Monday, March 28, 2011

Throw Me Away, but Keep the Paper Boats

I don't know if this blog entry will be worth any one's time. Right now, there is a grating against my heart and I just need some relief. After smoking a pack of cigarettes, I really think the only thing that can help take the weight off my chest is writing. Or else I will go crazy.

Abe and I have had intermittent communication the latter part of the week. I responded to his email:

Last night I had a dream we were wandering through Italy and were late for our own wedding. I made us stop at a sacred fountain so we could get a blessing, and your family was there trying to speed things along. I couldn't find the blessing from St. Augustine in all the tourist crap around us but eventually we stood in a small pool of water and took the blessing. My iPhone dropped in the water but I thought it was funny in the dream, so I am guessing I was in a financially better situation than I am now.

The fact is I love you a lot. My heart is really broken right now and I am trying to pick up the pieces and keep going.

If you aren't willing to pick up the phone and talk to me, this is where we will stay . . . now we are strangers.

I would love to see the man in you do me the respect of a real conversation. I think our relationship was precious and deserves some attention, even if its post-mortem.

I am not your high school girlfriend, I am a woman and a really good catch. Show me you see that.

 . . .

No response. You know who else hadn't called me? Atticus.

It's not that big of a deal. I knew it would bother me for the rest of the week, but not beyond. Its just the . . . disappointment. The silence.

At work, another girl said, "What's going on? I haven't seen my boyfriend in 2 weeks and I JUST got a text from him a few minutes ago, after several days. My girlfriend is going through something similar, too. Her boyfriend decided to tell her that he is going away on vacation for 3 weeks, with the girl he was dating BEFORE her. What the hell!?"

It doesn't stop there.

Another beautiful, gorgeous, wonderful girl took me out Friday night to a nice restaurant, since she got her tax return. We could order whatever we wanted off the menu, in our sloppy ponytails and dirty sweatshirts.

She left her boyfriend after being wooed away by a mutual friend. He spent a month flirting, promising, consoling her. When she made the leap to his arms, he became less attentive. He only came over for late evenings and brushed off suggestions to actually go OUT.

In this case, I advised her to cut him off and/or tell him that he is hurting her feelings, and just lay it all out for him. Its too easy to make a girl feel used. ROMANCE PEOPLE! He was responsive and took her to a bar last night. Baby steps.

We spoke about letting go of men and she said, "You can tell your friend to leave a guy a million times over and she won't do it. Jesus Christ himself could come down and say, 'Leave this guy. He is bad for you.' And the next day, he could show up, take you to Jack in the Box and tell you to order whatever you wanted- and you stick with him. That's just the way it works.You don't leave until you are ready to leave."

Unstick myself. That's what I have to do.

Seriously, I always wondered why the FUCK women ended up with Woody Allen; neurotic, small, not attractive . . . but lately I've been reminded of a scene in "Manhattan."

Woody runs into Diane Keaton during a rain storm, and they find shelter in a Planetarium. They don't kiss, they have some wicked banter and it grows into an intimate talk. I thought about the two of them, smiling at each other, wet and awkward . . . about to fall in love. Its something a woman would remember, but Woody Allen did. A man took a memory and made it into a haunting, charming, clumsy romantic scene.

Later, when they are about to have their first kiss:

I thought you wanted to kiss me
at the planetarium.
I did.
I thought so.
But you were going out with Yale then and
I would never in a million years interfere...
Did you want me to kiss you?
I don't know what I wanted.
I was so angry at Yale that day.

But you were so sexy.
You were soaking wet from the rain and I had a mad impulse
to throw you down on the lunar surface and commit
interstellar perversion with you.
I can't go from relationship to
relationship. It's senseless. I can't do it.
Well, what... Are you still
hung up on Yale? Is that the problem?
I've got too many problems. I'm really not the person
to get involved with. I'm trouble.

Hey, honey, 'Trouble' is my middle name.
What are you saying?
Actually, my middle name is Mortimer.                   
I'm... I'm kidding.

My problem is I'm both attracted and repelled by the male organ.
So it doesn't make for good relationships with men.
Why am I writing this? I don't even know why.


I hear the music now, in a different way than I had before. I knew they were stories, but lately, they seem like memories put on little paper boats and left on the river to sing to us as life keeps going on land.

All those beautiful, heartbroken stories put to music. Presents from the dead.

"She eyes me like a Pisces when I am weak,
I've been locked inside your Heart Shaped box for weeks."

"Don't do me like that, don't do me like that
What if I love you baby, don't do me like that"

"This is the time, this is the place
So we look for the future
But there's not much love to go around
Tell me why this is a land of confusion"

"And I never wanted anything from you
Except everything you had
And what was left after that too."

"Cause' the love that you gave that we made wasn't able
To make it enough for you to be open wide"

"What have I become?
My sweetest friend.
Everyone I know,
Goes away, in the end.
And you could have it all,
My empire of dirt.
I will let you down.
I will make you hurt."

"Will you please let me stay the night?
Will you please let me stay the night?
No one will ever know."

"Lights will guide you home."

"For the music is your special friend
Dance on fire as it intends.
Music is your only friend.
Until the end."

All those stories, rocking back and forth on little waves from the water, keep sailing by. And they can't be touched. Not even by their authors.


A male friend emailed me after my last blog. He wrote:

"I think you are selling yourself out short.  You're not making these guys work for you.  It is not that you are the prize, you are the partner. Don't settle for quick anything.  Be patient and trust that YOU are worthy of something more than even you expect."

I wrote something back:

"That doesn't nullify my desire to connect with someone the way I wanted to, physically and intellectually. Just because I am a girl doesn't mean everything has to be about holding my goods until I get a pay back on investment.

I wanted to be touched and held. I got what I wanted."

Don't I sound so tough?

The truth is, I really wanted to know I was worth a text message back. A 10 second text message.

To Abe, I am not even worth a phone call.

Are there so many wonderful girls out there with hearts on their sleeves that we are worth throwing away?

Saturday afternoon, I had an audition for a lead role in an independent feature film. The monologue was essentially a woman praying to God, begging to get pregnant.

In the audition, I started shaking. I worked up some tears and pathetically asked God why I didn't deserve a baby. In the corner of my eye, I saw the director look away from me in the middle of the audition, and stare at the floor by his foot.

When I left, I steadied myself on the staircase and said, "Let it go. You are not the character. Let it go." Then I walked out into a cloudy afternoon and drove to work at Doggie Daycare.

There is a Queensland Heeler named Zoe. She is kinda crazy, but we all think its funny. The other dogs can pick up on it, and sometimes they harass her. Zoe, being generally imbalanced, will bark and stalk and act kooky.

I called her out from under the jungle gym, where she was hiding from the others, when a boxer jumped on her and nipped her. There are dogs that will attack uneasy, nervous dogs. I assume to keep the pack strong.

When Zoe was bitten, she cried and buried her head in my lap to hide. I scolded the boxer, and while comforting Zoe. While stroking her raccoon coat, I said, "Its ok. I've got you."

I started crying. It was over nothing specific.
One by one, dogs came over to me and nuzzled me. A large doberman stood over me like a horse. A little terrier mutt climbed on my lap and pressed against my chest. A lab mix crawled underneath the doberman to lick the tears off my face. I buried my face in them. Soon, a quarter of the dogs there made a circle around me and waited for me to finish crying.

I found my core again, and stood up. Kept working. Made jokes. Mopped floors. Life goes on.

After work, I shared a smoke with Camille who is this tomboy Hispanic/Native American-something. She wears black frame glasses and a sock hat. My little resident lesbian says I am not her type. She likes the Filipino ladies, but I think I can win her heart.

She was coming off a double shift, and had to take all the shifts she could since her car was towed from too many tickets.

I told her, despite working every God damn day for the last 2 weeks, I would still be $800 short on rent.

I said, "2011 is getting rough with everybody."

She said, "I know, wasn't it supposed to make up for 2010?"

I said, "And let's not even talk about 2009."

She said, "What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger."

I puffed my cigarette.

She said, "The only failure is not trying at all."
I nodded, squinted my eyes and puffed another drag from my cigarette.

She said, "Life can throw you some curve balls, keeps you on your toes."

With the cigarette hanging out of my mouth, I pretended to wave frantically to catch the ball until she laughed.

I said, "The boy I went on the date with Wednesday night never called. So I sent him a text to tell him I was disappointed in him."

She said, "That's RIGHT."

I said, "What do I have to lose? (puff) Dignity? Fuck it. Then I texted my ex-boyfriend that I was fucking someone else tonight. (I put out my cigarette on the wall) But I am just going home to do my taxes."

She said, "That's RIGHHHHT!" She put her hand up for a high five. "That gets a DOUBLE!"

Am I being juvenile? Why not? Apparently, the men I am attracted to don't have any feelings.

I texted Abe at 2am to tell him it was a bluff, to put him out of his misery. He wrote me a one-liner the next morning, "Hope you have a good week." 

On GChat I signed on, saw him and said, "Talk to me? (waited) I am really hurting."

10 minutes later he went off-line.

As I wrote this, I did get a text from Atticus. "I thought I was your rebound fairy."

I wrote, "Silly boy. Call me when you're all grown up."

He texted me back a text-character-pic of Marge Simpson.

I just don't know where to go with that.

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