromised. I practiced! I polled the office girls for advice. I worked up the nerve. I was so afraid, I threw the phone in my desk the minute I asked, for fear I'd somehow combust if nothing happened.

I asked if you wanted to go, you said yes.

So how is it that it was really no?! Did you think it would be less offensive to tell me with what you didn't say?

Stupid boy.

I don't understand this behavior.

I began to visualize this dramatic stop to the world as we knew it if I asked you. Everyone would simultaneously turn around, shocked. All of our friends (and then some) would just halt. Someone would slam a drink down after a few minutes, either applaud or boo me off stage. Here, here! Stomp their foot and give a standing ovation.

"Oh, my God," the doctor would say, lifting my head off the floor, my hair perfected with a curling iron, "This woman actually died of embarrassment!"

(I never considered your reaction.)

(Little did I know I'd never find out!)

I worry about how in the name of all that is pleasant and rejected (been there!) I'm going to face to you. I have ridiculous fantasies about how I'd tell you off, repeating things you said about your loser friends in defense of me, turning them around to apply to you. I avoid your street for fear you'll think I'm hanging around. What am I going to talk about?

I'll tell you, sir: Nothing. 

I'm going to avoid you. I'm going to do all I can to keep from letting it appear this bothers me. I'm not sad, it isn't that, exactly, it's more like, here I was, all these ideas, and then you just walk back and take them away.

Rats.

I mean, seriously, why?!