The First Night

Some posts I hate writing – the ones that I have to peel back the layers and get to my deep-ceded insecurities, doubts and fears.

On September 2nd, I moved out. Into a single room in a house not far from my place with Dexter. It was a bare room, with a bed, dresser, closet and small bathroom with a shower. It was austere – nothing like was I was used to. The walls were dolefully plain, the bed was lumpy, the bathroom was lacking in so many ways, and it was exactly what I needed. No distractions. Just me and my thoughts.

“I hope I learn something from this. It just feels strange and lonely. But I control the loneliness. And I won’t allow it to be a negative.

The question is…do I want to spend the rest of my life with Dexter? I need to use this time wisely…

Starvation feel good. Feels like control. It’s addictive. Like alcohol. Or Sex. I want to starve myself until I can’t feel anything.

My first night, in my new digs, and I’m proud of myself. It’s not easy. But it’s not unbearable. It feels like a journey. I hope at the end of the month I’ll have gained the clarity and perspective I’m looking for.

There was something when I met Dexter that drew me to him and that’s why I pursued like I did. In spite of his obnoxious, drunk, and cocky behavior. And his less than perfect body, with no hair on the top of his head and wrinkles that reveal a not so easy life. He’s got this amazing heart. I just feel like his heart isn’t in me.

I want him to care enough to fight for me. Maybe that’s my answer. Why do I always feel like he just tolerates me? Read the signs. He’s been giving them to you.

My first broken-heart?”

 

Timeless

timeless (adj): without beginning or end; everlasting; referring to or not affected by any particular time (enduring, lasting, abiding, permanent)

As I get older, the more I invest in that which is timeless. I focus on the fundamentals and gravitate to the classics. This includes music (that performed by an orchestra), clothing (a great fitting pair of jeans or the go-to little black dress), literature (anything written by Wharton, Whitman, Plato, Socrates and Aristotle), food (a perfectly pink filet or simple creme brulee), and movies.

Recently I watched “The Graduate” – set in the 1960s. The movie is pretty hilarious…and sobering…and titillating. I laughed out loud just as many times as I paused to empathize with the characters. At the beginning, Benjamin Braddock, played by Dustin Hoffman, who is a total deadpan stitch, is contemplating his future at his college graduation party:

Benjamin: I’m just…
Mr. Braddock: Worried?
Benjamin: Well…
Mr. Braddock: About what?
Benjamin: I guess about my future.
Mr. Braddock: What about it?
Benjamin: I don’t know… I want it to be…
Mr. Braddock: To be what?
Benjamin: [looks at his father] … Different.

What I think he fears is not being happy. Happiness is one of those nebulous concepts that is difficult to define. But then there is a scene, later in the film, that solidifies for me what happiness is about. Ben, while in bed with Mrs. Robinson, asks her what her major was in college and she wistfully responds ‘art.’ The iconic Mrs. Robinson seduces a 21-year old boy because she strayed from her passions – those things that invigorated and fueled her – and looked to a boy to fulfill them.

A material, superficial life lacks the basics – the classics. For me, these include:

• constant learning
• family
• physical movement
• art and the personal interpretation of life as beauty
• hard work
• relationships – trumping skills, experience and knowledge in any situation
• finding humor in mundane or challenging tasks or experiences
• sleep
• being proactive, versus reactive
• love, in the form of giving and helping others

When I deviate from these, I am not happy.

PS – I will always heart Jake Ryan. He is timeless. So is his red Porsche 944.

 

End of Innocence

innocence: the state, quality, or virtue of being innocent, as:

1. Freedom from sin, moral wrong, or guilt through lack of knowledge of evil.
2. Guiltlessness of a specific legal crime or offense.
3. Freedom from guile, cunning, or deceit; simplicity or artlessness.
4. Lack of worldliness or sophistication; naiveté.
5. Lack of knowledge or understanding; ignorance.

Innocence is the ignorance of human nature. Fighting human nature is exhausting. I am exhausted. My nature is to desire the forbidden – that which is not given to me, that which I do not have, that which tempts my greedy self that craves power and knowledge and pleasures of the body – the player, the coach, the grasshopper, the married man, the boss, the president. Perhaps I have finally been stripped of my innocence, I’ve seen too much, that I am willing to eschew my morals and ethics to surrender to guaranteed calamity. Maybe. Or maybe the greatest growth comes from the greatest challenges. I must resist the Scorpio.

Gemini and Scorpio…

Gemini is of all twelve signs in the zodiac, the hardest sign for Scorpio to understand. Scorpio loves a challenge though, and Gemini is very sexy to Scorpio. Ruled by Mercury, Gemini has beauty, brains and tons of sex appeal. Scorpio is a highly intuitive water sign. With Gemini though, just when Scorpio thinks they have uncovered Gemini’s last secret, her or she will uncover another surprise. Secrets withheld will drive Scorpio to a boiling point. There is potential here as long as both share a love of drama, sporadic separations and dramatic reunions. To make this one work, Scorpio should provide Gemini lots of freedom and Gemini should speak from the heart to Scorpio. Sex can be horrible or amazing. This union is best for a one-night stand. Both signs will need to make many adjustments and compromises if a long-term relationship is desired. A one-night stand could, however, lead to resentment or deception or disaster.

 

Edgerider

temptation (n):

1. something that seduces or has the quality to seduce enticement
2. the desire to have or do something that you know you should avoid; desire – the feeling that accompanies an unsatisfied state
3. the act of influencing by exciting hope or desire

Me: okay, no more distracting me. i’ve got the world to save
Temptation: I thought that’s what this conversation was about.
Me: then who is going to save me from the world?
Temptation: I hope no one, or me, whichever you prefer…

I believe certain people must walk to the edge. It is in their nature. Van Gogh was an edgeridger. He wrote the below letter on October 8, 1889, from an asylum, after the infamous incident when he chopped off part of his left ear in Saint-Remy-de-Provence:

Dear God, this is a pretty awful little part of the world, everything’s hard to do here, to disentangle its intimate character, and so that it’s not something vaguely true, but the true soil of Provence. So to achieve that, you have to toil hard. And so it naturally becomes a little abstract. Because it will be a question of giving strength and brilliance to the sun and the blue sky, and to the scorched and often so melancholy fields their delicate scent of thyme.

Van Gogh painted Starry Night in 1889.Don’t you have to be a little crazy to walk to the edge? Is this where life’s great beauty hides?

 

Blind

Recently I had dinner with my family – we had finished the main course and cleared the table and were all sitting down for coffee and dessert. I had just come into the dining room with my cup of coffee in hand, about to sit down and relax and enjoy an end to our meal, when my father, seated down at the opposite end of the table, asked, in his sweetest fatherly voice, “Angel Pie, can you get me a cup of coffee?“

I smiled tightly, mildly annoyed (he could have asked before I went and got some), and answered in mocking geniality, “Anything for you, Dad.”

When I returned with his cup of coffee, I sat it down in front of him, but not without making a honey-veiled quip: “You just hate being catered to…“

He thanked me but when I took my seat, he replied, “Yes, and some people forget when their fathers drive an hour down on a Saturday to move their daughter’s bedroom mirror an inch higher, and then ten minutes later drive an hour home because their daughter is too hungover to go to lunch.“

Hmmm, yes, as a matter of fact, I forgot about that.

How many times do I self-righteously criticize and antagonize others for the very things I am guilty of? Ego is seeing our faults in everyone else and not ourself.

 

Cheating

cheat (verb):

1. To deceive by trickery; swindle
2. To deprive by trickery; defraud
3. To mislead; fool
4. To elude; escape

Once I decided to move out, that it was the only way for me to get “unstuck” – I realized why it was necessary. For all the reasons I didn’t want to: the comfort, the security, the total lack of responsibility. These are not reasons to stay in a relationship.

The truth is Dexter took care of me in every possible way. And I liked this. At least, I thought I did.

Dexter was a provider, and I had been provided for my entire life. The house and everything it included was taken care of. I didn’t do the laundry. Dexter did the laundry. I didn’t clean. We had a service. I didn’t pay a single bill – not my gym membership, my cell phone, my car insurance. When we traveled, I didn’t even hold my driver’s license. I didn’t do my taxes. Dexter managed my finances. It was a natural progression. Piece by piece, my life was outsourced to Dexter.

I think part of my problem was I was raised to believe I needed to be taken care of. But I can’t blame my parents for my lack of responsibility. I cheated. I saw someone willing to take care of me, to provide for me, and I let him. Cheating comes in all shapes and sizes. In this case, I didn’t want to take responsibility for my life. Even though I was capable of doing so. It’s kind of nice being a kid that way – letting someone else do the work and be responsible.

The irony of it all was the very reason I fell in love with Dexter, why I respected him so much, was he got to where he was in life on his own merit. He earned it. Nothing was given to him, and I think for this reason, he had a great appreciation for everything he had. Except for maybe me.

 

Ownership

owner: one who owns; a rightful proprietor; one who has the legal or rightful title, whether he is the possessor or not (master, possessor, proprietor)

Three men have “owned” me. My father: parents own their children. As children, we are their property, their responsibility.

The other two men were Dexter and my boyfriend before him, Alexander. A man doesn’t own a woman until he owns her vagina. And in order to own her vagina, he must own her clitoris.

If an orgasm is the greatest natural somasensory pleasure a human can experience, it’s only fitting that the person who can provide you that pleasure can wield the greatest power over you. Potentially.

If a man cannot own my clitoris, I will never be truly his. I am too much of a sexual being to not have this need met. Dexter and Alexander both owned my clitoris. Both of them were able to go down on me and make me orgasm to the tune of 3-5 a session. Both of them were able to elicit 40 orgasms in one round of oral sex (after 40, I have always been too dizzy to continue counting and I don’t necessarily think it’s a good thing to have blood detracted from the brain this long).

Most men I’ve slept with go down, or try to go down, on me. But I always bring them up. They may or may not assume I’m uncomfortable with oral sex – which is not the case. Partially I’m phobic about STDs, so unless I’ve verified he’s clean and we’ve discussed his sexual past, I pretty much relegate sex to prophylactic intercourse. But the truth is, until I’ve invested in a relationship with a man, he doesn’t get full access – he doesn’t get the map and he doesn’t get the keys. I taught Dexter and Alexander everything they needed to know to own me. I was their teacher; they were both eager and attentive students – who then became the masters.

A man can own me, but in order to own me, he most own my vagina. In order to own my vagina, he must own my clitoris. And in order to own my clitoris, he must have my heart.

I believe that my best sex will be with my greatest love.




 

Firestarter

Dear [Tracy] – Just writing this because I feel like Thursday night/Friday morning made me realize how important our friendship is to me. I was really upset on Thursday, and the stupid boy never crossed my mind once. I was just really upset that I had thought we were such good friends and then you treated me the way you did on Thursday. The reason I was so crushed is because I had total faith in our friendship, and in you, and then I felt that it had been taken away. More than anything I felt really alone because you really are my best friend in DC. That is why, too, that Friday morning meant so much to me. When you came in and apologized first thing Friday morning, I couldn’t even be mad at you anymore. Believe me that is an accomplishment because I am really good at holding a grudge. I find though that I am a lot more forgiving to my true friends than I am others. Anyway, in a really sappy, long-winded way, I am just trying to tell you how much our friendship means to me, and how Friday morning I felt like you really had respect for me, like I do for you. Obviously friends fight so I am sure this won’t be our only one and hopefully they will not they will not always involve long letters. But I do hope that our friendship lasts a long time because it is definitely very valuable to me. Anyway I love you and hope all the best for you. See you in the house!

Love,
Heather

This is a letter I came across recently while sifting through my “memory box.” Several years ago, I was living in a house and one of my housemates was a girl named Heather. She had a crush on this guy she worked with (aka “the stupid boy”). I met the said stupid boy on a Wednesday night at Heather’s work happy hour. He was attractive.

Anyway, when I search back into the cavernous recesses of my mind, I am vaguely aware of that week. Something happened. Something involving a boy. Something involving my FB. My FWB. My best friend for 5 years. The boyfriend I would eventually break up with only to run into the arms of Dexter.

I was mad at him. It involved another girl.

Historically, upon suffering a blow to my precious ego, I’ve reacted by either going out, getting drunk and hooking up – or in extreme cases, destroying things like pictures or gifts. In the worst case, I got engaged. In this case, I went out the following night to the bar I knew the stupid boy would be at, got drunk, and made out with him. Unfortunately, while we were swapping spit, my housemate showed up and witnessed us mid-liplock.

Technically, he was fair game. Just because she had a crush on him didn’t mean he was hers. Men are more lenient in this regard. Women respond to this “friendship violation” much more vociferously.

My question is: out of all the guys I could have made out with, why did I specifically target the stupid boy? Because I’m a petty wench? My answer is: EGO. I hate feeling weak. I like to feel strong. Powerful. But hooking up with your friend’s crush is most definitely not exercising power.

I don’t regard myself as a malicious person. I don’t like to cause other people pain. With this incident, afterwards, I felt horrible. I hung my head down that following morning and walked into Heather’s room with my tail into between my legs and I apologized. Even when the stupid boy subsequently pursued me, sending me notes like the below, I explained why I couldn’t possibly.

Goddess-

Well, hey, happy Valentine’s Day. I mean its just so amazing to be so crazy about someone and to think of them all the time and write in my journal about you and make collages of pictures that I cut out of magazines of women I thought looked like you but that’s impossible because no one compares to you, NO ONE.
I mean, you are so beautiful to me. You are so beautiful to me, can’t you see? You’re everything I hoped for, you’re everything I need. You are so beautiful to me.

I guess what I’m trying to say is every breath you take, every move you make, every bond you break, every step you take, I’ll be watching you. Every single day, every word you say, every game you play, every night you stay, o can’t you see, you belong to me. How my poor heart breaks with every step you take, every move you make, every vow you break, every smile you fake, every claim you stake, I’ll be watching you. Since you’ve gone I’ve been lost without a trace,I dream at night I can only see your face. I look around but it’s you I can’t replace. I feel so cold and I long for your embrace.

I hope that puts into words how I feel about you or at least makes you laugh at what a complete ass I am

Hal’s best friend

P.S. I think we should look for Hal again some time. If he’s not there I guess that would be okay.

Did Heather ever find out that he pursued me? Of course not. Are we still friends today? Nope. Did Heather and the stupid boy ever get together? Yep, they got married. Does this make me virtuous? Not really.

I am a firestarter. When I get hurt, when I get angry, somebody else always seems to suffer. But ultimately I’m the one who suffers, because I don’t like to hurt other people.

Saying you’re sorry is the easy part. Changing the trait that caused the reaction in the first place is the tough part. Which is why I’ve made it my personal mission to kill my ego.

To conquer selfish desires is true power.

 

Pictures

 

The Way to Lost and Found

path:
1. A trodden track or way
2. A road, way, or track made for a particular purpose
3. The route or course along which something travels or moves
4. A course of action or conduct

Now while I posed the idea of moving out, it took me several weeks to find a place and do so. And during those weeks, Dexter and I tried to continue having a relationship. We slept in the same bed, we made love. We had dinner and went for runs together. We even started looking at bigger houses, as if our current residence was that which was constricting me.

And one morning, I arose with this overwhelming sense of panic. Pop-not-one-but-two valiums anxiety. The routine and expectation of my life with Dexter was all but strangling me.

I could hear my mother’s voice: You can’t be a little girl forever. I asked myself if she was right: Do I refuse to grow up?

But who doesn’t want to live their life free from constraints and open to a world of possibilities? Rationality told me Dexter was a wonderful man and yet I felt no certainty. Rationality was failing me.

I kept thinking: Dexter feels like home. How do you decide to leave home? I felt lost. I told one of my best friends that it was at this moment in my life that I wished I had religion to draw upon, because the question I was grappling with was not whether or not I should stay with Dexter or whether or not I believed in marriage. It was much more ubiquitous than that.

And that’s when I found the way. Literally The Way.