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” ‘Cause what she’s doing now is tearing me apart
Filling up my mind and tearing up my heart”
– Garth Brooks “What She’s Doing Now”
Usually, with the schedule I’ve been keeping lately, I haven’t got time to let my mind wander. I didn’t have time to think about My Love. But not today. She has been on my mind all day. I’m not sure what was the trigger. Maybe it was the Josh Groban song, “Believe”. My Love loves Josh Groban. Maybe it was the Christmas love song where the singer falls in love on Christmas Day.
My Love and I fell in love on Christmas. She was house sitting out in the sticks and had invited me to keep her company. She had made me breakfast and after we finished, I noticed she seemed unusually nervous. After taking a deep breath, she said that she was taking a leap of faith. She told me that she had fallen in love with me. I understand why it made her so nervous. Her previous boyfriend, whom she also fell in love with, had dumped her. She was bruised and unsure, not certain if she would ever fall in love again.
And I came along. I gave her all the same things he did, but I was patient with her to allow her to try and figure things out within her head and heart. I was able to hold her when she needed. I also held her heart in my hands, gently and with care. It was what she needed.
I had known for at least a month before abut my feelings about her. I had fallen in love with her on the day we met. Drinks at Ruby Tuesdays, followed by a drive to the coast to side by the ocean. I kissed her on the same day. Wow!!! What lips! I fell in love with her mind, her independent spirit and her gorgeous eyes. And those curves. Many times I got lost in those curves.
So, what IS she doing now? I am not in a place where I would feel comfortable calling. I am still healing and adjusting to Life with Me.
But I do wonder how she is. Is her work still a huge challenge? Is she keeping busy? Is she dating?
That’s the one that’s the most difficult to come to terms with. Who is replacing me in her life? She is a beautiful woman and wouldn’t have difficulty finding dates. Has she found someone to fill the space where I used to be?
Someone told me recently that if she hasn’t contacted you recently, chances are she doesn’t intend to contact me. Thanks for the input. I’m just sad. I miss her.
The romantic inside me wants to think she sits at home and wonders the same about me, that she made a mistake but doesn’t want me to know.
Not likely.
The same romantic wants to think that a Christmas reunion would be wonderful.
What Hollywod script writers have invaded my brain? This isn’t a scene from “Sleepless in Seattle”. This isn’t “The Notebook”.
I only wish that she is taking care of herself, that she’s not staying up late and not getting enough sleep. And I wish that I could stop driving myself crazy with thoughts of her. I have the power to control that. However, I have never had a woman take hold of my being the way she did. I never had loved anyone the way I loved her.
I am wearing “the Boyfriend Sweater” today.
I had never heard to the term until I was dating My Love. She had bought me a maroon sweater from JC Penney. The purpose of the sweater was to retain my smell, my fragrance, my odor, whatever. She explained to me that I was to wear it a few times, then give it to her so she could wear it and think of me.
The hard part was I didn’t have a “fragrance”. No cologne, no aftershave, nothing. I was fragrance-free. The good news was I didn’t stink, either. I had gotten out of the habit of wearing a manly scent that would drive women wild.
Just reading that last sentence makes me chuckle. I picture the Marlboro man, macho and muscular, with a face full of character. He would wear something manly to attract women. That’s why men wear cologne, to attract women. I didn’t wear it in college. I had tried Old Spice in high school. Very cliche. My grandfather wore it. Maybe that’s why my sex life was in the pits. Wearing the cologne your grandfather wore isn’t likely to appeal to women in their 20s.
Wearing the “Boyfriend Sweater” was almost a moot point, except that My Love helped me pick out a fragrance that she liked. She found that the sweater worked its magic with something to stimulate to her brain.
I am wearing this sweater for practical reasons. It’s chilly here on the coast, and it’s a light but warm sweater. It’s doing nothing for me at the moment. Except maybe bringing back some old memories. A good friend told me that she wears an old gray tee-shirt that belonged to a former boyfriend. She told me she had been wearing it while at home recovering from a nasty case of flu. She said that wearing it had made her melancholy and she was thinking of this man, and wondering why they weren’t together anymore.
I could relate. There are a few articles of clothing that remind me of My Love. She used to wear my fleece bathrobe when she finished her shower. Whenever she would spend the night, she wore a blue pajama top with a pair of striped pajama bottoms that belonged to me. She also wore one of my oxford button-down shirts around my apartment. There is nothing sexier than a woman wearing a man’s shirt as a nightshirt, with the sleeves rolled up and the first three buttons left undone. I can see her, lying on the bed reading, with a comfortable, yet slightly rumpled look and come hither look on her face. It makes me go weak in the knees thinking about it.
No doubt there will be other episodes when my memory will take me back. The question is how to deal with them. The triggers are unpredictable; I never see them coming. My stomach doesn’t churn they way it used to a few months ago. Since I carefully placed her photograph in a box with her love notes and cards, I have a difficult time remembering her face. It’s as if she’s a shadow that drifts across my memory. I remember those legs, her lips, and how she would nuzzle into me whenever I would come up from behind and wrap my arms around her.
Writing has become a challenge all of a sudden. I’m having a difficult time concentrating. I need to settle my brain.
Sorry.
It is a gray, cold morning in my neck of the woods. I stood on the loading dock at work and looked out over the scrubby landscape, the young birch and ash trees ablaze in yellow and orange. The cold air felt good but it reminded me of what was to come. This was a quiet, soft morning, too good a morning to be wasted at work.
I allowed my mind to wander back to one of many mornings just like this. Back to the warmth of a shared bed, back where two people created memories and how they believed mornings should be. We have shared mornings many mornings like this, waking up under fluffy down comforters, all warm and cozy, with lots of pillows, the sheets soft against bare skin.
These are the perfect mornings for long, luxurious lovemaking, being playful under the covers and losing track of time. Mornings like this are perfect for lingering kisses, exploring hands and wicked minds, and the only sound I want to hear is a tender whisper from you in my ear, speaking passionate words of longing. Those were times when we believed we were the only people on earth.
Let’s make the most of this morning. Let’s cherish it all. Because, too soon, it’ll be over. We’ll glance at the clock and wonder where the time flew to. Then, we’ll want it all back because these mornings are too rare. Time is never on our side.
Our lives are so busy. We know how precious these times are, that how easily they are pushed aside by the demands of everyday life.
But not this morning.
How long has it been since I got lost in your beautiful blue eyes? When was the last time a kiss left me breathless? It’s been too long since your fingers danced their way down my body. Slowly, like a spider moving towrds its prey. They paint an invisable picture on my skin. Go slowly, I want to be devoured by you, slowly.
Why now? Why this morning? Because all the pieces fell into place: you, me, time away, desire, love. Throw in a carafe of mamosas and bagels, and we have a perfect morning. Later I’ll pull on sweats and a ballcap and run outside for the paper. We can spread it over the bed, have some tea, and just be. And later we’ll make love again.
All in its own time.
Take the time when you can. Make the time because you should.
It is the end of the workday, but not the end of my week. I would love to be able to sleep in tomorrow, maybe fix a breakfast of pancakes and bacon, and go wherever thewind will take me.
But, sadly, so. I’ll be up way-too-early when the majority of the world is enjoying a relaxing start to the weekend.
This will be one of those posts that has something for everyone. Maybe not everyone. How about 4 out of five dentists? Choosy mothers? The Pepsi generation?
Alright, enough.
Tonight is the last home game for the Red Riots football team. So far, they are 4-2 with tonight’s game vs. Gorham, then The Battle of the Bridge. I found out yesterday that My Son sustained a concussion during practice. He failed the computer tests that are conducted with potential cranial injury but was told he could be back for the last game of the regular season. I understand that football is not a gentile sport, that injuries happen. But how does a kid sustain multiple blows to the head..IN PRACTICE. I understand he’s disappointed he may not be able to play for awhile.
My Daughter and I had a great dinner last night. Since we have a similar sense of humor, we can get silly and that’s how it was last night. The spaghetti stayed on the plates and there are no stains in the rug or on the couch cushions. I cherish times like this when I can be Dad instead of her Father.
A good friend tipped me off to an interesting concept. It’s called Meet Up (www.meetup.com ) and there are all kinds of groups where people can socialize. If you are into cooking, coffee, wine, adventure activities or just want to meet people, there are groups for all that and more. I found a writers group that I wanted to join. But I was detained while picking up My Son from his team dinner last night, so I missed the beginning. Actually, I missed the whole thing. I went to the address provided on the website, but when I rang the doorbell, no one responded. Bummer. I’ll have to arrive earlier next week.
One of the things I will need to change, whenever I start dating again, will be to forget what I knew with My Love. I have to re-learn how to date. Not so much the flowers/dinner or a movie/kiss at the door stuff. Instead I need to change how I think about the structure of the relationship. I will want to date someone who isn’t balancing another relationship against ours, but I want to be able to focus on the present. I want to take it step-by-step, savouring getting to know her. I want to be secure with myself and my life so I’m not so quick for exclusivity. I don’t want to define myself by the relationship. I am a LONG way off from dating again, despite desiring the intimacy of a relationship.
I am loving internet radio. I’ve logged into Free Form BCN several times this week while at work. I love the idea of not know what song you’ll hear next. Having worked in radio, I know what good radio sounds like and I haven’t heard it for awhile. It’s where the DJ’s had personality; they identified with their audience, could program their shows and select the music. It’s easy now to tune up and down the dial and hear the same presentation, just different music. They tell you the same thing no matter the format. Every station is ”playing a better mix of the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s”, “more variety, less talk”…..you get the idea. Now that I’ve discovered internet radio and can pinpoint music that matters to me, the only use for the radio will be news/weather and the ballgame. That’s actually kinda sad.
I will not be dressing up for Halloween. I’ve never been big on the holiday. maybe it was the pressure of finding an original costume. My best costume was a Christoper Columbus outfit, complete with crushed velvet cap and ragmop hair. My mother made it from scratch. You don’t get much of that anymore. As I grew older, it was just a day when you got lots of free candy. A few years I had to “Trick or Treat for UNICEF”. Usually we got the boxes in our Sunday school classes and were expected to return them on the Sunday following Halloween. That activity reminds me of the scene in Woody Allen’s “Radio Days”, an autobiographical film about growing up during World War II. The scene takes place during Hebrew school class. These Jewish boys are sent out by their rabbi, to collect funds to promote a Jewish home in Palestine. Being kids, they end up taking some of the money and spending a portion on candy, ice cream or Secret Avenger Decoder Rings. The young Woody gets hauled up in front of the rabbi by his parents. Do you remember collecting for UNICEF? How many of you skimmed a little off the top? Did some of it end up in the till of the neighborhoodstore? Do I see a few hands rising hesitantly? C’mon, ‘fess up. But don’t worry because it’s ancient history, you won’t be held accountable.
It’s too damn cold for this time of year. Where’s Indian Summer? Where are the temperatures in the mid-50’s?
Enjoy your weekend no matter where you are. Hopefully, there will be lots of color, interesting people, and stuff to make you go “hmmmmm”.
I am sick and tired of being sick and tired.
When is this roller coaster ride going to end? Because I’m in the last car and about to lose my lunch.
My heart has been battered, bruised and stomped, and it’s all been self-inflicted. I feel like I’ve gone ten rounds with Tyson. It’s all because I can’t get over losing the woman I love. I can’t just let things go because I let Hope stick its nose in my business. Hope is preventing me looking at things realistically. Right now, Hope sucks big time. I get a whiff of possibility and I throw any rational thought out the window.
Why can’t I just move forward? It’s been two steps forward, one step back for what seems like an eternity. I feel like a rabbit with Turret’s: I have no idea which direction I’m going , I have no control and I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.
It would be so much easier if I could come to terms with the idea that I have been given an opportunity. There is a woman out there just waiting for me. Now is not the time or place for me to find her. I have more work to do. My heart needs healing.
I noticed something interesting whilst looking at my post stats. Whenever I write on the everyday stuff in my life, the numbers are down. But when I write about my struggles recovering from the breakup with My Love, the numbers go through the roof. I guess it proves that folks like a good train wreck. It’s compelling stuff. Reading about someone else’s love life gone askew somehow makes one’s life much better. It’s like “The Truman Show”-my life is live and in living color. Good thing there isn’t a camera following me 24/7. Here I am, warts and all. I bleed, cry, laugh, sing, wonder, ponder, anger, and everything in between. Some folks offer their support. They coach me from the sidelines and give me encouragement. Most of them silently look on.
But, seriously, why are most of you here? I am here to put my thoughts down so they keep my brain from clogging. Does what I say have meaning to you? Is there genuine concern for my wellbeing, or do you just look in from time to time? Do you read my posts with empathy, seeing yourself as I chronical my life? Are you cynical and waiting for the train to derail…again? Or are you a voyeur, lurking out there in the shadows, anonymously finding pleasure in the ups and downs of a fellow human being.
As I scan down the list of destinations in my blogroll, I see folks from all over the world dropping in to see what conditon my condition is in. I want to be able to reach out to you. Maybe talk to you individually. ”How are you? Where are you from? Why do you return repeatedly to my blog? Tell me something about yourself. How’s life in your corner of the world.” I sometimes wish there was a chat function. Not some silly space full of misspelled words and cryptic abreviations, but a place where kindred souls and reach out to each other. How are we all alike? Are we both looking for the same thing? Is there something missing, and what do we want to fill the empty spaces with? One of the reason why I am here is so I can have someone to talk to, albeit a silent and unresponsive listener. I got tired of talking to myself. I couldn’t seem to find the answers to the questions I was asking myself.
Most writers write anonymously. They don’t give anything away except for some choice bits. Maybe the names are changed, but the facts are real. Sometimes it’s all fiction. For your information, everything in this space is real. I do give my subjects pseudonyms.
Now, the crux of this post. I’ll be honest with you and tell you why I am writing. It’s the same reason I wanted to be a radio DJ: I wanted the attention. How many people have this opportunity? We all feel we have something important to say, but is anyone really listening? Do they care about what we’re saying, or do they just nod their head and smile? Do our opinions matter to them are are we being given lip service?
I realize that, like the televison, if you don’t like what you’re hearing you can change the channel. If what I’m saying here doesn’t appeal to you then you move on. If you’re curious enough to keep reading, maybe you read another post or click the “About” tab and find out some more.
Do you care? Maybe. Maybe not.
Why am I saying all this? Because, up until the point, I have been afraid to say the things I want. Now I will.
I am hurting. I hurt because the life I didn’t want was ended, because I was too afraid to do the dirty work myself. I am hurting because I thought that the one true love that came into my life is no longer there. I don’t know why she’s not there anymore, but I am having difficulty adjusting to life without her. And I hurt because I feel like I am going through this difficult time by myself. I have found my identity through others and am finding it difficult to recognize who I really am.
Put that in your pipe and smoke it.
If anyone wants to step up and make this a two-way exchange, come on down. We all could use a few good friends, and misery loves company.
I just want somebody to talk with, and who will listen to me.
p.s. Memo to The Rommate: I see you’re back. If all this is more than you wanted to know, why do you come back?
I realize this is out of sequence. I realize I am blowing this all out of proportion. I also realize I have a snowball chance in Hell. It’s about My Love and about re-establishing the lines of communication.
I have to keep reminding myself this doesn’t mean anything, that I need to stay on course, to move forward as if My Love and I had never contacted each other.
I have to keep reminding myself that nothing is certain. Just because she contacted you doesn’t mean she wants you back.
So why do I think about her all the time, just as I did when we first me? And why am I bothering, when the chances of having my heart broken again are good?
Because I AM hopeful.
I guess it’s just faith, hope and love, all wrapped up in one.
I have no idea what she’s been thinking. She’s a self-help kind of gal. She keeps things close to the vest and only confides in a select few. So I don’t know if she’s been taking walks on the beach and rolling stuff over in her head, or if she’s found a book to help her deal with this. I know she doesn’t talk with The Roommate about this stuff. She’s been under alot of stress at work for awhile now and she hasn’t slept well. When we were together, I took care of her. I did things like letting her catnap before dinner, messaging her back, rubbing her feet, and running my fingers through her hair. I did it all out of love and caring for her. It was all unconditional. I hope she is gentle with herself and is taking care. She needs to heal herself before she can worry about romance. The last thing I want is to add more problems to her life and mine.
Hey, that sounds familiar. Where have I heard that before?
She IS out there.
My Love is out there.
I had forwarded a cute email to her, thinking she might get a kick out of it, and got an email in return. She said that she had thought about me and was fighting the urge to contact me. She has been working on healing herself, coming to grips with her own demons. I was glad for her, and I was glad to hear from her.
I also felt familiar stirrings deep inside that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Not just nerves, but butterflies. It was the gentle lapping of the waves of longing. I, too, have fought similar urges to contact her. I have thought to pick up the phone and call, but have hesitated. I have been inspired to write to her, but had changed my mind from uncertainty. I have often wondered if I occupy her thoughts and compelled her to write or call in the same way.
I understand that I have stated my intention to move forward after the breakup, with no illusion of reconcilation. It was also suggested to me that she should make the first move. It has been difficult to suppress these urges.
So, when she contacted me, I invited her to read my writing. The Roommate had cautioned her that it might be better to avoid reading this blog. I can understand this. But The Roommate read things that were common knowledge between My Love and myself. I suggested that she only read the current posts in September and October. There is nothing there, or in the rest of the posts, that is offending or negative. She was hesitant, but said that she owed me that much.
Now the question is whether or not she’ll read what I’ve written. What will she take from these posts? Am I pathetic or sincere? Am I perceived as weak, or am I a man in touch with his feelings ? Will she reconsider our relationship or will she also move on and continue the healing process? Does she ache and yearn? Or want?
This is out of my hands. I have reminded myself constantly that I need to prepare myself for a life without her. I have no idea where this will go from here.
I have been thinking about my life and the transitions I have encountered. Sometimes I feel like my life is constantly in transition. Maybe I’m lost in transition. Where’s Scarlett Johannsen when I need her?
Oh, that’s Lost in Translation. Sorry.
I have been told by a close friend that my experiences in the last three months are quite healthy. She tells me that most men go from one relationship to the next without “mourning” the ending of the previous relationship. Despite the pain and anguish, I am in a healthy place. She likes the fact that, as a man, I can honor the emotions, that I can feel.
She makes perfect sense. I strongly dislike living alone. I would rather have the option of having time alone and be able to return to my partner, instead of having the situation forced upon me. It’s all about choice. I would rather have someone in my life, but not have my life defined by being in a relationship. It’s one of those transition things.
I came to the conclusion awhile back that sharing my life with someone is alll that I’ve known for the last 22 years. I was married and shared a home with my ex-, then I shared a relationship that sometimes felt like living with someone. That lasted 20 months and that brings us to the present. All I have known is the feeling of having someone sharing space with me. When that changed, I found it difficult to be home alone. I am better accustomed to the situation now, which is how it should’ve been all along. Ideally, the transition should’ve been adjusting to a single life again, then let the relationship gods do their magic. But need to re-establish my life by continuing to finding new passions, like writing, and rediscover older passions that have been pushed aside. If you want to get somewhere quickly, you must do it slowly.
I still think about My Love. We would’ve been together two years October 14, so that has me thinking. I think of her within the context of being a loving and caring partner who is sharing her life with me, and vice versa. I miss that. But I’d be a fool to deny that I didn’t miss the sex. Oh, boy, do I ever. It still makes me sad when I hear certain songs or hear certain phrases, when I go certain places or do certain things. I am still nervous at the possibilty of encountering her and how I’d handle the situation. But I would imagine she is in the same place. It’s normal. It’s also a matter of how to manage those feelings and thoughts. I don’t let thoughts of her consume me as they did 3 months ago. You might say I’m moving forward.
I have to put in a plug for a great new website: www.wbcn.com. I was a huge fan of WBCN when they were the Rock of Boston, playing the best alternative rock in the late 70s/early 8os. Their format mirrored that of the college station I DJ’ed while at UMaine. It was really good British stuff like Elvis Costello, Echo & The Bunnymen, U2, and The Smiths, mixed in with good mainstream rock, and good local bands. Since undergoing a format change and moving to a different frequency, WBCN is offering a free-form alternative only on the Internet. It is AWESOME! If you love rock, and I know you do, check it out. Long live Dwayne Ingalls Glascock, the Big Mattress and Michegas!!!
Possibilities
Yesterday, I attended a 4-hour workshop on “Bringing The Best Out of People”. I was one of two employees that didn’t have managerial experience. But what I came away with was some extraordinary insight. The highlight of the workshop was a short video featuring Ben Zander, a conductor, educator and composer. He also is the co-author of “The Art of Possibility”, which I am eager to find a copy.
What I took from that video was the most amazing sense of possibility, that life is about experiencing everything with passion. We should all be curious about what is out there, to grab onto it and look at the world with a child’s eye, full of wonder. When I was with My Love, she introduced me to similar ideas. But what go in the way, at the time, was a lack of money to do things. I now realize that it isn’t about money, it’s about taking what you have and savour it.
I did two things yesterday that proved to be worthwhile experiences.
The first happened at McDonald’s. A young woman entered the restaurant at the same time as I did. Approaching the counter, I gestured that she should go first. After she ordered, she moved to the side and waited for her order to come up, while I placed my order. As we both waited, I was struck by the stockings she was wearing. They were wonderfully colorful, an abstract pattern with pale blues and lime green. They definitely were eye-catching.
I am always aware of my surroundings. Too much interesting stuff is going on all at once. This time, I noticed the stockings, but I took it one step further. I struck up a conversation with this woman. Nothing deep, just a comment on her stockings. She smiled and we talked briefly.
So what does a pair of unusual stockings have to do with possibilities?
I wanted to go outside my box. Normally I wouldn’t say anything. Maybe a glance and nothing said. But this time, I wanted something different. No, I didn’t want to pick her up. I just wanted to flirt. Part of me wanted to see if I could do it.
I was a self-conscious 19-year old- didn’t have the tools or the experience.
I was an uncertain 22 year old – afraid of rejection or saying something stupid.
But, at 48, still redefining my life, yes I want to flirt. I want to feel vital. I knew nothing was going to come from this encounter, but I was willing to take a chance. Take a risk, knowing there was nothing to lose.
The second event was I shut off my computer. I have developed a habit of coming home, retreating into the Man Cave, and playing mindless card games, just staring at the screen. It made my eyes hurt after awhile.
But yesterday, I shut it down. I put on some music in the living room – Jennifer Warnes’ “Famous Blue Raincoat- The Songs of Leonard Cohen”, and I sat down and began to write on a legal pad. Just notes, off-the-cuff, in a wonderful stream of consciousness. Every so often, I’d close my eyes and breathe deeply, enjoying the moment.
It was a small moment that felt big.
Here I was, at home, in sweats, no particular place to go, and loving every minute.
This post is a direct result of my experiences last night. I want to write. I want to tell my story, but I don’t want to be restricted by this blog. Why should I wait for time at the library to write? Who says I should type in my thoughts? Put them down on paper. Broaden the horizon a bit. Get outside the box.
Discover the possibilities.
That was quite the bomb that was dropped on me yesterday. It actually ruined my mood for the entire day. Yes, I know..I am the one that’s in control, and I am the one that can make changes so my day isn’t ruined.
But, when I read the email from The Housemate, it just sucked every ounce of energy from my body. I went through my day in a somber mood, not saying much to anyone. I was glad that I was working alone for most of the day because I was not good company. As the day progressed I began to feel better. After leaving work, I had my glasses adjusted and spent the better part of an hour wandering around the mall. I would walk into a store, roam the aisles, looking at nothing in particular, then wander out and move on to the next store. I did that for the better part of two hours, just wandering.
I was able to determine that I am wounded, not broken. I would be useless if I tried to start up a relationship. It’s a matter of putting pieces back in place and moving forward.
Maybe a f@#k buddy isn’t such a bad idea after all.
