The return; the remembering.

Longtime readers in this space will be familiar with C-2 .... my slight, bespectacled Somervillian who was first my OKC story-swapping friend and then my stay-out-all-night-on-Kingston-Street friend and then someone I craved desperately because of his kissing and cleverness and daring.  And then despaired over when he got clueless and distant and sad and left me feeling same, just before leaving town in a rush.

That was a year ago.  I stayed up until 5 a.m. on the morning of my 38th birthday to help him pack a moving truck and wave him onto the freeway.   His move was good for me in its finality .... forcing a closure his behavior had long-before forecast but I wasn't accepting;  I stopped thinking he was more to me than he was.   While we met up on a Sunday last June for a Foley's-fueled fling, it was in the spirit of heedlessness, temporary and gluttonous, with no consequences.  Since then, he reached out every couple months with an e-mail or text if back in town for work, and I've largely not reached out, and only occasionally responded.  I'd moved past him, realized I didn't have to stand patsy, didn't quite care either way.

Last night, C-2 and I hung out at a bar on Beacon Hill.  At his request.  He wrote me on Good Friday, noted he was in town for a couple weeks prospecting (he's a political consultant, election season is gearing up, this is his home turf), wanting to meet for a beer.  I thought again I'd ignore him, then thought better.  Something broke in my cynicism.  We spent a few days crossing paths in futility; then I realized I was fairly dying to know how he was.  When he texted last night at 10:30 and trained down from Davis, I drove over and it was easy, like the first time we met.  Shooting politics, gulping Guinness, chatting the other barflys, standing in the bar entryway after close while he smoked Camels, sharing our respective dating foibles of the last 18 months.  It was a conversation we really hadn't had in that long, I realized near its end, and I had missed having it.

The night ended as it often used to .... very late on a very deserted downtown street in the front seat of my parked car.  But there was no imminent hook-up or window-steaming.   We talked about the times we had hooked up and had steamed the windows and chuckled, fondly, noting how we both remembered all of them ... the time he tossed one of my shoes out the sunroof and a sock to the back window that I found only months later.   He then explained that the entire year of 2010 had been a wash for him:  he shared a personal experience that was the primary source of pain.  I could only nod, but had not known his troubles.  In 2 years he had breathed no such explanation, and now it explained so much about him, my frustration with him, and why he did things he did ...  yet I couldn't be angry at either it or his reaction to it.  Just clarity, and a relief for an angst in my past I now have no good reason to mourn.

I knew we would eventually kiss, because we used to kiss so well and we had started talking about how well we did, so then we did.   We kissed in that way we always used to .... him leaning over the gearshift and reaching to pull my chin in, laughing, gripping my hair, me pressing towards him and tilting my head back with the pull of his hands, our breathing rising.   It escalated, but plateaued .... as if sensed it was just a remembering of something sweet that needed a fresh taste for the memory banks.  And then we parted.

4:30 a.m., and morning birds were chirping as I got out of my car in Southie. I texted him, as I always used to at his request, heralding safe return ... "Home.  It was good to see you." 

"You too. :-)"  he texted back. 

For the first time in a long time I believed that when he said that he meant it.  It was the first time in a long time, too, in taking leave from him, that I knew for sure I didn't want from him anything more.

Wait for it. Really.

Tonight I'm sure I failed the BHI class.  (Even though it's against class rules to say or think negatively when a positive will do.) I was negative on the instructor's platitudes to the point of scowling, even as she smiled.  After scoring (negatively) high on 6 of the 10 irrational beliefs in the Beliefs Inventory, I suggested I didn't buy it, which elicted someone's suggestion that my attitude towards the test was overly negative, which did little but make me me resent the "work" I'll need to do to change those irrational beliefs. During Guided Imagery Meditation I struggled to ascend the mountain in my mind to find Wisdom because I was counting the minutes until we were called out; when I offered that Wisdom had appeared as a tall, bearded man who didn't share any Wisdom, it was suggested I had forced an ideal to appear, rather than letting it come to me in due time. Oy. (Harsh crowd?) But then. After class I introduced myself to the young Indian engineer who, earlier in the evening, said the high point of his day had been his morning marathon training run. I had just wanted to ask what race he was doing. I had no idea he'd want to talk animatedly at the exit for 45 minutes, illustrating calf stretches, outlining speed workouts and mental states at past Mile 20s, or shake my hand twice and say he can't wait until next week to hear how my training went over the weekend. He seemed as surprised as me that he had made a friend at BHI class. Of course, I thought, as the bike and I sped back across town to Sarah Vaughan's rip of "From This Moment On" on the iPod, giddy with the energy of the music and the exchange and the city at sunset. I had indeed been working too hard. When I made the tall bearded man appear I hadn't thought a lanky Indian engineer would take me out of my head and into ease without him (or me) trying. I hadn't wanted to wait for it. But I learned maybe I should more often. (Does that mean I didn't really fail the evening?)

An expensive Tuesday

I was in bad shape last week, what with rogue illness and 6 consecutive nights of rehearsal.  Then Friday came and was good, and Saturday I did yoga for the first time in forever and slept a lot, and Sunday was cool. Which means I started this week with a calmness I haven't felt in forever. Didn't silently curse one person yesterday. Or gripe about either another rehearsal or the $20 for 5 gallons of gas last night. And didn't get cranky when 5 men I went out with or otherwise planned to date in the last year used the holiday weekend to say hello again, per the routine. (Boredom, nostalgia, latent desire .... how the urge to reconnct always strikes simultaneously.) It's calm. Which came in handy this morning when my mechanic called to say, "Well, we've got your car up and you need upwards of $1000 in repairs before you can renew your inspection sticker and you wouldn't dare drive this without them," and I paused and then replied, "Oh, well, OK, I guess I expected it, so go ahead," and thanked him as I hung up and logged-on to Citizens Bank to raid my savings account. Don't know who, or what, to thank for the calm. Probably won't try to analyze it, because it does feel good for a change. Might just focus on continuing to stay so.

Day 25 of 30: 3.31 miles

April Total: 50.41

2011 Total: 204.4

Closure, of a fashion

It was both good and bad to hang out late with C-2 and his friends late into last night.

He confirmed in person that he's packing a U-Haul and getting rid of his apartment and driving later this week to his new city for permanent, not just for temporary. He confirmed in person that a primary reason he's going is because his new girlfriend lives there.

I knew I had to go out and stay out late. Even if exhausting. Even though there'd be no time to talk seriously. Or for me to demand that after everything, he apologize for, like, getting a girlfriend without telling me. C-2 has lived in Massachusetts all his 40-plus years and he's leaving rather suddenly. He has many, many folks other than me to say goodbye to.

As I drove him and another guy friend across Somerville from bar #1 to bar #2, the friend leaned forward and begged that C-2 spill details about the new woman. I looked straight ahead and drove, flattered that C-2 had the decency to hesitate before answering, sitting there in the seat where, the last time he sat there, I was on his lap and he kissed me so hard my lips bruised.

(Strange, this being friends with boys who were once more than friends. I wonder if I've reached my emotional saturation point with this demographic.)

Later in the drive, to amuse guy friend and maybe to make a point, I asked C-2 if he remembered the night he sang nonsense lyrics and banged on a tambourine (a stray in my backseat) with the vigor that only a man who drinks Jameson and Guinness can provide, the entire 25 minutes it took us to drive from Southie to Davis Square. This was also the night we stayed up past sunrise next to Spy Pond.

Again, he paused.

"I remember everything about that night," he said.

Full stop.

I was glad he said that, because I couldn't make myself say what I was thinking, which was,

"Yes. Me too. I remember most of every time we've been together, actually. I remember that night you said how good we were together and I agreed and we talked about seeing each other much more often. And how I tried to and then you flaked, working too hard and then, when not working too hard, leaving and meeting someone. I hate that you said all these things you didn't follow up on and now you're gone."

When we got to bar #2 he followed me in, and I turned and asked him if he wanted a Guinness. He paused, put a hand on my shoulder, looked me in the eye, said,

"Hey. Thanks. Thanks for hanging out."

I would have preferred he be an obnoxious ass so I could hate. But I can't. I've just earned the right to regret. Now I just have to suck it up and move on.

Which meant that after the bar closed and we said goodbye and I drove home alone, it was somewhere in the 93S tunnels that a Guinness-fueled helplessness came up my throat and filled my eyes and ears and before I could resist, brought on great sobs. I sobbed the rest of the way home. I cried until I fell asleep.

But today was not a bad day.

And I'm sucking it up and moving on.

(Well, trying to, anyway.)

Mixed motives

Love Letters caught my eye today: 

"I'm a 30-something woman who has been dating a few men casually for the past several weeks. I've been honest about the fact that I'm not looking to get serious.

"One of the guys I've been seeing is a real standout, and in the past week or so I was starting to feel as though he could be a great boyfriend. We have a great time talking, have marvelous pajama parties, and seem to want the same things from life. At the same time, he's moving to another state in the late spring, so I wasn't sure if trying to make things more serious would be worth it. Some serious mental debate over the past several days.

"This past weekend, he tried to invite me over, and got VERY angry when I told him I was with someone else. His primary objection was that I'd choose someone else over him. I told him what I was thinking, including that I had debated us becoming exclusive, and he got even angrier. He stormed off and I'm not sure what to do at this point. Can I fix things?"

This letter epitomizes a common dilemma about, for lack of a better word, motive.  Do I have to have one? 

Like, what is the definition of being "serious"?  Do I have the time and/or money?  Am I beholden to tell a date if he's not the only one I'm seeing?  And if I do, does he have the right to be upset?  Why so uncouth to change one's mind about level of seriousness or commitment in the early stages?   Why so elusive to find the right time -- not too soon and yet soon enough -- to display cajones and say "I like you"? Why so impossible to discuss each other's motives without scaring each other off?  Why the fear?

I'm a bit there right now with Sunday-night Man.  After the great Sick-Off of 2010, he emerged last Friday to ask me over for takeout. I went and we had a great time on levels big and small  (date #3, y'all!), after which he said he'd talk to me soon. And on Sunday night I wrote him a follow-up thanks for the great time. And 2 days later, I'm still waiting for him to respond ... even though it isn't required, I'm finding I want him to ... in fact, I find myself wanting to propose another date .... while at the same time, fearful of coming on too strong if he doesn' t feel likewise ... while at the same time wondering what would happen if I just stayed chill ... but find I'm not really wanting to be chill .... because the clock is tick tick ticking away ...

Hooray for the endless dance.

Sunday-night and I have only briefly discussed motives and strategy either about ourselves or with each other.  But since he and I first went out in early November, other than moping over C-2 I've not pursued dating anyone else.  Partially cause I've been kinda in the dumps.  Mostly because I like him enough to want to see where it goes.  

Hell if I think I should say that to him, though.

(Should I?  Say that while I'm not exactly running through the Alps and singing like Maria von Trapp in love with the Captain, I like him enough to see him more?  To see if the running and singing might follow?)

The Love Letters Letter Writer took it on the chin for finding a guy she likes in the middle of trying to find out what she wants ... and then mucking it up without really trying to.  It's an unforgiving position to be in and somewhat impossible to navigate cleanly.

Where's the damn instruction manual for this dating thing?

Fabulous Patience (please find some)

I am so the been-there done-that girl on OKCupid these days. Even the most flattering of come-ons makes me roll my eyes.

(Please note:  I really don't like rolling my eyes.  It makes me sad.)

Even this one which, with no irony, came while I actually was in Europe for a vacation. Poor man .... I read it aloud, in full exasperated tone, for Balint to hear:

"i found your profile brilliant and smart and usually i'm not a discount compliments seller.  Anyway i live in italy so i'm definitely out of your range with the only exception once you'll be in europe for a vacation. But maybe one of the metaphisical reason the net exists is the possibility to connect with interesting persons even farther than your hausegarden.  Hope to read about you.  please forgive my english and i'll forgive your risotto."

Man, you are in ITALY.  I'll forgive your English if you would just move to Boston.

And I felt downright mean feeling so ill-disposed towards this man who wrote last night.  But I am so not a fan of the meek and conciliatory pick-up.

Subject:  oops   "I just wanted to say hello. I like your profile pic, and your info too. I'm new to this and need to finish my profile. My mind wanders and i start browsing."

Oops?

I hadn't yet had time to roll my eyes, or even decide if I was going to. Because about 1 this afternoon, this message, same man:

Subject: dinner?  "Care to meet up for dinner or coffee? I'm bored and want to pamper myself. Dont want to go out alone, or with friends. Would love to meet some one new. Any fave restaurants?"

I had just logged to OKC to look at this suitor's profile, when he then decided to respond the edict in my profile of "You should message me if ... You have yet to convince yourself that the coolest thing ever would be to tell me ad nauseum about your genitalia."

(Y'all know my history with this.)

His take:

Subject:  Not convinced yet  "I have not yet convinced myself of the utter coolness of disclosing the intimate details of my pestle to your mortise, to your ears or eyes."

Um....

Well, at least he lives in Somerville.

I just looked at his profile.  In one of his pictures, he is dressed up next to his nephew on Halloween.  The nephew is a 3-ish-year-old firefighter with sooty face and hose; my suitor is dressed as an enormous red, yellow & purple flame, pretending to be put out.  It's adorable.

So what with the pestle and mortise line?  If I write him back I would have to both forgive his English   and restrain myself from thinking poorly of him -- over there in Somerville, trying too hard to impress me -- based on his lack of patience.

Ugh.  I just feel sad.

Fabulous patience

I had several good chats this week with Claudia. 

We usually have good chats if I've got man stories to tell her.  Claudia has heard some part of some story of every man I have ever spoken with.  And she has heard all the stories of all the men I've gone so far as to go out with.

So she knows me.

Yesterday at the birthday lunch, I was telling Claudia of a great frustration I own regarding a man I know; my frustration stems from open-ended awkwardness between us that, at least in my opinion, deserves some resolution. I am not asking him for resolution, but I am not patiently awaiting it. I want resolution but don't want to be the one to ask for it.  So I'm just stewing.

Claudia doesn't buy any of this. She says, in essence:

"Screw resolution. Sometimes you don't get it, so just get over it. 

You're not allowed to force anything, especially if he doesn't want to force it. You go live your life and be fabulous and adventuresome and don't be so damn available that you're either boring or annoying."

I wish I wasn't still frustrated. But I so much more wish to not be annoying -- annoyance being the kiss of death to an awkward situation. And the kiss of death to the situation being highly undesirable.

Claudia's advice here might be distilled into a concept, henceforth, to be known only as Fabulous Patience.  Perhaps it is worth a shot.