And good luck with that girl who was born in the 90’s.
November 10, 2009
When I look at it all a certain way I get pissed off, wondering how you chose to spend such a huge amount of your significant time with someone so vapid. Someone so obviously desperate to please you, to bend over into herself and present a farce so you might be pleased. I imagine her waiting up late for you to come home, her getting to know your friends, your habits, your cats, your family… I wonder how you could be so oblivious, yourself, with your Reiki and your Buddhist retreats and your Hermann Hesse books.
And then I think, well, if he can be so oblivious, so idiotic, then obviously he’s not the man for me! And then I remember to be nice to myself too, and I think — if he can’t give me the time of day, what am I here for anyway? I deserve to be desired, no? If I want it I deserve it. I remember to love myself only after the fact, but today is not a sad day and I am not going to dwell on bad habits…
And then I decide — I will cut the cord! I will release the ghosts and you can do whatever you want, and I wont have to pay attention. I will love someone better. I don’t have to have some decade long on again/off again connection, some sporadic attraction that fits into your schedule at your convenience. Go ahead, approach 40 alone with a million ladies in waiting, and date 20-year-olds in the mean-time. I know what I want, so good luck to you. Sincerely.
And then I see you again and all of my resolve melts away. And you hug me a million times, and look at me that way, and interlace your fingers with mine, and have that rapport with me that is so easy, that knowing, that understanding… After a bit I remember to love myself again though, and I guess that is the lesson here. I get it. Thanks for the help.
December 11, 2009 at 11:06 pm
As an artist, as a man in his 30s, still reading Hesse and engaging the cats in rambling conversations about Joyce, I have been this type of douche bag. There is nothing lonelier than the feeling of being in a relationship with someone so “obviously desperate to please you”. What starts off boosting the ego quickly subsides with the realization of one’s own cowardice and the notion that you can never know what the other person really feels, or worse, the knowledge that there really is nothing there. I sometimes feel bad for the beautiful woman at the bar, besieged by trogs who are willing to walk over the hot coals to fuck her, but are not capable of hearing her. She seems surprised when I tell her my understanding of the themes of her play and that I consider myself a feminist. Still, somewhere outside of her limbic system, in the back of her brain, she wonders if I am just a different stripe of trog and maybe she enjoys the shallow attention in spite of her obvious intelligence. I walk away from her when the young man born in the 90’s leans in and kisses her. To all the budding R. Kelly folk out there, leave the kids alone and stop hanging around the Burger King parking lot! Don’t be a child. Be immortal. Fuck, this is a really long comment.
December 14, 2009 at 3:32 am
A very long and awesome comment. Thank you for the insight…