Preface/Postscript to Love & Other Madness

You may have noticed that I no longer use this blog as my sounding board. 

It began as a place for me to sound off about the weirdness in my life.

My marriage  was failing, and my step-daughter Maya  had just undergone treatment for a brain tumor. I felt that I still loved my wife Linda, but she had become almost impossible to live with since her daughter had been diagnosed with the tumor. I say this now, but at the time, I simply couldn’t understand her coldness to me. She was depressed, of course, about Maya’s illness, and feared she was going to die. Even after Maya was operated on, experienced the hell of chemotherapy, and then had been through radiation treatments, Linda continued to be depressed and refused counseling. She believed that Maya would die. She drove me and Maya crazy with her obsession with that, despite the fact that Maya had survived and was found to be free of cancer. Her cancer had been an extremely rare brain tumor, one that had not spread to other parts of her body, and Maya’s blood and spinal fluid were free of any cancer cells. In short, there was every reason for optimism, but Linda would not let her fear go.

I learned, through the experience, that I loved Maya fiercely. I had lived with her about 13 years as she grew from girl  to woman,  and I had been shocked and scared as well that we would lose her. It was this possibility that Maya would die that hit me over the head with the fact that I loved her dearly. I hadn’t thought about it before. It was new to me that, (1.) I loved someone else besides my wife, and (2.) it was an unconditional love for another human being, and (3. ) she might die, and (4.) I didn’t want her to die. After she began treatment, I relaxed.  It looked as though she would survive. I felt something new: joy, joy that she would survive. I had been so depressed at the prospect that Maya could die, that the idea that she would not die came as the purest feeling of happiness I’d ever experienced. Up until that epiphany, I had never known such a feeling existed in reality.

In fact, I had been unhappy. Life with Linda had become difficult. Her negativity, her constant put downs, and her coldness were not new. She had been that way all along, and I simply didn’t care. I loved her, so I made excuses for her abusive behavior and her lack of human warmth and kindness to me. I was making do. During sex with her I felt closest to her, but sex was not something she cared much for. It was as though she allowed me to have sex as her duty as a wife. It was not something important to her. I had known passion with other women in the past. I loved Linda passionately, I felt, but she did not, could not, respond in kind. Such is life. I became accustomed to that, but I felt trapped. I wanted more from life. I was willing to accept that Linda gave me all she could, and my love for her was enough. Sometimes I felt that I deserved no better than that.

However, one day, when Linda roughly pushed me away when I touched her, I made a decision, a decision based on years of being pushed away, without explanation or gentleness. I was no longer going to stay committed to monogamy. This was the one relationship I’d had where I had actually felt monogamous. I hadn’t wanted other women. Other women were pretty, but not sexually attractive to me. My life before this marriage had been one in which I was always seeing or meeting women I felt physically attracted to. Being in love with Linda, I found her to be the only woman I wanted to be with. Now, I was tired of longing for her and being rejected over and over. I could have tolerated little or no sex if she had been respectful of me, of my opinions, my feelings, my hobbies. She was not. If she had given me any comfort at all during Maya’s illness, I’d have been happy. If she would have touched me sometimes, with a caress, or hug, or a warm kiss, I’d have stayed happy. But, there was none of that. I’d begun to feel as though I existed in her life only to provide entertainment, and pay the bills.

Having made this decision that I was open to other women, I began to notice the women at work, and notice that I could be attracted to other women than Linda. I spoke with a woman who worked in the department office, and found her appealing. Her accent and manner reminded me a bit of my brother Pat’s Texas wife, who he is now divorced from. She was very pretty. I lightly flirted with her, but she didn’t appear to be interested, although she was single and quite friendly. One day, at an office Xmas party, I was introduced to a young woman who also worked part-time in the department: Karen.

Karen and I hit it off right away, discovering that we have an unusual but strong affection for a science fiction TV show,  Babylon 5. Trekkies didn’t seem to like it much, and although we had both been interested in Star Trek at one time, we had both been much more fascinated with the Babylon 5 universe created by J. Michael Straczynski. Karen pointed out articles and blogs by Straczynski, which showed that his politics and beliefs heavily influenced the show, and that those politics and beliefs were the same ones held by Karen and myself. This was beyond belief to me at first. I’d had never met anyone like her.

Over time we discovered a mutual admiration for certain science fiction authors, of the characterization in Marvel Comics, of Japanese Anime, and a love of peace, and justice. I came to believe Karen was like a soul mate to me, trite as that phrase is now. I fell in love with her. I desired her intensely. I lusted for her. She is quite sexy. Two major problems: (1.) I was married, and (2.) I was much older than her. At first, I was not that interested in Karen except as a friend; she was just too young. Over time, I decided, self indulgently, that I didn’t care about her age. She was in her middle 20′s and quite old enough for me after all. I found that, although I felt I still loved my wife, I wanted Karen. I loved her too. Initially I wanted both women; something very selfish, and very impossible. Karen made it clear she wasn’t like that. She would never be a married man’s lover. (In theory, since we rarely talked about anything personal). In fact she did not want to know anything about my wife, or hear me speak of her at all. I wondered about that; in my delirium, I thought it meant she was jealous of my married life, perhaps of my wife. I hoped it meant she cared for me. However, she never wanted to meet except  for lunch. Lunches with Karen became very exciting for me.

If you’ve read the entries in this blog, you know that things got worse and worse for me. Linda and I divorced. I briefly hoped that an obstacle to at least dating Karen was gone, but no, Karen told me that even going to a movie together (Silver Surfer) that we had both planned to see was like a date, and a date was inappropriate. After that, our relationship (we had been eating lunch together every Friday for about four years) deteriorated. She was more and more often busy, and just didn’t have time for me as often anymore. Our lunches became rare and awkward, and pretty much stopped. Between Karen and my divorce from Linda, I was often sad, and becoming more depressed by the day. My job no longer gave me any satisfaction, and I wanted out. The divorce had resulted in my loss of the house I had jointly owned, and all the money and time I had put into it. I had previously sold my own house, paying off debts Linda and I had accumulated, so I didn’t think I could retire, as I had no money left to buy another house of my own. I had been close to paying off the house Linda and I owned, but she got the house and I got to keep my pension. After two years, and giving it a lot of  thought, I said: “Fuck it,” and I retired anyway.

I didn’t see my ex-wife again for four years, and I never saw Karen again. I came to understand that Karen may well have been a substitute Linda, for one thing, in that I hoped to have my feelings for Linda reciprocated from Karen. I may have simply transferred my feelings for Linda over to Karen. But, there is an odder possibility that I spent much thought upon. Since Karen was just slightly older than my step-daughter Maya, and initially there was the possibility that Maya could die, perhaps I unconsciously began to substitute Karen for Maya? What that said about my feelings for Maya troubled me, but I came to believe that I wanted Karen more than anyone in the world, that I would die for her, that I would do anything for her, and she was all I ever wanted in the world anymore. It was, I believe, a psychological illness. I was loony tunes, out of my head (well, trapped in my head to be accurate). I no longer had any anchor to reality. Impossible things seemed possible, and the possible seemed false and unreal. I spiraled into a deep depression, and I really did want to die. There just didn’t seem to be any reason to live any more.

It took some time, some brief counseling, and a bit of antidepressant, but I lost all interest in Karen; I can no longer believe I was ever interested in her. It shocks me to think I thought I loved her. I loved my ex-wife Linda, and still do. I love my step-daughter Maya. Nothing else ever mattered; nothing else matters now. I have tried dating, but without success. A woman I used to hike with was very nice to me, but the relationship never went anywhere, and appears to have died out. I was initially extremely lonely and often horny, but all that seems to have faded away now.  I do not find most women attractive. Recently I found myself interested in another young woman, a model I took photographs of,  but that was brief, stupid and doomed to failure, for the same reasons my relationship with Karen was never going to go anywhere.

I once wrote, in the short story, The Boy Who Rode His Bicycle Into Manhood, that I spent the rest of my life simply walking the ditches around my neighborhood, reflecting on my life, and never interacting in any meaningful way with another human being ever again. It seems that pessimistic and depressing ending of my story is actually coming true! That is my life now, although it is not as depressing as I thought then. It just is.

What prompted this sudden return to this blog? I went to a salsa concert the other night. I was enjoying the music, and watching the dancers, and then Linda walked in. A friend of hers recently moved here and they share our old house, so they came together. I think they both saw me, but neither acknowledged it. They looked in my direction when I was the only one in that direction (up on the balcony above their heads).  I was shocked to see Linda, and that she looked really good to me. I considered going over to where the two sat down, and asking Linda, or her friend, who I had been friendly with, to dance. But then I saw Linda dancing with someone, and having a great time. It reminded me of how much we loved salsa dancing and how often we went: usually once a week, but sometimes twice a week, and for most of the 14 years that we had been together. It wasn’t unusual for Linda to dance with other men at the club we went to. Most were friends she had danced with before meeting me, and other times she just liked to dance with the experts. That’s the way things are in these salsa clubs and dances. Even if people come with a date, everyone dances with everyone else. A man usually asks a woman’s date or husband for permission first, and after a few times it is understood without asking.

So, I was not jealous seeing Linda dance with another man the other night. It was a feeling of sadness, terrible sadness, that I was no longer part of her life, that I could never dance with her again. My feelings so overwhelmed me that I stayed rooted to one spot for an hour. Then, I considered jumping off the balcony. Obviously I didn’t. I never asked anyone to dance, never went over to Linda and her friend to say hello. I just listened to the music, watched the other dancers, and drank three beers. I am not part of Linda’s life and can never be again. We could not live together anymore anyway, but my desire for her is no less, after four long years of sobriety, soliloquy, and solitariness. Oh, well. That is most certainly the way can life can turn out. I had a good run. I stay busy these days, hiking in the mountains, reading, watching old movies, and helping make wine at a local winery. All of it distracts me from my sadness for brief amounts of time, so I’m optimistic that I will actually find happiness in just living again. I used to want passion in my life; now, I would just like a reason to live. Love & Other Madness was a small slice of my life, a time when I slipped the bounds of reality and dared to dream of greater happiness and passion. In so doing, I lost everything I cared about. I make the motions now, do things, talk with people, get some exercise. It’s real.

A New Dream, of Math!

Extraordinary!  I woke up at 4:30 am after dreaming.  That in itself is not unusual.  For years I have been doing that, waking up at odd times of the night, sometimes from nightmares, other times from dreams of longing, or sexual excitement, or violence, and often, fear.   It’s hard to get back to sleep after that, even if I need more than 4 or 5 hours sleep.  Today was unusual in that there was none of that.  I had a teaching dream.  I dreamt I was a substitute teacher or guest lecturer at a grade school.  I was there with the teacher, whose other appointment had been canceled, so she was there.  We were trying to come up something for me to do.  I asked about lesson plans and where the kids were in their studies, when all of a sudden I decided to lecture about the number/concept of one.  I found a green chalkboard on the side of the classroom, and the teacher had the kids rearrange their desks to face me.

I talked about one, and how, of course, one times something is still one something, how division is just a question of finding out how many of some thing are part of something else.  I used the traditional example of one, starting with how many of those ones are there in, for example 25.  There are twenty-five.  Twenty five times one is twenty-five.  But, that is not the whole story. The things under analysis don’t have to be the same.  I could have 25 apples and 4 oranges.  The question, represented by mathematical symbols, could be how many apples are there in 25 apples and 4 oranges.  Well, there are still 25 apples.  There could also have been 21 apples and four oranges; 25 pieces of fruit.  The question itself has to be defined, and it is, just using symbols.  That, of course, led to questions from the students, and more discussion.  I spoke of how numbers were originally used to represent philosophical concepts,  how useful the number one was to represent the concept of a thing, and other symbols were invented to represent other things under discussion, and how that enabled counting, and the representation of sums, and how zero had to be invented to represent the concept of no thing, or nothing.

I talked of using mathematics to run a warehouse.  I gave many examples of ways to understand inventory.  I came up with an example of a warehouse that sells two things.   One day, the owner had everything in the place counted, but she was only given two numbers: 634 boxes, of which there were 389 boxes of, say, can openers.  However, she needed to know how many knife sharpeners she had in stock but everyone had gone home for the day already.  So, it’s simple, the students said, you just subtract.  Certainly, and many of you can do this in your head, or we can put this on paper, or on the board here: 634, less 389 is 245.  634 minus 389 equals 245.  634-389=245.   So there were 245 boxes of knife sharpeners.  However, she needed to know how many knife sharpeners  she had, not how many boxes of them.  Fortunately, she knew that each box of sharpeners contained 24 of them.  Then we were back to mathematics, and multiplication.  245 boxes of sharpeners, 24 to a box, so  245 boxes of 24 sharpeners is 5880 sharpeners.   245 times 24 is 5880.  245 X 24 = 5880.  “Classic representations of  problems, but using symbols,” I said to the students, “that you all know by now.”  Simple.  But, it could also be represented other ways, using other symbols, for more complex calculations.  Boxes could be B.  Can openers could be C.  Knife sharpeners could be represented by S.  389 plus 245 is 634.  C + S = B.   This led to more questions, and I went on the show them how this little statement could be even more representative of the actual inventory.  It could also be written as say, 15C + 24S = T, or total number of items on hand.   So, knowing, at any given moment, how many of each item is available depends on knowing the values of those letter symbols, in this case boxes of each.

I went on to explain how this use of symbols can more useful.  I used the same example, but the warehouse had three types of things: can openers, knife sharpeners, and knives.   So, we had, on the chalkboard, C + S + K = B.   “OK,” I asked, “what if the owner had a similar problem, but had different types of things to be determined.  For example, she knew that she had  389 boxes of can openers, 245 boxes of sharpeners, and she did not know how many total boxes she had of everything, but she needed to know how many knives she had in stock.   So, using our symbols, C is 389, S is 245, but K is unknown and B is unknown.  I asked the students how to solve this problem.  They said, just count all the boxes.  “But,” I said, “it’s too late to do that, and everyone has gone home.  She needs to know, right now, how many knives she has.  “She has to work all night, by herself, ” a student offered. Yes, I said, that’s one way, but there are other ways, and it doesn’t solve the problem of telling the manager on the phone, right now,  how many knives they can ship tomorrow to the various stores the company has.  He has to know, so he knows how many each store gets, and they each want to know today how many to expect.  “Can’t be done, ” a student called out.

“But,” I said, “what if she has other information?”  For example, what if she knows that for every set of six knives sold, she includes one sharpener.  “Could it be done then?” I asked.  This riled the students up.  Many of them had suggestions, and some said we needed more information. The discussion was lively.  The students were engaged in the problem, and things were beginning to click in some heads.  Math was no longer esoteric and boring.  This is, as I said, a teachers dream.  I had opened a discussion, gotten students involved, and pushed them to think.  That is what motivates any good teacher.  It is what drives some to become teachers in the first place.

Well, this is all very interesting, you say, but, what the hell has it to do with you?  You’re not a teacher.  What has this to do with Love, and Madness?  This blog is about those things, not teachers, not math, not symbols, or the philosophy and use of symbols.

True.  But, this is the extraordinary thing.  I never dream about such things.  I have been caught in a loop of unrequited love, an emotional roller coaster of ups and downs and confusion.  My dreams were about her, about the possibilities of life with her, and the impossibility of that ever happening.  There was no solution.  My marriage broke up, but there was no solution to that, and even that was no solution to my problem.  In fact, I was far worse off.  My dreams became worse, my sleeplessness increased, my brain spun out of control, and I couldn’t focus, couldn’t think about anything else.  I retired.  Work was nearly impossible.  On my own, I got worse and worse. Depressed. Dysfunctional. Remote. Alone.

Two days ago, I resolved the problem caused by my obsession with Karen.  She helped.  She told me to lose her address.  Finally, a clear message from her.  I liked it.  It was what I had wanted all along.  In fact, I hadn’t been able to resolve my feelings, my emotions, or lack of them.  I was stalled out.  I no longer felt anything at all, but I didn’t seem to be moving on either.  Karen’s message to me hit home.  I had carefully avoided being angry with her for any of this.  She had done nothing wrong, had always been straight with me and could not be blamed.  However, the typical scenario for getting over a lost love, failed marriage, or even death usually involves several steps, of which anger is one.  I was angry with Karen now, even though I brought that on myself.  For a brief moment, I hated her.  I wrote it down.  I said, in this blog, “Fuck you Karen.”   Never before had I thought such a  thing or wanted to direct any anger or negativity towards her.   I was wrong, very wrong.  That was precisely what I should have done long ago.  What a relief!  Fuck you Karen, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.  CLICK HERE It was a mantra for me.  It worked.  For another brief moment, I wanted to die.  Seriously, my depression came back full force, and I really, really wanted to kill myself.  But, it passed.  My head cleared.  Logic does not apply to emotions.  I would never have solved these equations:  Me plus Karen equals happiness, and Me plus Karen is impossible, and Me minus Karen is death, or zero, anyway, nothing.  Does not compute.

So, I don’t think the dream meant I wanted to be a teacher.  The reality is usually far different from that anyway.  I could try being a substitute, bring in a little cash. Hell, the damn retirement board just decided, upon careful analysis of my pension, that they had made a mistake, and I was being given $7.80 more a month than I was entitled to.  They sent me a letter, stating that, and the fact that, since I have gotten $7.80 a month too much for ten months, I now owed them $78.00!  And the motherfuckers have already deducted the entire amount from my next disbursement.  Well, fuck  ‘em.  I’ll survive.  My budget was tight enough.  Actually, in their complicated math, I will get not just $78 less, but $84.25 less this month.  I don’t know how THAT works, since, if I was getting $7.80 too much, then the ten months of that is $78.00, and $7.80 less for the current month would mean I should get $85.80 less.

So, really, I may have to get that part-time job I’ve been dreading.  Hmm. Substitute teacher? Always in demand. Flexible hours.

Well, at least, my head is clear now. Maybe I can be more creative. Maybe I can get on with my life now.  

Message FROM Karen

Well, hey, I finally got a reaction from Karen.  I had asked her to just email one word, like “No” and she’d never hear from me again.  She didn’t respond, hasn’t responded to anything I’ve written her, which is response enough, but being the hard-headed type, I wanted to hear it from her that she really wanted nothing to do with me anymore.  We had been friends for years at work, eating lunch once a week together. At first, it was a simple friendship, despite a big gap in our ages.  We talked about anime, and Sci Fi, and writers we liked, and the world of animation, comics and manga.  We traded books and videos.  It was great.  I was, unfortunately, married when I met her.  Before long, however, I was in love with her.  We stayed friends, even after I was divorced.  She considered the idea of the two of us meeting outside of work to have dinner, or seeing a movie together, as dating, and dating was, in her word: inappropriate.

Still, up until I left that job, we still ate lunch together, but the weekly ritual had lessened to an average of every other week, sometimes less, sometimes more, depending on her work schedule.  That was fine.  I missed the regularity of our lunches, but I was still in love, albeit unrequited, a strange state of being, an alternate reality where there was a slight chance we might connect some day, even though I knew how unlikely it was.  The psychology people call it limerence.  I was crazy, basically.  I felt I got over it, and let Karen know what my feelings had been all along, how I’d gotten over it, and how I wanted to resume our normal lunches.  By this time she seemed to be avoiding me.  After that, she was avoiding me, even to the extent of spinning on her heels and going the other way.  Well, I left that job anyway, so I didn’t see her again.

I didn’t, however, stop thinking about her.  Recently I watched a fascinating movie, Mary & Max, about an older man in New York with severe Asperger’s Syndrome who ends up as a pen pal to a little girl in Australia.  Despite the difference in ages, they strike up a real friendship, and write regularly.  It is a great comfort to both, because neither have any other friends.  Well, I bought a copy and had it sent to Karen.  I wanted her to watch it.  Unfortunately, after I did that, I noticed that, although the movie was in English, it was only formatted to play in Australia.  I quickly sent Karen an email, saying I’d made a mistake, but maybe she could still view it in her computer’s DVD drive.   Not getting a reply, I found another copy online, and had it shipped to her.  This time I made sure it was the correct region for US DVD players.  No word from her.  After a period of time, I was going to write to her, ask if we could be friends again, just like Mary and Max, writing each other, and sharing events in our lives, what we were reading, watching and doing. Her 30th birthday is approaching, and I was going to wish her a Happy Birthday also.  Hell, I thought, maybe she wouldn’t think I was a pervert anymore. Yeah, she’s way younger than me, but it wouldn’t be that perverse of me to be interested in a sexy 30-year-old woman.  I mean, she is an adult, right?

Today, wonder of wonders, I got a package from Karen.  I knew what it was before I opened it: the two DVDs.  Sure enough, they were both in there, and neither had been opened at all.  She hadn’t even thought enough of me, or is so disgusted with me, that she didn’t even try to watch the movie.  And, a note fell out with the movies:

Well, that was plain enough, even for someone like me.  I just had to have it spelled out clearly, without any possibility of misinterpretation.  Thanks Karen. Message for Karen.

Thujone Dream

Dreamt this morning that I was in a room with two women.  We were all sitting on hard-backed chairs.  We were waiting for something. We also had to sleep. One woman nodded off, while I was talking to the other.  The two of us were flirting.  All three of us were sitting very close, so I grabbed the sleeping woman to keep her from slumping off the chair, while I continued my conversation with the other woman.  We couldn’t leave our chairs.  I got sleepy myself.  My arms were around the sleeping woman anyway, so I leaned my head on her shoulder, and dozed off.  Oddly, I had a similar dream several nights ago, in which I was in a crowded movie theater, sitting next to two women. In that case, I couldn’t see all of the movie screen, so I was leaning over close to one of the women in order to see more of the screen.  It was uncomfortable, so I rested my head on her shoulder; she didn’t mind.

In this morning’s dream, however, I didn’t just doze off.  I woke up to find the woman I’d been flirting with naked, on her hands and knees next to me in bed.  I felt the smooth contours of her body and was aroused.  (As if the sight of her naked wouldn’t have been enough!)  I clasped my entire hand over her vulva, slipping  a finger, then two, into her.  She opened like a flower and I suddenly realized that I had my clothes on: heavy jeans and a t-shirt.  I had to get those jeans off.  They were tight, and I had to really work to get them off.  Fortunately, my erection hung in there.  I mounted the woman then, not bothering with foreplay.  I left my shirt on.  My underwear hung off one leg.  I plunged deeply into her, as her vagina was now very wet.  It felt wonderful, better than the fabled bliss of nirvana.  I moved slowly, enjoying the sensation, reveling gloriously.  Of course, then I woke up, no surprise, with an erection.

Maybe I should have a shot of absinthe before bed every night.

NO MORE ILLUSIONS PLEASE

Love is many things
or nothing

Love stinks
Love sucks
Unrequited love
is worst of all

I get confused

If I’m sexually attracted
I fall in love
greedily, needily
If I like someone
I love the company
If I am lonely
I love desperately

There are so many ways
to love
so many ways for love
to end

Which is real
which illusion?
Is love real
or just a myth?

We pretend we know
it feels like it’s so
How can it be real
if it ends?

If it ends
Did it
ever
really exist?

Perhaps
perhaps all I
really want
is
a lover sometimes
a friend sometimes
a companion
sometimes

and that’s all?

Perhaps
perhaps
perhaps

Perhaps I
don’t need
love
at all.

I Am Majnun

Ah! To love another who does not love you: that is torture and torment and the stuff of legend and song and poetry.

But, what if two love each other and can not be together? Romeo and Juliet? you say. No, I reply, for they had a brief moment together: they loved and kissed and laughed together.  Shirin and Khosrow*, the Persian lovers? you ask me.  No, I say again, because, after all their sorrows, they were united at last, and had a few happy years before their tragic end.

I speak of Layla and Majnun. There was a man, who, unable to be with the one he loved, fled to the desert.  Nizami, the great, perhaps greatest of all Persian writers and poets, wrote a more than 9000 line poem ( around 4,650 distichs) based on the historical Majnun, and completed it in either 1188 or 1192.  Although their love was unconsummated, they loved each other from childhood to death, and perhaps beyond.

Qays was, long ago, the son of the wealthy and powerful chieftain of the tribe of the Banu Amir in the desert of Arabia, Nizami writes.  Qays was handsome, well-loved, and had a keen mind. He excelled in schoolwork, public speaking, and music.  One day, the daughter of another mighty chieftain was brought to the same school as Qays.  She was as beautiful as Qays was handsome.  Because of her dark eyes and raven-black hair, she was called Layla (Night).

Qays was lovestruck.  He could no longer read or write, but whispered Layla all day long and for many days after.  Layla loved Qays in return.  They simply gazed at each other.  Nizami writes that words were not necessary, because their souls were so perfectly attuned.  All day they gazed at each other, and all night they dreamt of each other.  They hurried to school each morning to see each other.  Qays, however, really lost it.  Instead of reciting his lessons, he would shout “Layla! Layla!”  He would then run through the streets, calling her name, praising her black eyes and raven hair.  That, Nizami writes, is how he became known as Majnun: “possessed by a jinn or genie; a madman.”

How well do I know of that possession!

In Nizami’s story, Majnun and Layla’s love was not to be.  Layla’s father, embarrassed by Majnun’s crazy ways, took her home and locked her away from this great insult to his daughter and tribe.  Majnun, who could not bear her absence, wandered among the stalls of the bazaars, murmuring her name and sobbing.  His ravings became poems, and he composed love songs of exquisite beauty.  He saw her once more in the doorway of her tent prison, and they gazed at each other in the moonlight.  Then, he fled to the desert, shouting her name and singly wildly.

Now, Majnun’s father saw all this, and was greatly grieved, Nizami says, so he went to Layla’s father with precious gifts to ask for Layla’s hand for his son. Layla’s father was outraged, and fearful that every man in Arabia would laugh at him if he granted such a wish. He asked that Majnun first be cured of his madness.  When Majnun’s father returned to camp he found Majnun there, and he told him what Layla’s father had said. Majnun fled again to the desert.

Later, Majnun’s father proposed a pilgrimage to Mecca that Majnun be cured. Majnun, weak from deprivation and exposure, was carried there.  When his father asked him to pray that his madness be lifted, instead Majnun cried out as he touched the shrine: “I pray to You, let me not be cured of love, but let my passion grow!  Take what is left of my life and give it to Layla’s, yet let me never demand from her so much as a single hair!  Let me love for love’s sake, and make my love a hundred times as great as it is this day!”

Layla’s father, on hearing of this, ordered Majnun killed, so once again, Majnun went to the desert alone, where he lived, barely surviving, with bloody feet and sun-blackened skin.   It so happened, Nizami says, that a Bedouin prince named Nowfal found Majnun, pitied him, and eventually declared war on Layla’s father, defeating him to obtain Layla for Majnun.  However, even in defeat, Layla’s father pleaded with Nowfal not to give Layla to Majnun, and Nowfal was moved to agree to his request, even after having gone to war over Layla.  Hearing this, Majnun was greatly angry with his friend Nowfal, and rode out into the desert again, where he gave away his few possessions and lived simply, becoming friends with all the animals there.

Layla, meanwhile, had grown up into the most beautiful woman in all of Arabia, Nizami writes.  A great prince desired her, and reluctantly she agreed to her father’s wishes that she marry him.  However, Layla refused to consummate the marriage, as she was still in love with Majnun.

After a year, Layla and Majnun were able to exchange letters through an old kindly man.  They saw each other again in a grove not far from Layla’s home, and Majnun sang, Nizami writes, the most beautiful love poem he had ever written.  But, Majnun returned to the desert, and Layla stayed with her husband.

As it happened, Layla’s husband died soon after from a fever, and Layla mourned.  It was customary for a widow to seclude herself in her tent for two years.  Layla mourned, but she mourned for Majnun only.  After months of solitude, she became so weak that she could not rise from her bed.  Her weakness turned to fever, Nizami wrote, and, before she died, she asked that she be dressed in bridal robes for her grave, to wait for her beloved.

Majnun went to her grave when he heard of this.  He wept from the depths of his soul.  He sang his songs, staying at Layla’s grave until he weakened and died.   The animals who had been his friends stayed by him, refusing to allow anyone near him until his body crumbled into dust.  Then Majnun’s bones were buried by Layla’s side.

This story, of the world’s truest lovers, has been told over and over again through the years, and I tell it again.  I tell it because I am a madman, and I know the love of which Nizami wrote.  I was possessed.  I loved from the depths of my soul.  I lost my mind, my heart, and my soul.  I know Majnun. I could be him.

.

* (http://rtmulcahy.wordpress.com/2007/08/05/tulips-for-karen/)

Stalking

- Karen at the Espresso Cafe -

Seems I’ve become a stalker.  Initially, it was Karen who established the unbroken routine of our lunches together.  Then, she changed her mind, although I probably had something to do with it.

It’s funny that I said this was over.  It’s over for her, of course, but she stays in my head, even though I’ll never see her again, except at a distance.

April10, 2009 12:27 pm:

Sounded like you would be busy today, but do let me know when you’re free for lunch. I always enjoy your company.

April 10, 2009 12:49 pm: I will probably be busy through may

April 10 2009 3:04 pm: I’m available other days, meals, times, and places. :-)

—-(no reply)—————————.

June 19, 2009 8:14 am: Do you have time today for lunch with an old friend?

June 19, 2009  11:40 am: don’t know.  It all depends on when my boss gets out of her meeting.  We are short staffed this week.

June 19, 2009 11:48 am: OK. Let me know.  I’ll wait. :-)

June 19, 2009 12:44 pm: Don’t wait.  I could be any time from now to 1:30.

June 19, 2009 12:49 pm: I don’t mind. I’m busy here. I’ll eat later if I don’t hear from you.

—-(no reply)—————————.

June 26, 2009 11:49 am: Got time today?

—-(no reply)—————————.

That’s it! Between the job stress and the union stress, coupled with no word from Karen, no replies to my email, I decide to retire early. Fuck it all.  I can’t take anymore.

July 3, 2009  8:39 am (sent to her non-work, Hotmail account, which she may not have opened or read at all):

Hi Karen.  I sure miss those Friday lunches, something I looked forward to every week.  I always enjoyed them.  I loved the way we liked so many of the same things. Sharing videos or books was really fun.  I’ve never actually known anyone quite like you, with your preoccupations and obsessions with Babylon 5, Straczynski, and all the anime and manga stories – things I’ve enjoyed for years by myself.  I loved hearing about your Halloween preparations, or your nieces and nephew.  Loved the way you spoke of them, and enjoyed spending time with them. You have that quality of being able to relate to children, and they like you too.  I liked you immediately, and just was amazed to find out how interesting you really were, and how much I liked listening to you.  Do you know those Fridays, one hour a week, was the most time I spent with anyone else besides my ex wife? Ha ha.  I’m such a  dork.

When my marriage was crumbling, you were a bright spot in the world for me.  Of course, I should never, never have done what I did, which was fall in love with you.  The one really good thing about getting divorced was that then I thought we might be able to spend more time doing things like movies, or even, wonder of wonders, dating. Ha ha.  Sorry.  I told myself how stupid it was; beat myself up over and over for thinking and feeling that way.  I just couldn’t stop.  You became an obsessive, compulsive infatuation with me. Dreams and fantasies.  Sigh. Thought about romance, then living together, then marriage, and children.  All the while I knew it was impossible, but I couldn’t stop.  There were such highs in that fantasy, romantic and erotic, and such lows when I couldn’t be with you.  You made it clear that such thoughts were inappropriate, I know. Compliments were inappropriate; asking you out would be, in your words, “Like a date,” and of course that “inappropriate” idea must have horrified you from the way you said it.  Just as well we didn’t spend even more time together: I’d have just gotten worse, if that’s possible, so, thanks for that.
Why am I writing you ask?  Hard to say.  It took me a while to climb out of that obsession with you.  One day I looked in the mirror long and hard and realized how old I actually looked from your perspective.  I had never been bothered by growing old before, until I realized that being my age meant I couldn’t just meet someone, fall in love, and be with them if they were younger, especially way younger.  I had honestly never thought of that before I met you.  Suddenly I hated being old.
Well, going back to why I’m writing: I have gotten over the obsession. I don’t know how; it just stopped one day.  Took me years.  Ha ha.  It’s hard to believe I could have been such an idiot now.  Again, I apologize for the inappropriate remarks, attention, flowers, last year’s X-mas card with the money.  It’s finally over for me.
I still like you of course, always did, always will.   It seems you have little need for me anymore, and that’s OK.  You have a whole life to live yet.
I like living alone now.  I’ve gotten used to it.  I’m much more withdrawn now, even misanthropic, not wanting much interaction with people anymore. (how emo) I’ve resigned as President of the union. I’m leaving UNM in the fall; Halloween is my last day.  I am trying to find a reason for living.  I practice guitar, go for hikes in the mountains, play chess, read a lot.  I got some medication for depression, and combined with a little counseling, I think I might be coming out of this emo fog.

Hate to bare my soul like this; I never wanted to make you uncomfortable around me. Since we don’t work together, it’s rare to run into you, and you’re too busy, or uninterested in having lunch anymore, so I thought I might as well get this off my chest.

Again, I stress this: I am over the infatuation.  I would like to resume Friday lunches, or some other day, if that’s better for you.  I really, honestly, like you, and I won’t mention any of this ever again if you’d prefer not to talk about my insanity.
I’ve been reading lots of interesting comics and novels lately, and getting into some old movies. It’d be nice to share again. Discuss books, movies, politics. It’d be great to exchange books and movies again.
I totally understand that you would be freaked out by these admissions, so I understand if I don’t hear from you.  I don’t even know if you’ll read this.  I just felt I had to write it, and couldn’t wait until Halloween to put it in the mail as I planned.
Your friend

—-(no reply)—————————.

August 3, 2009:

I see Karen at work, while I am waiting at this cafe.  She is heading for the glass door entrance.  In the corner of my eye I happen to notice her reaching for the door handle.  I hope she will say hello when she comes in.  She never comes in.  I turn around to look for her, but there is no sign of her.  There is no place else she could have been going.  She has just avoided me.

August 5, 2009:

Karen does it again.  I have gotten coffee and am heading into my building with a coworker who was also getting coffee.  I am talking as I enter the door, and don’t notice Karen at first.  I see someone to the side, and as I turn to look, it is Karen, just finishing an about face.  She was heading for coffee at her usual time. She saw me and turned away before she might have had to acknowledge my presence.  I have no doubt now that she is purposely avoiding me.  I will never bother her again.

October 9, 2009:

Two months, but I’m suddenly thinking intensely about Karen again, although I know how crazy it is, how depressing, how horribly, terribly bad it is for me to think about her.   I forward to her an email that has been sent out to everyone I do business with announcing my retirement party.  I wait two weeks, and then -

October 23, 2009 8:07 am:

Lunch today? I know you’re busy, but next week is my last, and I’d expect you to be even more busy next week with Halloween.

—-(no reply)—————————.

October 29, 2009:

My retirement party at work.  It is a two-hour affair, from 3 pm to 5 pm.  Long enough for Karen to make even a brief appearance, even to say good-bye to an old coworker.  Although nearly everyone I’ve ever known at work shows up, and the room is crowded with well wishers, Karen does not show.  She does not even send an email. One day of work left, so, on -

October 30, 2009 12:35 pm:

My last day. One more lunch?

October 30, 2009 2:20 pm:

Was at a potluck/staff meeting today just got back, and now have to do my document run.

October 30, 2009 4:57 pm:

Been pretty busy myself.  Working late today too.  You know, you are the one person I will miss more than anyone around here.  You brightened up my last few years.  Thanks.  If you’re ever in the mood, I’ll meet you for lunch whenever you have time, or after work someday for a drink or dinner?  Well, anyway, I guess you wouldn’t want to do that.  So, Have a frightfully good Halloween, and really great Birthday, and a wonderful Xmas.  I enjoyed those lunches one hell of a lot. Enjoyed meeting and knowing you.  I really hope life treats you well. I wish you the best possible life.  I care about you a lot, and I will never forget you.

—-(no reply)—————————.

November 20, 2009 12:36 am:

Good morning. Care to meet for lunch today? Is the Med II cafeteria still open ’till 1:30 on Fridays? Anytime is good for me.

—-(no reply)—————————.

January 8, 2010:

I find new photos on the Halloween website that Karen has uploaded from October 31 and November 1, 2009.  The link takes me to Photobucket.  I download pictures of her from Halloween, made up as a Zombie at work, and photos of her at work on Dia de los Muertos in a skeleton/sugar skull costume. I click on a box that will notify me when she uploads new photos.  I have forgotten that Karen will be notified that I am “following” her on Photobucket.  I add the images to my Oct 9, 2009 post.

January 10, 2010:

I receive a message from Photobucket that Karen has uploaded new photos.  Thinking that perhaps she has uploaded them especially for me to see, I click on the link that takes me to her photos.  Even after I log myself in, I am asked for a password to view her photos.  I am blocked.  Her account is now suddenly private.  It is a clear message from Karen.  She wants nothing more to do with me.  She doesn’t even want me to look at her photos.  I remove the check from the box that asks Photobucket to notify me of new photos.  Thinking that Karen thinks of me as a stalker now, I remove her email addresses from my email address book, and I delete all photos of her from my computer.  She exists now only in these terse old emails, my memory and this blog. I will never be able to have contact with her again.  She will never reply to any email again.

January 26, 2010

I see her on a web cam, and post the pictures above of her at our workplace coffee cart, where she goes for her iced mocha cappuccino with whipped cream, where I used to go for my simple Americano.  We used to drink those together sometimes after lunch.  Now, I can only ever see her again as a low-quality image on a web cam with a 2-second delay. Why do I even care?

Dreams of the Wine

There is a story by one of my favorite authors John D. MacDonald called Wine of the Dreamers, which has more to do with mind than wine.  However, I did dream last night, and I think it was because I had two glasses of wine.  I had made dinner for my stepdaughter Maya, spaghetti with browned Italian sausage mixed into a marinara sauce  with red chile.   There was bread too, and chilled water, and a sweet wine.  I had bought the sweet wine for Maya.  The food was great, and we had a great time talking all through dinner and a desert of strawberry ice cream.  It was probably because of Maya that I dreamed about her mother, the one I call the Dragon. 

In my dream that night, I visited the dragon, and there was nice talk and a sweetness in her voice that I don’t recall ever hearing.  It seemed we were to be friends again.  Maya was with me, and we all talked.  Something happened however, and the dragon was gone.  Maya and I had to find her.  Somehow we knew she was in a different house.  There was something about a note left saying she had to leave.

Maya and I made our way to another house where the Dragon was supposed to be, and sure enough, she opened the door to us.   I looked at her and recognized her face, but something wasn’t right.  She was too tall, and her face would not remain still.  As I watched, her face took on qualities of another face.  I realized I was seeing my first wife, Irene, the nice one.  But the face was neither one of them, the face was both of them together.  I could not understand it.  I felt a wave of sexual attraction to the woman, or women.  At the same time, there was fear.  There was an ugliness about the face I looked at.  It did not stay still, would not coalesce into either Irene or the Dragon, but had elements of both, switching around, morphing, swirling.  I stared at the face, feeling fear rise in me.  I was attracted and repulsed at the same time.  I moved towards the woman/women and woke up.

I should know better than to drink anymore.

Especially wine named Plum Loco.

Bicochitos and Beer

December 28, 2009

My blog had abandonment issues.  Ha!  I have not been posting lately.  I’m not sure why.  No compulsion to write I suppose. Having retired means several things:

1.) I no longer see Karen, even accidentally.  There is no possibility of ever seeing her accidentally or otherwise.  I sent her an email before I left my job; told her it was going to be my last Friday there.   She said: “Was at a potluck/staff meeting today just got back, and now have to do my document run.” Accepting that, I decided, three weeks later, to ask if she’d like to meet for lunch anyway.  I figured that, since she used to come in just to have lunch with me, before she got the job she has now, then perhaps I could do the same, and go there just to have lunch with her.  No response at all this time.

So, I’ve finally had to give up the fantasy for good.  I don’t understand why she responded to the previous email at all, if she was going to ignore me anyway.

2.) My life is pretty boring now.  I either get up early and laze around, drinking coffee and doing nothing, or I turn over and go back to sleep, getting up late, and then having coffee, making something to eat, and checking the mail.  Sometimes I have to run to the store, or to the Post Office when someone buys something from my Half.com, eBay, or Amazon accounts.  Most weekends, I will go hike in the mountains Saturday or Sunday.  Lately I do easier hikes.  Only hiked three hours yesterday, climbed up about 1650 feet; no danger, reasonable pace, no exhaustion. Donated blood today.

3.) No works means no tension, no stress. See #2 above.  I eat when I want, sleep when I want. I read, watch movies, or play games on Facebook.  Once in a while I still pick up the guitar. My life has little meaning without a purpose.  No more union meetings.  No worrying about other people’s problems, or the union, or the University job, or the University itself.

4.) I met someone new, much closer to my age.  We’ve hiked together. We’ve eaten sushi together.  We watched movies together.  No romance. No sex. Just friends, like Karen must have always expected me to be.  She invited me to her house for Thanksgiving. I met her mother. After her mother went home, we watched TV movies until late, and then I went home.  We made a batch of beer together one week later.  When it was time to bottle it on Dec. 20, we met at the brewery, had a great time bottling, and split up our beer.  She had been planning to make some more cookies but changed her mind.  I said I wanted to make chocolate chip cookies and had all the ingredients.  We dropped off my share of the beer at my house and picked up everything I had for the cookies.  Back at her house, we had eggnog with rum, and I made the cookies while eating some of her biscochitos.   I had just received an old Hitchcock mystery, so we watched that when the cookies were done, had some more eggnog, and then watched another old movie on her cable until we were falling asleep. No indication from her that she wanted me to stay.  It was really late, but she clearly expected me to go.  Gave me some biscochitos to go, and a present!  She had a present for me.  She said to put it under my tree.  Unknown to her, I had bought her a present.  It was/is under my tree.  She asked me if I wanted to go to her friend Kathy’s house on Christmas Eve.  So, I planned to open my present then, and give her the one I’d ordered and wrapped and put under my tree.  I was beginning to have some nice fantasies about her.  Wondered if we could go to my house after we left Kathy’s, since it is only blocks from my house.  Wondered what might happen.  She has such a pleasant voice when she calls me; she seems to like me, to want to talk to me.

Stupid me. Just before I left her house the night after making beer and cookies, I tried to kiss her good-night.  She turned away, and my lips brushed her forehead.  Didn’t hear anything from her for days.  Finally called her, just to see what time we should meet and where on Christmas Eve.  She didn’t answer, so I left a message.  She returned my call next day; said she wasn’t going to her friend Kathy’s after all.  She said her mom wanted her to come by and help her cook a Christmas turkey and help her with other things.  I asked if she wanted to come by after that.  Interestingly, her mother lives just down the street from me.  This is the neighborhood she grew up in.   She said she didn’t think so, since she would have to go back to her mother’s house early in the morning to help her out some more.  She said she’d call me, let me know about getting together.

She never called.  I left her another message on Christmas day.  Wished her a Merry Christmas. Asked about getting together to open presents. No response.  Next day I left another phone message. I invited her to come by for her present; told her I didn’t want to open mine until she came by.  No response.  The weekend ended.  Today I sent her an email, asking her what’s up.  Told her I was still waiting for her to get her present before I opened mine. Apologized if my attempted kiss had offended her.  If she hadn’t taken offense, then I asked if she’d like to go dancing on New Year’s Eve.  We had previously talked about going Salsa dancing but haven’t done so yet.  No response.  Perhaps the 14-year difference is still too big of a gap for a relationship?

It’s not a tragedy, unlike Karen’s total disaffection for me – that hurt a lot, even more than my divorce.  I’m saddened, but not that much.  I do wish women could say what’s really on their minds.  I wish I knew what it was about me that made women want to break away clean, without even giving me a reason or ever wanting any further contact.  Ha! Women, it seems, are like life itself.  Things in life often happen for no reason at all.  Why should women be any different?

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

UPDATE: 12/29/09

Well, I heard something after all:

Sorry I have not been in touch (i.e. returning your phone calls).  Christmas was very hectic, trying to help my mom, etc.  In fact, I was so exhausted on xmas day that I didn’t stay out too late, I just went home.  I have just been laying low; I still feel exhausted and I have a sore throat - I feel like I’m coming down with something.  I might take a day off this week before New Year’s to rest.   I normally don’t do much for New Year’s Eve.  I just stay out of drunk drivers way.  My friend Gaby is coming out for the weekend from CO and I think we are just going to hang out at my place.   We will get together as soon as I feel better.

So, I opened the present she’d given me: 64 small chocolate bottles with various liquors, like Jack Daniels Old No. 7, Cutty Sark, Grand Marnier, Cointreau, etc.  The best looking thing is probably the Borghetti Caffe Espresso (31% alcohol).  What is so very odd, is that my old girlfriend, who introduced me to her, also gave me a Xmas present of 48 chocolate bottles in a little wooden crate: Jim Beam, Stoli’s, Remy Martin, and Grand Marnier. Very cool stuff, but now I have 112 of these things, and I don’t drink much anymore.  Perhaps my step-daughter can help me with these things.


What does death taste like?

The_Sweet_Taste_of_Death_by_JasonGoad art by jasongoad.deviantart.com

I wonder what death tastes like.  Does it taste like the blackened bits of carbon that burn forever on the sides of an iron pan?

Does death taste like brown and yellow agglutinated crap served cold?

Perhaps death tastes of the rotting, putrefying meat of dead animals slaughtered for food served steaming hot?

It is often said that the stench of burning human corpses is sickeningly sweet.  Perhaps death brings an overwhelming flavor of sweetness with it?  Burning corpses layered with fatty oils, burning, smoking greasily, filling the air the nose the lungs the tongue with a cloying odor of blackened leather?

Is death sweet? The aroma of almonds, dead and broken, cut in bloodless slices, layered with caramelized sugar; does death taste like that? Or sweeter still, like the honey of billions of dead flowers?

Or could it be, could it taste like bitter astringent pee? the pee on her labia, like a sharp spice around the honey within?

Oh. Back to her. Her, she, the one who makes me long for death.  Her of the twisted mind and tortured soul like me, the one I longed to be with for these wasted years?  What of her? She is life itself, and smiles and joy and soft flesh and music and reading and video and laughter and companionship.  And death. She is death for me. To long for her is to long for death. O, to taste her would be joy!  Joy denied. Love denied. Laughter denied. Companionship denied. The sweet look in her eyes.  The poetry of her hands moving about in space, the hands I long to touch, to caress, to feel warm in my hands….  A_Day_Without_You___2nd_Phase_by_Beloved_Creature A Day Without You by Beloved-Creature

Zombie Karen If she were a real zombie, I’d rush to her, embrace her, kiss her, and die.

But it is death!  It is death to touch her, to want the untouchable.  It is death to taste her, death to want to smell her honey, taste it on the end of my thrusting tongue probing her sweetness, stirring our flesh into spasms of delight and ever more desire, fevered heat on every part of our skin, and all is sensing and touching and smelling and tasting without thought.   Sugar Skull: Dia de los Muertos Karen

And there is la petit mort also.  That is the death I would taste.

I should ‘a’ been a poet, but “comparisons are odious”

Between 400 and 450 years ago, Christopher Marlow wrote: Marlowe Statue

THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD (like me) TO HIS LOVE

COME live with me, and be my love;
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair-lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy-buds,
With coral clasps and amber-studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The shepherd-swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.

Just as crazy as I.

Do you doubt it?

Look at the reply:

The nymph’s reply to the shepherd (like Karen’s response to me)

IF all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd’s tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.

Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complains of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields:
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall.

The gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,—
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy love.

But could youth last and love still breed,
Had joys no date nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.

And so, you can see,

I am not alone in insanity,

my lovely lady

my lust, I can never satisfy.

tm 2009, 2010

Don’t care no more. No, no.

earth-no-more-1 (from the game: Earth No More by Recoil Games and 3d Realms)

“This poor fellow’s weary and confused. Probably doesn’t know what he’s taking about.”  That’s a line they use on the radio station I listen to. They use it all the time; I have no idea if they mean it to mean something, or if it just fits into their idea of being odd, hip, and different.  Generally I do like the music they play.  But, the description does seem to apply to myself.

I’ve given up on the anti-depressant.  The doctor who prescribed it didn’t really know what to expect.  The psychologist I consulted told me to give it six months.  Five months is long enough.  I can’t see it really doing much.  My ennui persists.  Directionless, purposeless, alienated and alone.  I’ve become very settled in my new persona.  I still pick at the guitar; told the teacher I’m ready for more lessons.  I still hike in the mountains; I’ve gotten better at the long hikes, not feeling so much pain, and recovering more quickly afterwards.  But, I will still retire from work in less than two months now.

I’ve initiated the paperwork, notified all that need to know.  I still can’t stand working there any more.  I can hardly stand being there when I am working.  Once the moving everything from one building to another and getting the new lab in place was over, my spurt of energy drained away.  There was a lot to do; working with an electrician to get a dedicated line of backup power, and having the place cleaned and painted.  Looks nice now.  It was a pit before the move. Managed to convince people to move all the old crappy stuff out and store it in an empty lab space.  Surplused out anything else.  It’s a nice place to work now, almost as nice as where I was, but smaller.  Now the department chairman wants to move another lab-full of equipment and supplies in with us.  It will make it cramped and hot and unbearable to work in, if we can even get it all to fit.  Makes me really glad I”m leaving.  Can’t leave fast enough.  On top of that I’m being forced to raise prices on the services I provide because the medical school Dean wants to use the little money he’s been giving us out of the tobacco settlement fund for other things.   I charge people a good rate for our services, but with any increase, we will lose business.  I’ve cut all the expenses to the bone already, gotten the cheapest supplies I can, and still the Dean wants “his” money.  Unfortunately, the researchers there expect DNA services to be available at a reasonable rate.  When business falls off next year, and the lab runs an even bigger deficit, the lab will be closed, and people will bitch and gripe and have to go out of state for DNA research services.  It will cost even more, and will make researchers think twice about bringing any more grants into the place, but, hey, what do I know?  I’m not a great, powerful Dean.  He gets to put up new buildings and claim credit for expanding the work of the University.  The work is teaching and research, but research is going to suffer.  He could care less.  Blames everything on the economy. I’m out of there soon.  I keep trying to make them see the importance of keeping the lab around.  I put a lot into it, and it will die now.

It is so similar to the failed marriage, the work on the old house.  I put a lot into those and now I’ve nothing to show for it. Nothing to show for my life at all.  A small pension.  Might be enough to survive on, but I had so much more in mind before.  “I don’t care no more,” Phil Collins sings on the radio.  “No more, no more, no more.”  “No, no.”

nwts War No More NoMoreCuts no-more-tears

Time to move on.

racing sofa

(Edd China’s motorized sofa, powered by a Mini 1300 cc engine)

Sex, guns and Peru, Part 3

I had not heard of Machu Picchu before coming to Peru.  MacLaine If I had read Shirley MacLaine’s 1983 book, Out On a Limb, popular at the time, I would have known that she was among many others who traveled to Peru hoping for a spiritual experience in Maccu Picchu.  She even claimed to have encountered an alien presence there that was trying to persuade Earthlings of the need for spirituality.  Very popular place.  I wasn’t aware of any of that at the time, but Elsie’s sister asked me why I wasn’t going to Maccu Picchu.  Well, to begin with, even after I found out about it, I didn’t have enough money.  It turned out that train travel was severely restricted because of the fighting in Peru, and I wouldn’t be able to take the train, which I could have afforded.  So, I called my companion from the flight down there.  I told him I was ready to sell the gun.  0.38 He showed up the same day and brought me a padlock. He said to put it on the gun to prevent it from being used.  He told me he had a friend in P.I.P., the Peruvian Intelligence Police, who might buy it.   A couple days later, he was back with $200.  I gave him the gun.  Somehow, I hadn’t imagined it ending up in the hands of some Peruvian-style FBI, but so it goes. I had just gotten double what I paid for the little RPG 0.38 from Florida.

Of course, to fly to, and feed and board two people at Machu Picchu, I needed more money than that.  I had received a credit card not long before I left, and had only used it as a second form of ID for checks in the US.  Driver’s licenses had been forged so much they were no longer enough of an ID at many places I tried to write checks.  That is beside the point of course.  Fact is, I had a credit card with enough of a line of credit to fly two people from Lima to Cuzco.  I decided I had to take Elsie with me, after how nicely I was being treated by her family.   My new plan was to take a bus to some towns near Cuzco while I was there.  Unfortunately, I found the bus terminal in Cuzco also closed by the military.  The town I most wanted to see, Paucartambo, with its exceptionally white houses and beautiful blue balconies, was too close to the fighting anyway.

First, however, Elsie and I needed a place to stay.  There were fancy, high-priced tourist hotels, but I’d been advised to look for a penseon,  a bed & breakfast in Peru.  We indeed got a room with a single bed, and breakfast in the morning so we could eat before exploring.  I did not have sex with Elsie. She wanted to know why.  I told her I didn’t want to risk getting her pregnant.  She said she would be willing to get a diaphragm, if I understood her correctly. diaphram Next morning, however, we boarded the train that would take us up the mountain to Machu Picchu.  It took half the day.  Elsie was very happy.  She chatted with the other tourists, who were mostly Peruvians and Germans, and a few Japanese.  We were served yerba mate, as a stimulant to brace us for the high altitude.  People often pass out up there.   There were many stops along the way, and, in fact, the train took a route created with many switchbacks, so it seemed we were forever just going back and forth.  Indian women would rush aboard at every short stop, selling trinkets and odd meatless tamales, and then hop off again.  An interesting character got on at one quick stop.  He was dressed in a very colorful poncho, with the odd-looking, to me, wool hat, with the tassel-like thing on top.  PeruIndian He stayed with us, and sang songs.  Most of the people in our car joined in.  I went along as much as I could fake it.  Later, as the singing died down, I asked Elsie what the songs were about.  She told me the the man was with the guerrillas, and the songs were about fighting and getting rid of the Peruvian government.  It was so odd.  The rich Peruvian tourists on board had been the most boisterous of anyone, and they had been smiling broadly while singing about revolution!  Yet, all I had heard since arriving was how terrible the guerrillas were.   A curious place, Peru.  Ha!  The President of the country was named Fernando Belaunde Terry.  Names are given differently in Peru, because Terry was the last name of his mother, an Englishwoman.  He was very pro-American, which was something the guerrillas hated.  They were, after all, Maoist inspired.  My name is Terry, so I often wondered about the looks I’d get from people whom Elsie introduced me to.  Did they think I was related?  Terry was otherwise not a common name in Peru, and since it was my middle name, I could see how people could suspect a connection.  cap Perhaps that was fortunate, since I wore a blue Mao cap, popular then in the US,  that I had oddly just bought and  brought with me, and wore all over Peru, no one ever questioned me, not even the ubiquitous soldiers with their machine guns, but it was always a possibility.  I’ve never been very bright.

Peru 007 Peru 008

Machu Picchu impressed the hell out of me.  I had never known anything about it, so the huge stone blocks used in walls and bridges, cut so perfectly and laid without any mortar, were eye popping.  I marveled at the shapes and “sacrificial altars” and the Solar Clock, and the Temple of the Three Windows, amid all the houses that still stood.  I had lain block myself for a couple years, so I knew about the foundation requirements under the block walls, and the need for reinforcing bars (rebar) and perfectly mixed mortar for the climate.  Yet, these people had built really impressive structures without any of that.

The views from the mountain top were breathtaking, really, notwithstanding the 8000 feet above sea level.  I’m not sure why people thought it so high as to cause respiratory and heart problems, since I lived a mile high myself, and ridden my bicycle to the local mountaintop at 10,679 feet.  But anyway, we had a great view of the river just below us. The train had stopped at the base of the peak, and we had then boarded vans that took us up the narrow path at frightening speed to the top. Peru 009 From there I could still see the pylons of the old Incan bridge that withstand the river’s current to this day, without anything holding the stones together.   I was high though, like being stoned or drunk.  I had heard of such wonders before, but not expected to see them.  I was damn happy to be visiting such a  place.  I ran through the ruins of the old Incan village. Peru 005 One small building had been restored with wooden cross beams and a thatch roof, and it looked readily inhabitable.  I wished I could have slept in it.  Elsie seemed to enjoy herself too.  Elsie001 That’s her among the ruins.  Sadly, I was not able to stay the night.  There is a hotel there, but reservations were made even then months in advance.  The train had to leave around dinnertime, because it had to go all the way back down to Cusco, that excruciating four-hour trip to cover five miles.  Well, traveling with Elsie made it all worthwhile; she was ever smiling and full of energy.  I depended on her a lot.  As we approached Cusco, the train slowed down to a crawl and I was able to look into all the shop windows of the big market along the tracks.  In one room, all by themselves, stacked high on a single table, were huge clear plastic bags of white powder.  I had heard that cocaine was a big money maker for the government there, but I never expected to see so much all at once, and so openly.  Of course, I could be mistaken.  It could have been some other sacks of white powder stacked on a table by themselves in a bare room, but who knows?

Elsie and I were tired by then and headed back to the penseon.  The owner found us something to eat leftover from breakfast, but only because we had left so early for the train that we had missed breakfast.  Those huge meatless corn tamales on the train were not very satisfying.

Next day, after a little touring around Cusco, Elsie and I went to  the local clinic.  She seemed enthusiastic about being able to have sex without getting pregnant, and I wasn’t going to insist we just use condoms, because that didn’t always work either, and like most men, I hated them.  Very selfish of me, and really inconsiderate to allow my host to do such a thing in order to have sex with me.  Really, I didn’t want to get too involved with her, so I had postponed the sex in this manner.  At the clinic Elsie explained what she wanted and went into a room adjoining the waiting room with the smiling doctor.  Later, he showed up at the door, and the first thing he did was stare at me.  The look showed surprise and, I felt, censure.  His smile was gone.  It occurred to me that he had found her hymen intact and may have wondered how we had sex if Elsie had mentioned that, or why I hadn’t broken the hymen myself.  I suddenly felt shamed.  Elsie was in some pain when she came out, so we just slept together again, cuddled in our small bed.  The next night however, was it.  Elsie was not going to postpone this sex anymore, and we finally had real sexual intercourse, the kind with the penetration and ejaculation and all that moaning and heavy breathing.  It was OK, but I didn’t want to do it again.  It just didn’t feel right.  Elsie was pretty upset when I didn’t want to do it again the next night, and that was understandable.

We continued our wanderings around Cusco.  I noticed a pile of adobe bricks drying in the hazy sunlight, and then saw them used in a  multi-story building, something rarely done in the Southwestern US  Peru 006 Peru 010 where I lived.

I found a colectivo to take us to Pisac, and the driver drove us up a long and winding road where we could look down on some Inca ruins there.  It was a long trip on a bumpy road, but I was glad to be able to see something else since we couldn’t travel in the region.  Soon enough, it was time to return to Lima.  I was out of money, and now in debt too.  I needed to get back to the US, back to Albuquerque.  Just before I had left for Peru, I’d met a really great woman, who I moved in with when I returned, and later married.  I called her from Cusco.  I told Elsie I needed to call home, but she listened in from what I thought was some distance away, and suspected it was a girlfriend.  I told her, yes, there was someone I was seeing there.  She wasn’t happy about that.   However, at that moment, I knew I wanted to get back.  I hadn’t known Irene very long, but I was anxious to see her again.  This, of course, had a lot to do with my lack of interest in Elsie as more than a friend.  The trip home was quiet.  I wondered what she was going to tell her parents.  I found out that, not only is Machu Picchu a popular tourist destination, but, in Peru, it’s a honeymoon spot, much like Niagara Falls is in the US.

Sex, guns and Peru, Part 2

Once I got settled in my room, I called my pen pal Elsie.  I was anxious to meet her.  We’d talked about a lot of things, over the space of about two years.  We’d exchanged pictures.  I had no idea what to expect.  Traveling to another country to meet someone I only knew by mail was certainly a new experience for me.   I had called Elsie to tell her I was coming, and I recognized her voice when I called her house.  She wanted to come meet me, so I waited for her.  She was indeed pretty when she showed up, but taller and, well, larger than the pictures had led me to believe.  I’m 5′ 8″ myself, and even my younger brothers are taller than me, but my sisters, and most women I’d gone to school with were a little shorter.  Elsie was certainly happy to see me.  We talked awhile and walked around Lima.  I bought my first churro there, those long doughy pastries extruded through a star-shaped opening, and deep fried, then rolled in sugar and cinnamon.  Really tasty.  When we got back to my room,  Elsie told me I should come stay at her parent’s house.  I was surprised at that.  I had really expected to visit her while I was in Peru, but not live together.  Elsie said her parents had suggested it.   I stayed the night where I was, and found her house in the morning.  It was  three-story place in a suburb of Lima. lima_suburbs Grass on many lawns, but some had a car parked on concrete behind locked gates.  Her house reminded me of the last place my parents had moved to, the place I’d left when I was 18.  This one, however, had hardwood floors throughout, a beautiful dining-room table and chairs, fully modern kitchen, and many rooms throughout.  There was even a small room on the first floor that had been turned into a bedroom for me.  The family consisted of Elsie, her parents, her brother, who was actually a step-brother, and a sister and brother-in-law.   They had two Indian servants who lived on the third floor; they washed laundry in deep sinks on the roof, and hung it to dry there too.

Everyone was very friendly and welcomed me into their home.  I had taken a “conversational Spanish” course, and did my best to communicate with everyone in Spanish.  Elsie knew some English, so she helped me out when I couldn’t find the right words.  I didn’t talk much, because I knew very, very little Spanish.

My first hint that I was in a different country was when we all had coffee in the morning.  There was a pot of coffee in the refrigerator.  Small amounts were poured into a cup, and the cup was filled with hot water. I have since learned that such a drink is often called an Americano, but I never heard the term in Peru.  Coffee there was brewed very strong in anticipation of being diluted in this manner.  It was much less bitter.

Peru 001 Lima is a grey city.  A type of fish there gives off an oil that gets picked up with moisture from the ocean and often blankets the city, which seemed to always have a permanent cloud cover.  Many of the old buildings appeared as gray as downtown East Coast city buildings in the US.   Perhaps that is why so many arts and crafts in Lima are so brightly colorful.  Elsie was free to spend time showing me around Lima, so we went out every day sightseeing, at markets, and plazas, and eating ceviche (pronounced “say-vee-chay”), a seafood cocktail.  This differs somewhat from the Mexican version most people in the US are familiar with. cevichePeruano I think they use that oily fish in it. That was an interesting experience.  Soon after eating some I became sick with flu-like symptoms, and everyone understood – I was then cautioned not to eat the ceviche there.  Too late.  I felt as sick as a  jungle dog, but I recovered very quickly.

I learned to convert my dollars into sols, and there were vendors everywhere selling lottery tickets and changing money.  Turns out Elsie’s father worked for a bank, and recommended I only use banks, but sometimes the exchange rate was better on the street. Meanwhile, Elsie and I were spending every day, and into evening, with each other.  We watched the movie Police Academy. It was subtitled in Spanish with the English soundtrack volume turned down, but loud enough I could make out most of it.  We saw a new play, a funny and very popular musical comedy one evening.  Elsie translated enough of it so I could understand it.  It was about relationships, and very sexy, with some nudity. The music was great, and I was able to buy a 45 recording to take home with me.  Elsie and I got around the city really well, day and night,  in buses or colectivos, those ubiquitous taxi-cab like cars of all shapes and sizes.   One day I bought a warm Coke in a small sidewalk store, but there was no ice to be had.  No one kept sodas refrigerated either.  Warm coke is OK, but odd.  I learned to drink Inca Kola instead, a bright yellow carbonated Peruvian drink, made with Hierba Luisa, or Lemon Verbana. Inca_Kola It reminded me of Juicyfruit gum.  We went to a downtown nightclub and danced to US-style rock ‘n’ roll and pop tunes, sung in Spanish, although Casey Kasem’s American Top 40 was broadcast over every radio  I heard on every city bus and colectivo I took while I was there.  I had worn a jacket to the nightclub, and made the mistake of putting my passport in it and leaving it on my chair as we danced.  I had to carry the passport with me, because the military was in control of  the city, and could stop people anytime to see their ID.  Without it, I could have been arrested.  There were automatic armed soldiers near every bank and major business. The Shining Path guerrillas often attacked banks in Lima.  While I was there they knocked out power to the city one day.  As it was, someone lifted my passport while Elsie and I danced one long set.  I told the club manager, and we searched the area, and even the bathroom, just in case it had been dropped.  No chance.  That screwed up my plans to travel around Peru by train.  I needed that passport, or I couldn’t leave the city.  I applied at the embassy. I was allowed to bypass the long line that snaked around the entire block because I was a US citizen, but it was still going to take 4 or 5 days.  Elsie and I found things to do.  She took me to the central plaza in Lima, to the old cathedral there. Peru 002 All of the old clergy there had been buried in the catacombs below the main floor.  There are rooms full of skulls and bones laid out in circles.  Room after room was full of bones, some as full skeletons, but usually piles and piles of bones, some arraigned, some just piled up, from centuries of following this practice, from over 50,000 people.  Of course, many of the wealthy also paid to be buried in the church.  Elsie freaked the hell of of me when we left.  As we were going home in a colectivo, she pulled out part of a rib bone!  She had snatched it as a present for me, a souvenir to take home.  I thanked her, but I really didn’t know what to do with it.  Since we went right back to her house, and I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, I kept it.  It worried me what might happen back in the US when Customs came across that!  Peru 003

Said good night to Elsie one late night when we got back.  We weren’t doing anything on all these day trips, no romance, no kissing, holding hands or anything.  I was just enjoying having her show me around.  We were having a good time.  Just as I was about to drop off to sleep I heard light footsteps on the spiral staircase outside my door.  Elsie came in and got right into bed with me!  I was a little freaked out, what with her parents and siblings right upstairs.  She was kissing me, and we were naked really quick and one thing led to another and I was suddenly sticking my penis into her.  However, it was unlike any sexual encounter I’d ever had.  Elsie, apparently, was a virgin.  She had one hell of a solid hymen.  I pushed, but I couldn’t get in, especially as quiet as we were trying to be, and I had never encountered a hymen before.   I thought I was doing something wrong; and I sure as  hell didn’t want to hurt her.  I oddly thought maybe some women’s vaginae must be arraigned differently, because I just couldn’t slip into her.  As gently as I could, I sort of pushed alongside it and ejaculated without ever really being deep into her vagina at all.  Had to be the weirdest sexual experience I ever had.

It wasn’t the last time we had sex.  We were headed to Machu Picchu on our own.

Sex dream. Smuggling in Peru, Part 1

Weird dream about sex again.  I was visiting a woman in another country and was staying with her family (which I once did in Peru).  In this dream, it wasn’t that same woman, but she was young.  In Peru, the woman I visited turned out to be a virgin, but that’s another story.  In my dream, I was really interested romantically in this woman.  We had not had sex, or made out, but now was the time.  We ended up on a couch or bed and were wrapped around each other kissing.  Her blouse came open and I put my hands on her boobs, which were round and smooth. Her nipples were erect.  I was turned on, on, on!  I opened her shorts and put my hand on her mound, and as I did so, she said: “I like to touch myself there.”  I began fingering her.  Her cunt got juicy.  Talk about being turned on!  My penis was trying to break out of my pants, so I set it free,  I was working on getting her pants off when her two sisters came into the room.  They noticed us, but seemed uninterested in what we were doing, and went about whatever it was they were doing, chatting with each other.  I was suddenly watching myself!  I saw myself stand up, with a rock-hard erection, and people were walking around the room while I stood there.  I looked at myself and noticed the penis was very pale, and pointy, not like my own.  Weirder and weirder.  Then, her father came into the room!   He was also not shocked, but did speak to me.  He was speaking a language I didn’t understand, but smiling and gesturing to the young woman and me.  He stopped, pointed once more at the young woman, and said, in English, “Do you want to marry me?”  From this I understood he wanted to know if I wanted to marry his daughter, so I said yes. “Then ask her,” he said, pointing again at her.  I opened my mouth to ask, but starting remembering who I was and how I had been ready to do anything, go anywhere at one point recently, and then remembered that I have not felt any emotions lately, no passion for life or people.  I thought about how I probably shouldn’t get married, given my state of mind, and then there was a distraction, which I commented on, and we all seemed to be talking about something else.  I was still pondering the marriage question when I woke up.

peru.lima.jauja In my real life, in 1984, I had traveled to Peru to visit a pen-pal.  We had been writing for some time; she invited me to visit.  I had just lost my job.  It seemed the perfect time to travel, except I had no money.  The bank I used was the same one used by my employer, a printed circuit board manufacturer, and I had free checking there through some reciprocal agreement between my employers and the bank.  The company did a lot of work for airlines, NASA, and US weapons programs.   I told the loan officer I wanted money to travel to Peru.  He asked me how much I needed.  I asked for $800, since I knew the airfare was about $700.   I really didn’t want to get too much in debt.  I had a little money left in my checking account, so as I was at the airport waiting to board the plane, I called the bank and asked if I could get some more money.  The limit on money machine withdrawals was $100/day.  They asked me for my account number, which I somehow managed to remember, and they OK’d the increased amount.   I grabbed the extra money from the machine and boarded the plane for LA International Airport.  I had packed my 0.38 special.  The Sendero Luminoso, or “Shining Path” Maoist rebels were fighting a guerrilla war all over Peru, so I wanted the comfort a gun could give me.  shiningpath Then again, I was supportive of rebellions and guerrilla warfare at the time, so I thought I could even offer my gun to them if I ran into them on the long train ride I’d planned.   I had noticed a sign at check-in that said all firearms must be declared, so I did.  The counter person seemed shocked, but explained the procedure:  I had to put it in my checked luggage, of course, and put the gun in one bag, and the bullets in another.  Then they attached a special warning ticket to my bag and sent it on down the conveyor belt to be loaded onto the plane.  I didn’t give it much thought until later.   In LA, there was a problem with my ticket. The flight was announced, but the man at the check-in counter wouldn’t give me my boarding pass.  I waited and waited, until it was near the time for the plane to takeoff, when he suddenly called me over and gave me my pass.  I ran down the moving walkways and up the indoor ramp to the plane.  There were two men flanking the door.  They stopped me, and I nervously told them the plane was going to take off.  They said to relax, that it wasn’t going to take off yet.  Then they questioned me about how much money I was carrying.  I told them I had three hundred dollars.  They asked me why I was going to Peru, and I told them about Elsie, my friend I was going to visit.  They seemed satisfied with that, and handed my passport and wallet back and waved me on to the plane.   I was directed to the only empty seats, just behind a partition.  I had noticed that everyone else had plenty of leg room, but I wasn’t going to be able to stretch out.  It was going to be the longest flight I’d ever taken.  I heard someone say that I must have been the person they were waiting for.   Resignedly, I waited for the plane to move.  It was already past time for departure.  There was one empty seat next to me.  I was glad, because that meant I might stretch out that way.  Just then a man ran onto the plane and sat down next to me.  Shit.  Oh, well.

As we traveled, I enjoyed the flight.  The food was amazing on Varig Airlines, a Brazilian flight I’d found that was cheapest.   We had warm towels to wash our hands, and linen napkins and appetizers and drinks.  It was the best restaurant I had ever been to!  My fellow traveler was chatty, and ended up asking me a question that led me to volunteer that I was packing a gun.  He also seemed surprised, but I told him it was in my checked bag, and I explained why I’d brought it, and the procedure I’d had to follow to bring it.  He had told me he was not just a businessman, but also a smuggler.  He said he often smuggled electronics into Peru inside of washing machines that he imported, and that no one ever checked inside of those.  I was impressed.   Of course, much later on, I realized he had been leading me on, pumping me for details, and hoping to make me trust him.   I did trust him, but I had nothing else to tell him.  As we neared Peru, he told me that my bags would most likely be searched at customs, and that it was illegal to smuggle arms into Peru.  I was horrified.  I imagined they’d find the gun and arrest me.  I thought I’d end up in a Peruvian jail, with no way to ever get home.  I didn’t know what else to do, so I queued up with everyone else in line.  They weren’t doing very thorough examinations of each bag, so I began to relax, hopeful that they wouldn’t notice the gun or the bullets.  My seatmate from the plane was ahead of me, and they asked him what he had, and poked through his clothes.  It was my turn!

I pushed my bags toward the custom inspector, but he just patted them and waved me on.  I looked at him, but he gestured emphatically for me to move along.   Whew!  My new buddy was waiting for me, and offered to share a taxi.  I asked him where I could stay, and said he knew of an area frequented by American tourists.  He dropped me off there, but before leaving asked if I might sell the gun and gave me his number.  I thought it might be a good idea, because I was suddenly worried about getting back into the USA with it.  He said he had a friend who might be interested.  Later on, I found out that washing machines were a rarity in Peru, even in the suburbs of Lima, and there were no laundromats at all, but I didn’t know then just how odd my traveling companion’s story had been.

Where to Now?

success_and_happiness therapy ?

hermit1 ?                   ?

prisoner ?                     foreign service ?

My, My, My

Saw Karen again, or rather her back.  That’s all I see now.   I walked into my building with a cup of coffee, talking to someone else who had also been to get coffee, so I didn’t see Karen coming.  She, however, saw me, because she instantly spun around and walked back the way she’d come from.  Well, that gives me a little more insight into who I’ve been dealing with: a child in a woman’s body – never grew up.  And I thought women were supposed to be more mature than men?  That’s the second time she’s done that.  I’m glad I’ve gotten over the unrequited love obsession, which was really limerence – that kind of behavior might have had a bad effect on me before.  It’s pretty funny now.  I never did anything bad to the woman, never said anything nasty or angry to her.  I’ve always been friendly, and I smiled and waved whenever I saw her anywhere.   I could see her not wanting or needing to have lunch together anymore, but to deliberately turn around whenever she sees me?  That is just too funny.  It’s not like I’d do or say anything to make her uncomfortable.  She’s the one who always maintained we were just friends, and that anything else was inappropriate.  I wanted to continue the friendship, but I wasn’t going to be upset if she didn’t.   She’s acting like a lover scorned, or a teenager.  She’s three months shy of 29 years old! 13-30 Well, at least I learned something: I learned why these May-December realtionships don’t work!  Such a painful lesson.  It’s a good thing I won’t be around here much longer.  Too bad.  I really liked her, enjoyed her company, and enjoyed listening to her.

Aha! Confirmation of my imaginings

Goodbye-friend Looks like either way I look at it, I won’t be having lunch with Karen again.  She IS avoiding me, not that I blame her.  I think she did get that email I sent her, my confession of my obsessive infatuation/ unrequited love for her these last few years.  I went for coffee just now, at an unusual time when there was no one else there.  As it was espressing, I walked over to get some raw sugar to put in it, in and in the corner of my eye, I see Karen walking towards the door of the Cafe.  I think, “Well, I can say hello, see if she’s still friendly,” and waited for her to open the door.  She never came in. There was no other direction she could have heading, there is only the door to the Cafe she could have been heading to,  and straight on.  She saw me. I noticed that she did, and her head went down. She must have decided she can’t stand the idea of running into me anymore.  Either she is just trying to avoid my asking her about lunch, or she got the email I sent.  At least I  know for sure now.  You’d think she’d have the honesty and consideration to tell me so, rather than avoid me, but after all, she is at least as immature as I still am.   I have the luxury of a bit more experience, and tried to get a response from her directly, but she wasn’t having any of it.  It’s one thing to lose a relationship; it’s another to lose a friend too.   I suppose I’ll have to pretend I never knew her now, never had lunch with her every Friday for four years or so, never had anything in common, never traded movies and books, never discussed politics, Sci Fi, or manga or anime.  I blew a fine friendship with my “inappropriate” interest in  her.  I guess I’ll never learn.  brysi-goodbye karencrop

goodbye goodbye_my_love goodbye1

(but I cannot really ever say good-bye)

Into the Trees Across the River

It’s funny that no matter how hard I try, how sure I am that I am through with my limerence, my unrequited love of a woman 30 years younger, I seem to circle around it.  I happened to see Karen the other day, down the end of the hallway from me, as she walked along an intersecting hallway.  I’d have shouted a Hi Karen! if I’d been alone, but I was in a conversation with someone, and he was talking to me at that moment. So, I simply waved to Karen, a little bit enthusiastically.  Karen saw me and waved back.  For a few moments I stared at the spot where she had been.  I was practically mesmerized.  Since I was still being spoken to, and I hate to be rude, I jerked my attention back.  The guy speaking to me noticed, and a questioning look came over him briefly, but he never stopped talking.  Later, I remembered that it was Friday, the day that Karen and I always used to have lunch, the only day she would meet me.  We never said we would not meet anymore, but it is obvious enough we will not.  So it goes, as I’ve said before.  I have no idea if she read the email I sent her, or if it just disappeared into the void with other junk mail.  Well, that Karen sighting was no big deal, although I was surprised at my reaction to seeing her, after basically having said my good-bye four months before I leave, before the time comes when there will never be another chance encounter, when she will be lost to me forever. She was never within my reach anyway.

across the river So, this weekend I have been taking it easy. Last weekend’s mountain hike fucked my feet up.  I have a bruise in the center of each heel, probably from walking across so many rockfalls along the trails, and all the other sharp rocks I couldn’t avoid, in a sea of them.  My toes, squeezed too tightly in my simple boots, were sore and raw.  No hiking in the mountains for me this weekend.  Next weekend I will head to Horseshoe Lake in the Pecos wilderness area of New Mexico.  It is another 11-mile hike.  I took my other boots in and had them stretched in the toes, so they won’t pinch so badly as last weekend.  I also bought some heel cushions, just in case.   I have looked into buying a new pair of boots, but the 4E width I need was not in stock, and the salesman seemed to think I should get an H width anyway, but he would have to special order them.  I don’t know how they will fit the rest of my foot.  Well, good shoes are important, especially if  one walks a lot or hikes in the mountains at 10,000 feet.  These hikes just keep getting tougher, so I’d better get some tough shoes.

I’ve been reading Ernest Hemingway’s Across the River and Into the Trees.  It is a fascinating book, centering around an old (50 years old, to be exact) army colonel who fought in Italy during the Second World War.  It moves along slowly, telling a story of the Colonel’s return to Italy, just as Hemingway himself did. There is a duck hunt, and war reminisces, and the interplay between the Colonel and his young driver.  I didn’t know anything about the story.  I had read several other of Hemingway’s novels and short stories, and I liked him.  I saw the book in a box of books to be given away.  I took it home to read.  This weekend I found out that the story contains a major subplot, in which the Colonel has met a young woman 31 years younger, and she is madly in love with him, as he with her. Renata_Babak_Kozlovsky He, however, is dying, in an age before heart transplants.  They both know this, but the Colonel and the Italian Countess spend as much time together as possible.  There are obstacles, in that he is divorced, and the Countess should not marry such a man, but that is just a convenient excuse.  The difference in ages is discussed often.  No one begrudges them their affection for each other.  They spend a lot of time kissing, passionately, in gondolas, in the street, and everywhere they are.  Their love is wonderful, perhaps because time is short.  The Colonel takes his pills every day, but still has his “twinges” of pain in his heart.  Love and hearts, they go together.   It is so funny to think that, at least in another lifetime, in a world far away, two people of such different ages could actually love each other, if only for a short time.  To be in love so deeply before one dies – that is surely a good thing, although not for the one left behind.  But the young woman is well aware of that, and accepts it as much as she can.  The two of them pretend at times that they will have five children. Sometimes they pretend to take a train into Kansas City, sometimes they fly into Albuquerque.  It is fantasy and love and wistfulness, and romance.  It is everything I wished I could have had with Karen, who is almost the same distance apart from me as Colonel Cantwell and Countess Renata.

I always thought I must be totally insane to love a woman 30 years younger, to desire her, to pursue her, to fantasize about living together, marriage, children, and warm bodies together on the couch or in bed.  Even though we never kissed, or dated.  She only wanted a friend, especially a safe one.  She thought she was safe with me, the old man.  What she didn’t know was that men are the same always, no matter what age.  Sex is always on our minds, and women can inspire us to great heights of desire and longing.  She is a very beautiful woman, notwithstanding the bad acne that marks her face once a month when her hormones change.  She sometimes covers it with makeup, but I can see it, and I still think she is very beautiful.  In the parts of this blog that I have hidden now,  I have written of my desire to kiss her face all over, to reassure her that such things do not matter.  One time, when the coffee barista called her beautiful, as he does all the women, she reacted strangely, saying she never thought of herself that way.  But she is.  She has a body men would kill to get close to, to hold, to wrap their arms around, and fuck all night.  She doesn’t seem to believe this, although she is 28 years old, soon to be 29.  I think she has a better idea of her appeal now, because she trusts the coffee barista, and she has seen the effect she has on me.  She is a beauty, intelligent and lively, just as Renata is in Hemingway’s novel.

But, of course, any woman a man is in love with is beautiful beyond comparison to any other.  Such was my ex-wife, who I loved constantly, even as she aged and her body bulged and sagged.  Her body excited the hell out of me whenever I saw her nude or touched her.  One time, she accompanied me to Santa Fe, where I was attending some union training.  When the day was over, we sat in the hotel bar, drinking our wine.  I also had a shot of Jamison’s Irish Whiskey, since it seemed like a vacation, a party, a celebration.  She had a couple martinis.  We had not been too loving for some time, and this seemed different.  We were having a good time.  We went to our room and immediately got out of our clothes.  I got into bed and waited for her to join me.  I had forgotten about the effect altitude has on alcohol absorption.  Santa Fe, at 7000 feet above sea level, is 2000 feet higher than we were used to.  We both passed out.   I woke up five, ten, or who knows how much later to feel her naked body against mine.  I was instantly aroused, hard as a steel rod, but she was asleep, out cold.  I thought about waking her, but she had gotten very angry before when I did that.  She often slept late on the weekend, which was the only time we ever had sex anymore, but I usually woke up early and horny.  I often waited for her to wake up, although sometimes when she did she got out of bed to pee, and left me thinking she’d return.  So, sometimes I waited as long as I could, two or three hours after I’d waken up, and then tired to gently arouse her.  It pissed her off  if she wasn’t already awake, so as I lay there that night in Santa Fe, with an enduring rock-hard penis next to my naked wife, I tried to go to sleep, to relax that pulsing muscle and just enjoy the comfort of naked flesh. But I could not.  I held her body and felt her breasts in my hand and her back and her ass and her hands, but she was out cold.   I never got to sleep.  It was an agony of sweet aroused discomfort.  In the morning, when she finally awoke, I tried to interest her in sex, but she said we had sex the night before.  She believed that since we were nude, we must have had sex.  That said a lot.  It meant that, as I’d often suspected, she sometimes passed out after the sex that capped a night of drinking with whatever else we were doing on a weekend night, and she often did not even remember having sex.  Sometimes she said she only had orgasms in her sleep, but I had felt her have them when she was awake.  Of course, since she had often been drinking before that, it now meant that she probably never even remembered some nights we had sex, only the sex in the morning, which was often hurried.  She always had something to do, and liked to have sex over with as soon as possible. However, on this particular morning in Santa Fe, away from home, she had nowhere to be, so she reluctantly agreed to sex.  I was exhausted however, having been awake the entire night, aroused and frustrated.  Now, there was just no life left in me.  I tried, but such a night-long period of continuous tumescence mushroom tumescence had tired the poor muscle out.  Although we had sex later times, the divorce come not much later after that.  I often wonder if that is how she remembers me now.  It was the most aroused I had been with her in years and I lost my chance to truly satisfy myself and surprise her with the passion I had not felt in some time.  Perhaps it would have made a difference, perhaps not.  I know that I rarely drink anymore, and then only socially, and only a single glass.  I still wake up with those hard-ons, but now there is no one in bed next to me anyway.

In Hemingways’ novel, the Colonel dies of a heart attack, after having said goodbye to the Countess, shot some ducks, and is leaving Italy.  I often feel that my life is essentially over.  I did have some love and good times.  That last love though, that long, difficult and wondrous period of exciting unrequited love, that would have been the very best time in all my life, if only it could have been more than fantasy, even for a short magical time.

What the hell am I?

whoami Yeah, yeah, I know; the question of who am I has been asked a trillion times.  But, I really don’t know myself anymore.  I had this conversation recently with someone who told me he has become a different person many times. What I said was that I have always been able to think of myself as the same person I was from my earliest memories.  There was an unbroken chain stretching all the way back.  I remember sitting in my grandmother’s house as a child, looking at her copy of the painting The Gleaners. I remember her cuckoo clock chiming.  I remember when my brother Pat was born, and I was only 6 years old.  I remember many events, of course, as most people do, but I also remember who I was, how I felt, and what I thought.  I can remember the curiosity I felt when my mom came home with this new brother.  I remember that my brother John and I didn’t want him tagging along with us when he was old enough to walk.  He got into our stuff and broke things, after all!  :-)    I remember how stupid my parents sounded when they were fighting.  I remember loving them both and going to them when they were fighting, so they’d stop.  It embarrassed them when my brother and I would walk right into the middle of them while they were fighting.  Sometimes we laughed; sometimes so did they. So many things, people, and events bounce around in my head.  My father going to Eisenhower’s inauguration alone – without us!  Watching the TV on John Kennedy’s election night, hoping, praying, that he would be elected. I was 10 years old, but my teachers at school were excited about him, and told us how great it would be to have a Catholic in the White House.  I was so happy when he won.   I remember what I was like in grade school after being out for 6 weeks after my appendix ruptured at the age of eight.  I was behind, and worried about it, but my mother drilled me in my lessons every night, and the nun seemed more sympathetic than I thought she would be.  I was ecstatic when I caught up to the class.  But, outside, I was told I shouldn’t run or do anything strenuous.  At that age, the schoolyard was for playing, running, roughhousing.  At first I had to stay inside the classroom while everyone else when out for recess.  Out of boredom, I raided the round tin of chocolate bars that my teacher kept to sell to us (for a nickel).  When they finally let me go outside again, I felt like an alien.  I was alone and apart.  I didn’t know how to play the new games, and no one would talk to me or hang out with me.  They had all known I was in the hospital; they’d been told to pray for me, made to send me a card.  I wandered around the schoolyard looking for candy that had been dropped.  Loved sweets.   My grandmother always had candy in a covered cut-glass bowl.   My godfather,  the cousin of my mom’s that we called Uncle Fred, always brought candy bars with him when he visited, which was every week.

I remember the time a classmate died, in second or third grade.  They said he drowned.  I was shocked, appalled that anyone my age could die, but I was also fascinated.  They said he drowned, chocked actually, drinking a glass of water or kool-aid, something like that, watching TV.   The details are a little sketchy, because for years afterwards I looked for every instance of  how one could die in small amounts of water, or even drinking water.  I never forgot that death, although I had not known the kid at all.  It was humbling to learn early on that death could happen at any time.  Shortly after that, I was in the hospital taking penicillin every four hours for the peritonitis that results from a ruptured appendix.  I remember hiding in the bathroom when the nurses were coming with my shots.  They’d given me pills at first, but I threw them up.  They switched me to drinking the penicillin after that.  It was a foul-smelling, foul-tasting tall glass of thick liquid that I hated almost more than shots.  I remember that there were older patients around.  One of them told me to hold my nose while I drank.  It didn’t help.  I remember how relatives brought me gifts. rubber bands Someone gave me a rubber band board.  With a pile of multi-colored rubber bands, I could stretch them on the white pegs covering the all-white plastic board, and create designs.  I enjoyed it.  Someone tried to make me give it to them, which upset me, because I knew how angry my parents could get if I broke a toy.  I would be in trouble if the board got broken or the rubber bands lost, but a nurse accused me of being selfish.  I had no way to make her understand why it was important not to lend things, so I did it anyway.  I was easily shamed, cajoled, or influenced by almost any adult figure, and did what I was told.   I never forgot that it is important to share, even if it was potential trouble.  I began thinking about sharing as a way to have friends.  I always shared with my brother John.  Later on, I always wanted to give my sisters and parents presents.  I enjoyed giving.

I remember moving then at the age of ten, the new school, but the same apartness.  New kids never fit in right away, but I didn’t know that.  I remember Kathleen in 5th grade; I tired to date her, but her parents said no.  Sometimes I rode my bike to her house and watched her skip rope. She must have told me where she lived. I even had her phone number.  Not the first time I’d gotten involved with a girl.  In second grade I had proposed, but got into a name-calling fight after her mother said no.  Got punished by a nun when she found those notes.  Of course, in fifth grade, I was older, but not any wiser. schoolgirl I wrote a love-drenched letter to Kathleen, passed it to her, but I had enemies in class, especially another girl I’d once passed a note to also.  She sometimes had a friend of hers trip me as I walked up the aisle to my seat.  She was the one, that Janet Blickenstaff, who persuaded Kathleen to give the note to the teacher.  The fucking nun read it to the whole class, cementing my reputation as a fool.   The nun even called my father to come get me, and he took me home for a spanking with the leather strap.  I have no idea why.  He didn’t say much.  He had read the note.  I can’t remember much of what I wrote, just the shame of it, and my father’s anger.  Maybe I put in that dream I’d had about snuggling naked in bed with her?  I don’t recall the specifics.  I remember that dream, but I had no idea of anything about sex then.  The embarrassment and beating sure got me sworn off of writing notes anymore.  Never spoke to Kathleen after that.  The next year they put me in an all-boys class.   I went to an all-boys high school after that.  It never even occurred to me that there wouldn’t be girls in high school, but I was more interested in school work then.  Except, except, well, there was my cousin Teresa that I dated, and fell in love with.  I remember how that felt.  And how it felt when she made out with another guy at a party I took her to.  And how it felt when I heard she’d run away to Texas with an older guy.   After that I stayed largely to myself, and in myself.  I thought about all of these things, obsessed about them, replayed every word and action, especially what I should have said or done.

Always, I was the same person.  I learned more, figured out how to talk with other people, even how to kiss, make out and have sex.  I got a job right out of high school.  It took me awhile, but I managed to get along with new people who weren’t family.   I read a lot, went to movies, plays, music festivals.  Had more unrequited loves, but real lovers came into my life too. I never considered that I was a different person at any time. Same guy, same issues, same problems.   Traveled a lot, met a lot of people.  Had a lot of sex.  Lived with a lover for a short time. Got married twice.  Always I was the same person, the same guy who wanted to please other people, to be liked.  I went from a proponent of using nuclear weapons to a ban the bomb, stop war, fight racism, end hatred, fight for justice kind of guy.  Marched. Chanted in demonstrations.  Visited courtrooms, picketed outside jails, picketed the White House, got arrested, learned about unions, and strikes, and boycotts.  Felt I was part of a world-wide movement to change the world.  Worked in a physics lab, for a carnival, in a bronze foundry, for an electronics plant, and ended up in medical research.  Finally got a University degree.  Always, I was the same person.  From my earliest memories through every thing I did, wherever I traveled, however I was with.   I wasn’t always happy with who I was, but I constantly strove to improve myself – nothing less than perfection would have really satisfied me.

Now, suddenly, I don’t care about anything, or anyone.  I’ve been seriously depressed now for at least a year.  Lost interest in life itself.  I have dreams now, not about having sex, or being in love, or changing the world, but of  killing someone.  I wouldn’t mind dying.  Most of this fit into who I was initially, but one day I realized I was totally different from who I’d always thought I was.  Selfish, uncaring, boring – real indifferent to the world.  That was never me.  This me is not the me that grew up, traveled, worked, fucked, married, helped raise kids, negotiated union contracts, worked for an end to war. This me doesn’t care about any of those things, and I don’t recognize myself anymore.  My memories are there, but only as echoes of who I was, what I used to feel, what I used to think.  I appear to be a different person altogether, and for the first time ever, that’s OK.  I just wish I knew who the fuck I am.  I appear to be a selfish, careless, rude asshole, who could do anything, would do anything at all.

Now that’s different.

Message to Karen Lopez – 4 mos early

Fluffy_in_an_ambush_by_glooh(Fluffy in an Ambush by Glooh)

Well, I finally managed to put Karen behind me (this drawing is a really good likeness of her, except add tattoos).  I had one last thing to do, and that was write to her, tell her just a little bit of the depth of my depravity.  It was like a final purging.  Of course, I sent it to her main email account, not the one at work, and I think she has me blocked, because she never responds to or acknowledges those emails at all.  She used to forward funny or interesting things to me, but stopped doing that two years ago.  It’s possible she’s just too busy at work, and in all honesty, just doesn’t have time to meet for lunch, but it’s just been too long since we had lunch regularly, and too long in between, and the months go by with just an occasional sighting at work.  When I emailed her at work to ask if she still wanted to have lunch sometimes, she said yes, but she was real busy.   When I ran into her last, asked her about lunch, she said she had just been so busy, and would probably be busy through May. May came and went; June came and went. No word from her, no response to my emails.  Well, c’est la vie.

Hi Karen. I sure miss those Friday lunches, something I looked forward to every week. I always enjoyed them. I loved the way we liked so many of the same things. Sharing videos or books was really fun. I’ve never actually known anyone quite like you, with your preoccupations and obsessions with Babylon 5, Straczynski, and all the anime and manga stories – things I’ve enjoyed for years by myself. I loved hearing about your Halloween preparations, or your nieces and nephew. Loved the way you spoke of them, and enjoyed spending time with them. You have that quality of being able to relate to children, and they like you too. I liked you immediately, and just was amazed to find out how interesting you really were, and how much I liked listening to you. Do you know those Fridays, one hour a week, were the most time I spent with anyone else besides my ex wife? Ha ha. I’m such a dork. When my marriage was crumbling, you were a bright spot in the world for me. Of course, I should never, never have done what I did, which was fall in love with you. The one really good thing about getting divorced was that then I thought we might be able to spend more time doing things like movies, or even, wonder of wonders, dating. Ha ha. Sorry. I told myself how stupid it was; beat myself up over and over for thinking and feeling that way. I just couldn’t stop. You became an obsessive, compulsive infatuation with me. Dreams and fantasies.inuyasha demon and kagome(1) Sigh. I thought about romance, then living together, then marriage, and children. All the while I knew it was impossible, but I couldn’t stop. There were such highs in that fantasy, romantic and erotic, and such lows when I couldn’t be with you. You made it clear that such thoughts were inappropriate, I know. Compliments were inappropriate; asking you out would be, in your words, “Like a date,” and of course that “inappropriate” idea must have horrified you from the way you said it. Just as well we didn’t spend even more time together: I’d have just gotten worse, if that’s possible, so, thanks for that. Why am I writing you ask? Hard to say. It took me a while to climb out of that obsession with you. One day I looked in the mirror long and hard and realized how old I actually looked from your perspective. I had never been bothered by growing old before, until I realized that being my age meant I couldn’t just meet someone, fall in love, and be with them if they were younger, especially way younger. I had honestly never thought of that before I met you. Suddenly I hated being old. Well, going back to why I’m writing: I have gotten over the obsession. I don’t know how; it just stopped one day. Took me years. Ha ha. It’s hard to believe I could have been such an idiot now. Again, I apologize for the inappropriate remarks, attention, flowers, last year’s X-mas card with the money. It’s finally over for me. I still like you of course, always did, always will. It seems you have little need for me anymore, and that’s OK. You have a whole life to live yet. I like living alone now. I’ve gotten used to it. I’m much more withdrawn now, even misanthropic, not wanting much interaction with people anymore. (how emo) Emo I’ve resigned as President of the union. I’m leaving UNM in the fall; Halloween is my last day. I am trying to find a reason for living. I practice guitar,fishrock-large go for hikes in the mountains, play chess, read a lot. I got some medication for depression, and combined with a little counseling, I think I might be coming out of this emo fog. Hate to bare my soul like this; I never wanted to make you uncomfortable around me. Since we don’t work together, it’s rare to run into you, and you’re too busy, or uninterested in having lunch anymore, so I thought I might as well get this off my chest. Again, I stress this: I am over the infatuation. I would like to resume Friday lunches, or some other day, if that’s better for you. I really, honestly, like you, and I won’t mention any of this ever again if you’d prefer not to talk about my insanity. I’ve been reading lots of interesting comics and novels lately, and getting into some old movies. It’d be nice to share again. Discuss books, movies, politics. It’d be great to exchange books and movies again. I totally understand that you would be freaked out by these admissions, so I understand if I don’t hear from you. I don’t even know if you’ll read this. I just felt I had to write it, and couldn’t wait until Halloween to put it in the mail as I planned. Your friend, Terry

Even if Karen reads this, she’ll never acknowledge it. Too weird. She has always had problems with old perverts, so I did my best to keep this to myself, and the people who have read this blog.  At first, I hid most of the blog entries that had to do with Karen. They were so silly, perverted, and too “inappropriate,” for me to post for the world to see anymore, but nothing matters anymore, so I un-hid ‘em.  Of course, Karen is almost 29 years old now, and hardly a child, so I’m not that perverted.  I’m just old. Finished. Done.  My life enters a new phase now, but I can’t see the future.

It’s Raining Again – Wonderful!

desert_rain Started raining not long after I got home.  I love it when it does that – waits for me to get home.  Traffic goes nuts in the rain, and I’m not too fond of riding soaking wet.  It had been hot and humid today; unusual for this dry desert-like climate to be humid.  So the rain cooled things off, and sounded good coming down, hitting the roof, pouring down the walls, splattering on the sidewalk and patio from the canales.  It stopped for awhile, and I hadn’t given it much thought until it started in again. Not too hard. Pleasant.  Soothing.  I got to thinking that I don’t know what to write about anymore, at least as far as my life.  The obsessive infatuation I had at least gave me a focus!

I don’t see Karen anymore.  She avoids me.  She’s always busy. Once she told me she’d be busy throughout May, but she’s still busy now.  I’ve asked a couple times if she wanted to continue having lunch, and she said she did, but she was just so busy. It’s a good indication, I think, of her immaturity.  Can’t say outright she doesn’t want to have lunch, even when I give her an opening.  Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore.  I like her still, without the infatuation, and would have liked to continue the friendship, but her interest in me, whatever it was, seems to have evaporated.

Still I’m taking an antidepressant, something I thought I’d never do.  Lacking any zest for life, or feelings for anyone, any reason to continue living, seemed incentive enough to try something.  I am still practicing guitar, and hiking in the mountains.  I have a pretty and intelligent friend I hike with, and we both like sushi and salsa dancing and hiking.  I have every reason to be hopeful.

Still, I get into rages.  I nearly blew up at the Parking Services clerk.  I had visions of coming back at night to destroy the building, or at least break the windows.  I even thought about seeing which car was his and coming back to break his windows.  Such a pitiful excuse for a human being.  Him, or me.  I was angry so long over that, but the director apologized, gave me my money back, and trained her staff on how to do things the right way for motorcycle permits.  Over and done with.  I sure was angry for awhile there though.

Generally, I’m improving. Life does not appear so pointless and empty anymore.  I think less of dying. I still think about moving to Afghanistan to help them rebuild schools and infrastructure.  Might still do that.  Retirement from my current job looms ahead.  I look forward to it, but fear the loss of income and shaky future of it.  My plan had been to pay off the house my wife and I had and retire without any house payments. Our divorce screwed that up royally.  She got to keep what she’s always thought of as her house, even though we’d borrowed money to pay off her ex, and it was in both our names, and I’d made all the payments myself, including the extra money.  I’d had my own house when I met her.  It would almost be paid off now too, but I sold it at a loss to pay off debts, debts we both had.  I never dreamed that I’d end up with nothing for all that.  Well, I have my pension, but that’s all.  Rents are high.  I won’t have money to travel as I’d planned. I really don’t know what the fuck I am going to do.  I’ll probably end up working part time at something.  The chances of making a living at writing or photography seem slim, but I’m going to try.  Maybe I’ll end up playing bad guitar on the street for spare change.

I did have a real surge in my life recently.  Rarely do I go out to dinner or anywhere much anymore.  I’d been trying to get together with my step-daughter for awhile, ever since she had her last brain operation, and we found out she was cancer free after all.  It hadn’t come back.  I wanted to celebrate so much when I heard that.  I’d have bought champagne for my ex and partied, but she was in Texas, and hadn’t wanted me there.  She had a pleasant dinner with her daughter and the first husband, Maya’s dad, who she hadn’t spoken with in 25 years, but we could have gone out to celebrate if I’d been there.  Even after telling me she didn’t want me there, she called, at Maya’s insistence, to tell me how it went, and how she wanted to celebrate, maybe find a bottle of champagne.   Well, anyway, I took my step-daughter Maya to a very nice fondue place in the Old Town part of  Albuquerque. melting-pot We had a great time. We didn’t eat too much, or drink a lot, but we laughed and talked for three hours.  It was the best time I’d had in two years.  Maya said it was the best date she’d had in a long time.  It was fun, and we  reconnected.  Always had a good relationship with her.  We opened up to each other more than usual, and it felt comfortable.  A wonderful boost to my morale!

Things at work, however, are deteriorating. The loss of gas and oil revenue the State of New Mexico depended on has meant less money coming down from Santa Fe. Everyone is cutting corners, cutting operations, looking for things to cut, purge, or lay off to make ends meet.  My lab may be next, before I even get a chance to retire.  The bean counters are king now.  Regulations require that I not overcharge anyone for the work I do.  The Dean of the Medical School is slowly cutting me off of the tobacco settlement money they’d used to pay my salary, which meant my lab went into deficit for the first time ever.  I can cut costs, raise prices some, but the crazy people there don’t understand what it is I do exactly, so they have come up with outrageous calculations of costs, based on a spreadsheet that is badly thought out.  One example is raising the price of one service by 15 cents, but increasing a similar service, that actually costs less in supplies, and takes less time and effort, by over 30 times the current rate.  Unreal.  They don’t even think it’s a big deal, but it means there will be no more revenue from that service ever.  I can’t get them to understand. I accept we have to raise rates, but it has to be based on real data, not numbers plugged into a hilariously inventive spreadsheet, just to satisfy auditors.  Gotta have a paper trail to prove we are charging the right amount!  Even when the premises of the spreadsheet are insanely wrong.  Doesn’t seem to matter that we cannot long operate under those conditions.  We need more business, more efficiency, not less income.  Idiots!  I’ve worked so long and hard at this job, and now pencil pushers are going to ruin it.  It makes me furious.  I see red, feel violent. It attacks my own efficiency all these years in maintaining a tight budget, in helping scores of researchers, and contributing to dozens of their research papers.  My knowledge is suddenly inferior to a paper-trail spreadsheet.  It must be right – how could it be wrong?  Haha.  Idiots.  Little tiny minds, desperately trying to feel important, destroying everything they touch. Fuck the assholes.  I may be depressed, but I don’t have to let them destroy all this when they don’t even understand the basic fallacies behind their calculations.

So, I don’t know if I’m improving or not.  On the one hand, I have good days every once in a while.  On the other hand, my bad days seem worse.  I will be lucky to survive the next few months without killing someone.

The Lover

I wander through my house tonight. Calm. Introspective.  I rented The Lover, a 1992 movie set in 1929 Vietnam, then a colony of France. The Lover I rented it because there is a 15-year-old French girl at a boarding school in Saigon who meets a 32-year-old Chinese aristocrat.   There is love and sex and passion,but the relationship is doomed because, in 1929, this was an interracial coupling, and such things were not approved of.  Inappropriate. Ha ha.  Of course, I thought of my friend Karen, 30 years younger than me, and the dreams I used to have about her.  Her word: inappropriate.  It seems so insane now.  There was never going to be more than a casual relationship, and I knew it. Still, I imagined we might be lovers, even if we couldn’t marry.  I’d have married her.  Our mutual love of children would have meant we’d have children, something I would still like.  Karen was adopted herself, and she spoke of wanting to adopt a child, but she seemed open to the idea of having one of her own.  I don’t know why we talked of all these things.  She said she’d like to get married in Vegas by an Elvis impersonator, even as my heart skipped a beat imagining that we’d go to Vegas and get married. I’d have adopted with her, married her, fucked and kissed her like crazy.  I was way too old for her to even consider as more than a casual acquaintance, but I felt I knew her so well.  I have never met anyone in my whole life like her, someone who reminds me such much of myself at a younger age.  I felt she was as strange as I am, that I’d find true happiness, a rare connection with someone who went through life in her own private world, much as I always have, and still do to some extent.  In truth, I wanted to escape; to escape responsibility, to escape stress, to escape from my life and live in hers.  I wanted to watch Science Fiction movies with her, read comics, graphic novels and manga, and watch Japanese anime.  I wanted to see her every day, even if it meant we never went out much, if we just stayed in with our computers and movies and books.  I was so crazy in love with her, nothing mattered anymore, except her.  If she’d been a crazed drug addict, I’d have joined her.  If she’d wanted to live in a fantasy world, I have done that, pretended we were children in a never-ending Halloween, with costumes, and props and a horror-themed home.  Our home.   I’d have robbed banks with her, killed for her, died for her.  I wanted to die anyway, because if I couldn’t have her, even for a few years, months, weeks, or days, life was no longer worth living.

I can’t imagine why anymore.

I feel more like my old self, whoever that is.  Except, my zest for life, for love, for sex, for passion in all things, for living at all, is gone.  It went away.  Went with Karen.  Went with my ex-wife, the Dragon.  I’m slowly coming around to maybe starting to believe I could ever feel that way again.  It’s possible after all.  I couldn’t have believed that a few weeks ago.

Perhaps it is possible to come back from that obsessive, compulsive, delusional fantasy world I invented for myself, without giving up life and passion and emotional highs and lows.

Perhaps I will care if I do.

Kissing Gets Me High

kiss Ah, here we go: a dream about kissing.  Kissing was always one of my favorite things. In my dream, I am kissing a woman I know, but it is not anyone I know now.  Her features are distinct, as clear as if I know her.  Her face is narrow, more narrow than a face usually is, but she has dark hair and large, deep, brown eyes.  As the dream started I was approaching her, then kissing her as soon as I got close enough. And this was a real kiss, not like those pecks one gives to family.  My ex didn’t like to kiss at all.  Her idea of a kiss was a peck on the lips, fast and over with quickly, kind of the way she liked sex.  Anyway, this kiss was a real kiss: sensual and passionate.  That may seem redundant, but the sensual part was kissing lightly all over each others lips and face, and the passion follows from that.  A good kiss excites me, both emotionally and physically. I was really enjoying this kissing, and pressed my lips down deep into those sexy lips one last time, because I woke up right in the middle of the kiss.  Damn!

And, yeah, I certainly had an erection.   I’ve no idea who the woman could be.  She didn’t resemble anyone I’ve ever known or anyone I’ve seen lately at work, not that I remember.

Well, that’s certainly what I want: a relationship like that, full of sensual kissing, touching and passion.  But, that doesn’t just happen, and wishing won’t make it so.

I’d better start kissing as many people as I can.  But who would kiss an ugly old fool like me? crazy_old_man

(not really me, but close enough)

Seething with Anger Again

anger-1 You’d think a little thing like a parking permit wouldn’t get me so upset.  I need a permit to park at work.   Space is at a premium, so I can understand it; it even encourages people to ride the bus or carpool, which makes sense.  I don’t like having to pay, but I pay my fees and keep my permit current. I ride a motorcycle. Very fuel efficient, pollutes little, takes up very little space.  I replaced my wind shield last evening.  The permit was attached; it cannot be removed and transferred. It shreds if one tries to do so.  Previously, Parking Services had told me that if I brought the old permit in, I could get a replacement free.  So, I cut that entire section out of the windshield and took that in to parking services to get a replacement.  I gave it to this guy Charlie, who was the only person working.  I told him I replaced the windshield, so I wanted to exchange the permit.  He told me he couldn’t do that.  He asked me if I had gotten a new motorcycle, and I told him no.  I patiently explained the situation again, and he kept saying he didn’t understand, no matter how many times I tried to explain it.  Every time he asked if I’d gotten a new motorcycle, I said, no, I had just gotten a new windshield, pointed to the old one, and said I couldn’t use that one, since it couldn’t be detached.  He would just shake his head. I could not believe such density.   However, it didn’t bother me.  I’m taking bupropion to try and deal with my depression.   I’ve been calmer lately.  Finally he wants to know if I want a new permit, so I happily say yes, not even mentioning that was what I’d already said many times.  So he fills out the the paperwork, removes the old permit number from my computer file, and adds the new one.  Makes me sign for a new permit, filling out all the information again, and pay a $10 fee for replacing it.  He wouldn’t exchange the permit; he didn’t even seem to understand the concept.  But, I figured that they might have changed their policy, and $10 isn’t so much.  So far so good.   Then he tells me there are no permits to give me!  He says they ran out; demand exceeded what they had, and no new permits were going to be ordered since the permit year ends in August.  Then they’ll have plenty of new permits to give out.  So, I asked him how the parking officer would know I have a permit, if I didn’t have one to display.  He tells me that the officer can just enter my license into  his scanner, and he’ll be able to tell I have a permit from that.   I was dumbfounded.   I asked him why I needed a new permit at all, if they could just scan my plate?  He just looks at me.  Tells me he doesn’t understand.  By the third time I had to try and explain to him what I was asking him, and he still didn’t get it, I was getting angry.  My voice rose up, and I could hear the anger in my voice.   I asked him for the money back.  Another teller had come in, so I explained it to her too. She got it, after a couple tries.  But, she tells me the supervisor is the only one who can authorize a refund, and the supervisor is off today.  In fact she won’t be back until Tuesday because of the Memorial Day holiday.  She says she’ll give me her card so I can call her or email her, walks to a desk behind her, and then walks away to help another customer.  She even stops and walks back to the desk again, but still no card or number.  Finally Charlie asks her if she has a card.  She says maybe.  He goes and looks for one and gives it to me.

By this time I was so mad I could hardly speak.  I left, throwing the door open as hard as I could, but it didn’t go all the way, and another customer was leaving behind me, so it couldn’t slam shut either.   I wanted to break something.   I wanted to throw everything in the office at this idiot.  I climbed on the bike and sped away, livid with anger.  Raced in to work, because even though I’d gone in early, now I was already 15 minutes late.

So, no improvement in my mood there.   I’ve been through anger management counseling before, and I knew better than to throw things, or yell at the idiot.  I did my best to calm down, and patiently explained the situation to the other teller, but my adrenalin was pumping!  I felt like telling Charlie what an idiot he was, berating him, and questioning his ability to hold a  job, but I said nothing, beyond asking for a refund.  As soon as I had the supervisor’s card, I left, without saying another word.

But the anger I felt!  Unbelievable.  Disproportionate.  I’d have liked to destroy the parking services building right then. anger-2

What possible benefit am I getting from the bupropion or counseling if I can’ t control my anger?  If something like this almost turns me into a raging maniac?  Maybe what I really need to be taking is an SSRI (serotonin-specific reuptake inhibitor) like Prozac, Paxil or Zoloft?  I hate the thought of having to deal with those.  People report a lack of feeling, no emotions, and a sense of disconnectedness.  Hell, I already felt disconnected; that’s why I went for the treatment in the first place.

Of course now, with no way to control my anger, I could end up in jail. I’d rather not do that, even though I’m not real concerned about where I go or what I do right now.

Sexual dream last night

It’s been quite some time since I had a dream like that.  I have no idea who the woman was, but I knew her.  We were really going at it.  I was just at the point of really slamming it home when I woke up, with a hard on of course.  I remembered all of the dream, as though it had been real.  I had been thrusting in my sleep, because I vividly remembered that there wasn’t much sensation around my penis, as though it wasn’t going in deep or something.  So I had to have been thrusting up against the sheet, through my underwear shorts.  Not much sensation that way.

I thought about my new hiking buddy after that.  We don’t really date.  We’ve been on three hikes so far.  A friend had given me her number as someone who loved hiking, and we had been communicating by email.  Going together is one way to prod both of us to get out there and hike, when there are so many things that compete for our time.  I met her for the first time at the hike rendezvous.  Nice looking woman, younger than me, but I can’t tell what her age is.  She’s divorced too.  We talked all through  the hike, which is unusual for me, as I prefer to hike close-mouthed, in peace, and to avoid losing water vapor in this dry heat.  However, I really enjoyed meeting her, talking with her, and looking at her.  She had hiker’s legs, with the strong calf muscles, and she wears shorts, so I could see her legs when I was behind her on the trail.  Nice.  We also seem to have made a connection, so I’m not as alienated from people as I thought.

That was three weeks ago, April 19.  We hiked a short distance through the Golden Open Space.  It’s City of Albuquerque open space somehow, even though it’s a ways outside the city, past Tijeras Canyon, up highway NM14, and past Cedar Crest, NM.  The hike was short, and we were prepared for a hike of 8-12 miles.  The hike leader had plans to take us to Gutierrez Canyon and the Juan Tomas Open Space, but the roads were muddy, and he went home.  Fortunately, a couple of the hikers knew of some good trails near Tijeras, so we went back down to there and hiked.  Such an interesting hike! We found snow on the trail high up, and it made for slippery going, as it was half-melted.   Many dead trees, trees killed by attacks of the bark beetle, had recently been knocked down by the high winds so common here,  so the trail was difficult.  Near the top one woman showed me a medallion.  At least a couple hundred of the oldest trees have been cored, dated, and marked by an unknown scientist.  Hikers like to look for them, much like searching for geo-caches.  They are all numbered.  Each has the age of the tree expressed as a germination date, as well as an event that occurred that year.  I saw the 1765 one, with The Stamp Act listed on it.  The hikes become a little more interesting that way.

Last weekend we went on a hike by ourselves, as the one we’d planned on was canceled.  Enjoyed the hike with her.  We only had to drive a relatively short distance from her house to the trail head, and we only hiked a few hours, as we’d gotten a late start.  Wonderful views (of nature).  See below:

Cloud_Level Cloud Level by Me

We made plans to hike again this past weekend, as there was a hike that was going to focus on finding more of those mysterious medallions.  And find them we did, at least a dozen of them.

Here’s two: Mystery_Medallion_16 MM #16, by Me, and Mystery_Medallion_24 MM #24, by Me

We saw some where the mystery man had even dated a stump and an old felled tree, so he included the date of death as well.   The felled tree dated from the mid 1600′s, and it was called Lorenzo’s Trough Log.  It was felled, according to the date of death, in 1929.  It had been hollowed out to make a feeding or watering trough for grazing animals, likely sheep, as Lorenzo grazed sheep in the vicinity. GD = germination date.  We were both excited about all these medallions because it was new to us.

After the hike, we showered at her place, and drank a lot of water. Like an idiot, I’d forgotten to bring my water bottles.  She shared some of hers with me, and we stopped by a spring where I was able to drink my fill, and filled up a small bottle she had with her.  It was not enough though.  She graciously let me share some more of her water, as a nine-mile hike in hot weather takes more water than we had between us.  So, by the time we got to her house, we felt dehydrated.  After showering, and that water felt sooo good on my baked head, we went for sushi.  We both like sushi a hell of a lot, so that was great fun, and we used a 40%-off coupon, so it wasn’t too expensive.  Good thing, because we were damned hungry.

Victim of a Dream

’nuff said. The past is over. Time to move on. 56 pills now. Two a day for how long? What to expect? Feelings? Enthusiasm for life? A good night’s sleep?  Any of those would be good.  I’m a patient man.

victim_of_a_dream__by_nonnetta

(image by ‘Nonnetta)

Drugs: 30 days, 30 nights, and a hernia too!

bupropion-75mg Started taking bupropion 30 days ago.  There’s supposed to be some effect by now, but I’m not sure what to expect.  I am hopeful that I won’t feel so irritable and impatient, and at odds with all of humanity.  My doctor was ready to put me on another drug, but I’d rather give this one a try.  The counselor I’ve seen thinks I should give it 6 months.  The other main option is  fluoxetine (Prozac).  I do not want to take Prozac!  I know much of my recent oddness stems from not getting enough sleep for longer than I can remember.  I used to get 7 hours a night, and then it became 5 1/2 on average.  But, for the longest time, I’ve woken up every single morning about 3:30 am, and I mean awake, as in fully alert and ready to get up for work.  Sometimes I toss and turn, trying to relax, and even meditate, but can’t nod off.  The clock ticks off the time in half-hour increments until it’s time to get up.  Occasionally I manage to get another hour of sleep, but it’s not deep refreshing sleep.  Last night was the first time I can remember not waking up at 3:30 am.  Got about 5 1/2 hours once again.   I hope that holds.

Had lunch with my step-daughter Maya.  She’s doing well, and preparing herself for surgery next week.  She is prepared for the mass in her brain to be a regrowth of tumor, but I think the odds are against it coming back after all that radiation and chemo.  It was dead.  I’m certain there’s nothing there but scar tissue.  I spoke with her about her mom, the Dragon.  Maya says she’s doing well, and they talk often.  She says her mom is happy, and I’m glad to hear it.  Her friend was wrong in believing that perhaps the Dragon and I should talk, and she got in trouble with the Dragon for interfering.  I spoke with her also, and she says it’s OK, that she agrees that she shouldn’t have butted in.  Too bad; I was actually looking forward to a friendly relationship with the Dragon, at least during Maya’s surgery and recovery.   I was briefly optimistic that we might talk again, and see if there was something left of the 14 years we were together.  Apparently not.  I am strangely at peace with that.   I remember a lot of nice things about the relationship, and I was getting nostalgic for the companionship and sex.   As it is, she doesn’t want or need anything to do with me, and doesn’t want me around when Maya is undergoing surgery, the one time I would expect to be there.  Doesn’t make me angry anymore.  She can do and say whatever she wants.  It’s finally over for me, and that was before the medication showed any affect.  I was actually glad to hear that she is doing well.

where_hernias_occur Another hernia! What fun!  I had one diagnosed and operated on several years ago.  It was inguinal (D, E,F).  Inguinal hernias are a common type of hernia.  The inguinal canal is where the testes descend before birth. The canal contains the spermatic cord and blood vessels. When an inguinal hernia occurs part of the intestine protrudes down the canal and sometimes into the scrotum.  Hoo boy! was that ever fun to recover from!  Painful for a bit afterwards.  Lots of coagulated dark blue blood in the scrotum, and in my penis.  Pretty in a way.  Scary at first, but normal after such an operation.  This time it’s different.  I’m not sure exactly sure what type it is this time, but my stomach has felt odd for some time: hard and sometimes pushing outwards.  I first felt pain there on a hike last December 21.  It’s around my navel, so it could be an umbilical hernia (C), which occurs when the abdominal wall is weakened at the point of  the umbilical cord, but usually in children. Or it could be an epigastric hernia (A). They are protrusions of fat or sometimes intestine through the abdominal wall between the naval and the breastbone.  However, it seems to center around my navel.  Instead of the way it looked before, my belly button appears flat and smooth – pushed flat.   Thirdly, there is a ventral hernia (B). This type of hernia occurs when scar tissue weakens the abdominal wall such as following a surgical operation.  I have a large old scar in that area from when my appendix burst at the young age of only eight.  And of course there was the more recent surgery to repair the other hernia.  Hard to say.  The earliest appointment I could get to see a surgeon is in the middle of June!

What’s really odd is that I had the previous hernia repair done just after Maya’s first surgery to remove her brain tumor. brain-operation

Now she’s going back in for another surgery four years later, and here I am possibly going back for more surgery as well.  Life is really, really, odd sometimes.

UPDATE: the doc said it’s nothing to worry about unless there is pain or some problem – he verified that it is an umbilical hernia, but recently my 5-year-old scar nearby scabbed over and I noticed bits of the old heavy black suture thread (in vogue in the 1950s) sticking out of either end of the scab.  Very odd.

Nervousness, excitability, seething with anger

Day 17 of my attempt to balance my body chemistry with bupropion.  bupropion

Not much to report.  I’ve been fairly mellow, even about the Dragon’s petty bitterness.  Decided I’m not angry with her anymore.  Doesn’t matter what she says or does. In fact, I forgive her everything.  She can stay mad all she wants; not my problem.

Today, however, is another story.  I’m tense, even without coffee.  I feel nervous and irritable.  I noticed that I was incredibly impatient today.  Everyone was in my way, it seemed. Cars were too slow, people walked in my path, a car blocked me in when I had to leave a noontime meeting I’d been to at the union office.  I pulled into the parking lot back at work, and a student walked right into the small marked motorcycle parking lot right in front of me, then she moved over into the space where I had to park.  I just zoomed in front of her.  Felt she was stupid and wrong, which is insane.  It is me that’s impatient, and, while people shouldn’t walk across parking spaces in a busy lot, they do.  It angered me though.  This is why I discussed this with my doctor, why I’m taking bupropion and going to counseling.  I have this unfounded irritability that keeps welling up into almost uncontrollable anger.  I got back to work and would have screamed at my co-worker.  I was already unhappy that he got on his phone for 30-40 minutes after a lab procedure was finished waiting for his attention.  It matters to me because it extends my day a lot when the samples are loaded late in the day.  When I came back, I found that he’d taken an expensive chemical out of the refrigerator and loaded it on a machine, whereas I’d left one out to warm to room temperature, and had even pointed it out to him before I left for my meeting.  Instead, it appeared he hadn’t used it, and had then left it sitting out instead of putting it away. I fired off a terse email right away, and had to make sure it wasn’t too angry sounding.   Turns out he’d had to use both bottles of reagent due to air bubbles in the machine’s delivery lines.  If I had yelled at him he probably would have quit.  I cannot continue to act his way.  Sure enough, I had also experienced this with the Dragon, my ex-wife.  She never mentioned it, and even said she thought everything had been fine, but I know it contributed to the estrangement we experienced, which led to the divorce. She was as bad as me.

Today I feel like everyone is in my way, and I don’t want to see anyone, be around anyone.  Getting home in traffic is going to be difficult.  Perhaps this drug will not be useful after all?

Perhaps I need to be somewhere by myself for awhile?  Of course, when I came back to all this, I’d resent the intrusions of all these people perhaps even more.  I don’t know what this is: suddenly people are the enemy, getting in my space, making too much noise.  Everything is an irritation.  I wish it would all go away.

The Dragon shuts me out, again

2444 Day 13 of the bupropion regime.  Effects are not expected for two weeks, and tomorrow marks two weeks since I started it. Coincidentally, it is also my 2nd counseling session. I don’t know what to make of this drug.  I can’t tell what, if anything, it’s doing.  Perhaps it’s too soon to tell, as I’m having problems today.  I called the ex, who I refer to in this blog as the Dragon, because of the hellfire she spewed out at me prior to the divorce.  I had called her last week to discuss Maya, my stepdaughter.  Maya’s 2nd brain operation is April 29, and I want to be there.  She is going to Cook Children’s Hospital in Fort Worth, Texas, because of the specialists there, not because of her age. She was barely 21 when the tumor was first discovered, and after four years, she was fully recovered, and tumor free.  Now, with this mass showing up on the MRI, she must have another operation, to remove it and see what it is.  Hopefully it will just be scar tissue from the radiation therapy.  Maya said she’d talk to her mom about me going, but her mom is not one to hear about something second hand like that – two years ago she got really pissed, thinking I had asked Maya to tell her I loved her, when in fact I had not done so.  I had simply told Maya that I still loved her mom, while we were having dinner one evening.  Maya tried to get through the Dragon’s anger, I think, by telling her that I still loved her, but it only made the Dragon mad that I’d “use” her daughter that way.  So it goes.

Anyhoo, I called the Dragon last week to get details, find out about the trip to Texas, and see if she’d mind if I went along.  I told her how much I wanted to be there, and that I’d help in any way with finances for traveling, or help drive, or with any part of the trip.  She told me that nothing had been arranged yet, but she’d let me know.  Not having heard from her in 8 days, I decided to call again.  It’s all set.  She’s flying down with her son, instead of driving.  She doesn’t need help with the airfare.  I asked her about hotels, and she said she’d doesn’t know yet.  I offered to help pay for her stay, or share a room, but she said no to that, as I half-expected. Then I had to ask, because, if the Dragon doesn’t want me there, Maya won’t want me to upset her, which would upset Maya, so, I asked, “Is it OK if I’m there in the waiting room with her?”  She said, no, she doesn’t want that.  So, she doesn’t want me there, which means I can’t go.  Maya will not want her mom upset any more than she is by the surgery.  This sucks!  Perhaps the drug is working?  I am angry instead of dispassionate.  This really pisses me off. I’m shaking. Hyped up.  I feel something! but this anger is not what I was hoping for.  I thought perhaps the Dragon and I could put past differences and misunderstandings aside, for Maya’s sake.  Apparently not.

The Dragon is such a viscous, spiteful, hateful woman.  You’d think I’d wanted to leave HER, instead of her kicking me out for what was a misunderstanding of what I’d said.  She doesn’t want to see me ever again for any reason, even in a situation like this, when this young woman, who was like a daughter to me for 14 years of her life, is undergoing another traumatic operation on her brain.  My stepson doesn’t reply to my phone calls or emails.  The Dragon’s lifelong friend whom I got to know pretty well, and used to confide in, won’t respond to emails anymore either.  She said she hoped that the Dragon and me could be happy, and thought a reconciliation was possible, but now she doesn’t respond anymore.  The Dragon gets to everyone – they do what she wants, or face her unrelenting anger.  I don’t think I’ve hated anyone in my life, but I hate this woman now, a woman I thought I could get along with, if only in this situation.  I love my stepdaughter so much, and the Dragon still wants to cause me pain, any way she can. Damn that woman! dragon-in-hell

Update: hours later, after finally getting the floors clean around the house – the bricks are very uneven, so it’s hard to really get them clean without a lot of effort – I noticed all of a sudden that I wasn’t angry anymore. Now that was odd.  In the past, when something like this happened, as when I couldn’t go to Maya’s graduation party, I was mad for along time.  Now it’s down to a few hours?  Either the pills are working or I’ve become resigned to this behavior from the Dragon.  She’s still angry!  I thought we could put the past aside long enough to be there for Maya, but knowing the Dragon, and how she was with her first ex-husband, she doesn’t want me competing for Maya’s attention in any way.  Strangely, I don’t hate her, even for this. She can hate me all she wants; that’s her problem, not mine. Even more odd: I have now forgiven the Dragon for everything she said and did. I no longer care what she says.  I wish her luck in coping with a world that she believes owes her a better life, and where she still hates her first husband, and me too.

9 pills so far

bupropion Day nine of my bupropion pill regimen.  As per doctor’s orders, I am only taking one/day instead of the normal two a day dose, in order to allow my system to get used to it.  In five days I’ll go on 2/day.  No noticeable effects as yet.  Some of the older drugs caused weight gains, but this one is not supposed to do that. Oddly enough, weight loss is a possible side effect.  However, I’ve had the worse allergy symptoms in many years this year. I have to ingest an antihistamine every day just to resemble a normal person, and be able to breathe normally.  Something about antihistamines always makes me hungry, especially for sweets, which then make me sleepy.  Kind of a trade: the old-style antihistamines made me sleepy; the new ones (lotoradine) don’t.  But concentrated sugar makes me sleepy, so sleepy I often sit down and pass out.  I didn’t say “go to sleep” because it happens so fast and goes so deep.  I need the sleep, so I don’t mind.  I am gaining weight however.  That is annoying.  I can feel the excess weight in my stomach.  Ah, well, such is life.

Like, for instance, my relationship with my stepdaughter and ex-wife.  My stepdaughter is going back for another brain operation.  Last time they removed a tumor, she had chemo and radiation, and finally all traces of cancer were gone.  She’s been healthy and happy.  She’s been running marathons again.  We hiked ten miles in the Sandia mountains on New Year’s Day.   But, a recent MRI found another mass in the same area.  Her surgeon things it’s scar tissue from all the radiation concentrated on that spot.  Her chemo/radiation doctor thinks scar tissue is unlikely after all this time.  So, she’s off to a hospital in Fort Worth for careful brain surgery.   It was devastating to have her under the knife last time.  It took almost all day, and she was in so much pain in post-op. You know someone’s in great pain, when, while being treated with morphine, they ask for something to kill the pain.  It’s almost physically painful to watch someone you love in such pain.  Then all the drugs that made her dopey, and her swollen face, and the chemotherapy that didn’t work, and the “gamma knife” radiation treatment followed by regular radiation treatments to that one area.  She survived, which really made me happy – happier than I could recall ever being.  Funny how that works; one has to hit the depths of sorrow or pain to experience the purest happiness afterwards.

I certainly hope that happiness follows depression.  It would be nice to feel something again besides anger and frustration.  success_and_happiness Five more days may give the drug time to have an effect. Perhaps it will take another two weeks for the full dose to really work as it should.  I’m not certain what to expect.  I don’t want to anticipate anything.  I want to know if it’s really going to  help.  The counselor I saw wants me to practice my mindful eating, and my mediation exercises.  Haven’t got around to it yet.  I’m still trying to learn guitar and it takes more practice than I’m giving it so far.  I went to the campus radio station and took pledge calls last night – killed another evening.  Meetings keep coming up, and I haven’t gone for a hike in three months, and haven’t even walked around the ditches like I used to.  Union negotiations start soon.  The financial situation is already causing a financial burden to hit campus employees, there are firings and/or layoffs here, and people expect the union to prevent such things from happening.

I’m worried about my step-daughter, so worried in fact, that I called the dragon!

It took me three tries to pick up and dial the phone.  I rarely call anyone anymore.  The divorce was so painful and my ex was so angry and bitter and had actually screamed so much in my ear on the phone one time that I couldn’t imagine talking to her again.  I have imagined having her in bed with me, fucking her, things like that, but I had no wish to hear her criticisms, accusations, distortions and screaming ever again.  I called her last Friday early in the evening.  She was surprised to hear me on the phone.  It has been a while.  Told her I’d found out about her daughter’s operation. Told her I wanted to go to Texas for the operation. Asked her if she wanted to drive down together.  She has a tentative plan to go with her sister.   We talked a bit about the previous operation.  I know how hard that was on the dragon.  Told her I’d help in any way.  She thanked me.  Said she let me know, as her plans haven’t been made yet – travel by car? plane? motel reservations?  Nothing yet.  Sent her a book I’d read a few weeks ago, Lima Nights.  I had been reading it when I talked with a friend of the dragon, who told me she was telling people that I’d told her I didn’t love her anymore.  Never said it – couldn’t have, as I had 14 years of deep feelings for her, and it doesn’t go away overnight. I told her I hadn’t missed her when she’d been away on vacation. Truth was I was dead tired from working on the house, and really enjoyed the peace and quiet at night without the blaring TV, not to mention the reduced stress from not having her around riding my ass to get the addition and new roof completed.  I thought the book touched on the idea, in the second half, of two people who loved each other failing to communicate, and the tragic results of that.  I thought she might respond, but she never did.  Thinking she might have misunderstood why I sent her the book, or the events depicted in it, I sent her a two-page letter telling her how I’d seen the events unfold almost two years ago.  I did my best to explain what I had said, and why I didn’t understand why she thought I’d said I didn’t love her.   No response, again.  Which is why it was even harder to pick up the phone. At the end of the conversation, I asked her if she wanted to get together (to talk, as I’d asked in the letter), and she said no.  So, that’s that. But the operation is April 29.  Here’s a video that shows the apparatus and operation:

Sam’s Story – Pediatric Deep Brain Stimulation

cookhospital

I have no idea now if we’ll travel together to Texas, or meet up in the waiting room.  Her first husband will also be there; in fact he may fly his daughter down, and we, or the dragon and her sister, may drive her back.  I don’t know how soon my step daughter will be able to travel.  So many unknowns, so much uncertainty.  I have no idea why the dragon ever thought I’d leave her – I hate to change my life.  I want stability, peace, rest.  I’d never have left, despite her  foul moods and depressions.  The good times were enough for me, almost.  What I wanted was for the bad times to be less horrible.  At times, I had wished I could fall in love with someone else, just to see if happiness was eluding me.  Then I did fall in love, but with someone else who didn’t want me.  Happiness eludes me now, all the time.

Such a cheery picture I paint here.  hahahaha hah.

Depression does have me

My step-daughter wrote on Facebook: “I have cancer; cancer doesn’t have me.”  She’s a fighter.  She’ll probably survive again.  Me, I don’t know. Turns out I won’t feel anything from this drug for a couple weeks.  What I felt was just a side effect, which makes sense, because I woke up at 2:30 am that first night I was taking it.  I’ve taken two more of the bupropion pills and haven’t noticed anything.  The clinic doctor who prescribed the bupropion recommended I also get counseling, so I’ve done that too.  Saw a guy this morning, and he agrees that it’s depression alright.  Spilled my guts about all my frustrations, anger, lack of any other emotions, the disconnect.  As I recalled and told him of the various things that have been on my mind, the anger came out, and I was cursing the place I work, the inept and corrupt administration, and the increased bureaucracy around there.  I am still angry with my ex, and feel like I’ve been taken advantage of, used.  I’ve had periodic bouts of depression before in my life, starting in childhood, and considered suicide back then and several times in my life.   He mentioned long-term psychotherapy, but I’m not interested in that.  I will see him seven more times, and see how it goes.  As he explained it, the drug is not a crutch for losers, as I’d often thought, but a useful tool. It’s not unlike the chemical changes one makes when eating, or taking alcohol, or hydrating oneself.  All these things change the body chemistry.  If this bupropion has some effect, then perhaps it’s OK.  I hate taking any kind of drug. I rarely even have a drink anymore.  But, I’m depressed, angry, distracted, irritable, unfocused, not sleeping, making too many mistakes at work, zoning out.   Might as well try something else, since I’m not getting anywhere on my own.

depression

Antidepressants and things to be depressed about

bupropion_skeletal Finally saw a doctor; got some blood work done to see if there is anything wrong with me, but also told him how depressed I’ve been.  I guess this all started around the time my step-daughter got the news she had a brain tumor.  That was years ago now.  My marriage fell apart, and we divorced.  I felt drawn to a woman friend at work, but persistence did not pay off, and that ended too.  I’ve joined a mountaineering club and enjoyed some great hikes.  I’ve taken up guitar and learned a little bit.  It’s hard to maintain any interest, however, when you stay at this level of depression.  I just don’t give a shit about anything anymore.  I don’t like people; don’t want to be around ‘em.  I find myself irritated by every little thing and I don’t care what people think of me or what happens to me.  Perhaps in some remote part of my brain I care, because I finally told a doctor what I was experiencing.  I can’t say feeling, because, honestly, I don’t feel anything anymore.   I can’t concentrate on my work.  I keep making mistakes.  I can hardly concentrate enough to type on a keyboard without switching letters and words around, sometimes jumping ahead and forgetting to write the first part of sentences.  I find myself distracted, sleepless, irritable and sleepy.  Sometimes I just space out entirely for a moment, not knowing where I am or what I’m doing.  It’s not the typical feeling of losing concentration us old farts get. It actually feels like I lose touch with reality for bit.  It is jarring to come back.  My personal life wasn’t getting any better: sent my ex a letter when I heard she may have misunderstood things badly two years ago.  No response.  My friend Karen hasn’t had time for me; is avoiding me.  My step-daughter hasn’t called, or responded to comments I’ve left her.  These are normal things in my life, but losing touch with reality was disturbing.

So, I decided to go the drug route.  I always felt drugs were for losers.  Sure, alcohol or even marijuana can relax a person, make them feel peaceful, but the debilitating effects on the body and mind are not worth it.  Of course, this pharmaceutical may end up doing some damage too, but I thought it might be worth a try.  I’ve finally accepted that I am, after all, a loser, so what else have I to lose?

It’s an odd feeling, this antidepressant.  It’s called bupropion (aka amfebutamone), the ingredient of the well-known drugs Wellbutrin and Zyban, antidepressants so popular today. It is even used to help people quit smoking.  I got a pastry with my half-caf Americano this morning, because one is not supposed to take this on an empty stomach.   I felt nothing unusual all morning.  I didn’t know what to expect, but I thought it might take some time before I noticed anything.  However, by this afternoon I felt a sudden change.  There was moment of almost drowsiness.  It happens to me a lot, and I have to take a nap or get some strong coffee to stay awake at all sometimes.  However, this time, the vague feeling did not manifest as drowsiness at all.  I was wide awake and continued working, bringing up DNA plots, comparing results, and sending out emails with my analyses of the problems I’d seen.  I did feel different though.  The edginess was gone.  No longer did I feel like I’d crack any second and go postal on somebody, or start screaming or throwing things.  I felt at ease.  Calm.  Not drugged.  Different.  Not happy.  Not sad.  Not suicidal.  I even passed my friend, if indeed she’s my friend at all, on my way out of the parking lot, and said, “Hey Karen,” and waved.  Felt nothing.

I don’t know what to make of this.  Will I just be like this? Or will I start to feel again?  I just found out that my step-daughter’s cancer is back.  I should be devastated.  I don’t know what I feel, if anything.  It was so painful before to think we might lose her.  I’d hate to feel that bad again, but it would be better than feeling nothing.

I’ll have to see how it goes.  If anyone’s interested, I’m going to start this blog up again as a regular journal – try to keep track of what happens in my head.  Maybe there are no feelings anymore?  Perhaps that is all an illusion, one I lost?  Will the drug bring the illusion back?

Already I think the drug is wearing off.  I kept having to go back again and again to correct the switched letters and messed up words and spacings in just this short blog entry.  It got me irritated. I proofread it and it looked fine, and then I kept finding more and more mistakes.  So damn infuriating. I know, it’s no big deal, but it’s how I’ve been reacting to everything lately.

bupropion

Love is a trial; if only I were done with it

THE BRIDE OF THE SEA

by H. P. Lovecraft

Black loom the crags of the uplands behind me,

Dark are the sands of the far-stretching shore.

Dim are the pathways and rocks that remind me

Sadly of years in the lost Nevermore.

Soft laps the ocean on wave-polish’d boulder,

Sweet is the sound and familiar to me;

Here, with her head gently bent to my shoulder,

Walk’d I with Unda, the Bride of the Sea.

Bright was the morn of my youth when I met her,

Sweet as the breeze that blew o’er the brine.

Swift was I captur’d in Love’s strongest fetter,

Glad to be here, and she glad to be mine.

Never a question ask’d I where she wander’d,

Never a question ask’d she of my birth:

Happy as children, we thought not nor ponder’d,

Glad of the bounty of ocean and earth.

Once when the moonlight play’d soft ‘mid the billows,

High on the cliff o’er the waters we stood,

Bound was her hair with a garland of willows,

Pluck’d by the fount in the bird-haunted wood.

Strangely she gaz’d on the surges beneath her,

Charm’d with the sound or entranc’d by the light:

Then did the waves a wild aspect bequeath her,

Stern as the ocean and weird as the night.

Coldly she left me, astonish’d and weeping,

Standing alone ‘mid the legions she bless’d:

Down, ever downward, half gliding, half creeping,

Stole the sweet Unda in oceanward quest.

Calm grew the sea, and tumultuous beating

Turn’d to a ripple as Unda the fair

Trod the wet sands in affectionate greeting,

Beckon’d to me, and no longer was there!

Long did I pace by the banks where she vanish’d,

High climb’d the moon and descended again.

Grey broke the dawn till the sad night was banish’d,

Still ach’d my soul with its infinite pain.

All the wide world have I search’d for my darling;

Scour’d the far desert and sail’d distant seas.

Once on the wave while the tempest was snarling,

Flash’d a fair face that brought quiet and ease.

Ever in restlessness onward I stumble

Seeking and pining scarce heeding my way.

Now have I stray’d where the wide waters rumble,

Back to the scene of the lost yesterday.

Lo! the red moon from the ocean’s low hazes

Rises in ominous grandeur to view;

Strange is its face as my tortur’d eye gazes

O’er the vast reaches of sparkle and blue.

Straight from the moon to the shore where I’m sighing

Grows a bright bridge made of wavelets and beams.

Frail it may be, yet how simple the trying,

Wand’ring from earth to the orb of sweet dreams.

What is yon face in the moonlight appearing;

Have I at last found the maiden that fled?

Out on the beam-bridge my footsteps are nearing

Her whose sweet beckoning hastens my tread.

Current’s surround me, and drowsily swaying,

Far on the moon-path I seek the sweet face.

Eagerly, hasting, half panting, half praying,

orward I reach for the vision of grace.

Murmuring waters about me are closing,

Soft the sweet vision advances to me.

Done are my trials; my heart is reposing

Safe with my Unda, the Bride of the Sea.

sweet-unda-in-oceanward-quest shot and modeled by the fantastic Kayleigh

Quoth the Raven

“Leave my loneliness unbroken!”


“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting —
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! — quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming.
And the lamplight o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!

- Poe

the King of Emo.

Interestingly enough, after I posted this, I found out that my Native American Zodiac sign is Raven!

Ravens are the largest songbirds in North America. Their bodies are covered in rich black plumage, which shines with an iridescent bluish color. Though often mistaken with crows, ravens are much larger and their croak is more raucous. Ravens are intelligent masters of mimicking the calls of other animals and have also been known to mimic some human words. They are good at finding food and communicating with other ravens where food is located.

It is their natural talent of recycling, which has gained these birds a bad rap. They do a good job cleaning up nature by eating dead animals. Ravens further recycle by using the same nests year after year, and bringing in new materials for repairs if necessary. These birds build their nest in large trees or the sides of cliffs where they usually lay 4-5 eggs. They don’t wander far from where they were raised and will only get a new mate if one of the pair dies.

Ravens are known as the “keeper of secrets” in several native tribes, and are the teachers of mysticism. They have been wrapped in a wealth of myth and lore throughout many cultures and ages. Their black color and diet of dead animals associates them with the vast void of darkness, which is representative of the unconscious.

The Moon Has a Reddish Tint Right Now

moon I watched it heading west on my way home at 3 a.m Friday morning in the western hemisphere, North America.  It was not full, but the light it reflected on a clear night was spectacular.

It reminded me of the scenes on the red surface of Mars in the movie I just watched. Watchmen.  The only movie I’ve watched in a theater in over a year.  The only movie I’ve ever gone to see the first showing of, and at midnight to boot.  I read Watchman, the graphic novel, many years ago.  Still have it lying around.  Impressed me then, and the movie impressed me even more.  Damn, that was a spectacular movie.   Special effects aside, the graphic depiction of human nature qualifies it as literature, in my opinion, so it ought to be hailed as such.  That was one movie that surely tapped into the words and made them even more visual than the two dimensions of the flat page.  Of course, imagination has no bounds when reading, so the pictures, the colors, the artistic vision are not necessary, and so neither is the movie. Nevertheless, this is how we entertain ourselves, and ideas must be presented as entertainment.  The story, the book, the movie: all are superbly murderous, bloody, violent, tragic, lusty, depraved and, yet, somehow more than that, and much more than entertainment.

Such a story.  Is it a tragedy? It ends with horrible destruction, them hope, and finally, a theme that runs through the entire movie ends it: mankind sucks.  We could do better, but we don’t.  Even the noblest among us would sacrifice millions to save billions, and lie about it.  And the lie provides the hope for humanity, and, in the movie’s ending,  the lie is about to be exposed.

Of course, I had hoped to have seen the movie with Karen.  She’d heard about the graphic novel, but it was out of print.  She hadn’t tried to read it sooner because it was DC comics and, not Marvel.  Growing up, of course, I knew about the superior writing in Marvel comics, the multifaceted characters, the gray areas of truth and right and wrong, and the real life, love and rejection, paying bills, death, and jobs and tiny human dramas on the sidelines of every larger action.  The stuff that goes on even if you’re a superhero. Karen admires that about Marvel and doesn’t care for DC comics. I told her it was worth reading.  By the time I found my copy, it has just been reprinted, and she had already bought a copy.  She hadn’t read it last time we spoke of it, so I’m not sure what she thought.  We have similar ideas about war and peace and science and fiction and religion. We’ve read many of the same books, seen many of the same movies, and admired the best of humanity in all of it.  Unfortunately, the difference in our ages prevents us from seeing something like Watchmen together.

When I asked her if we could see Silver Surfer together – that’s when she let me know.  She said, “That would be like a date!” with a look of horror or disgust on her face.  “Inappropriate.” That’s the word she used many times.  Inappropriate for me to ask her out, to want to meet her after work, see a movie, have a drink, give her flowers.  Even leaving aside my romantic interest in her, she can not even think of me as friend outside of the workplace.  I rarely see her anymore; we work in different buildings, for different departments, but, occasionally have lunch still.

As intriguing as the movie is, I still found part of me wishing I could watch it with Karen.  I didn’t ask her.  I know it’s beyond her to imagine going somewhere with me.  She’d rather go to a play, like Monty Python’s Holy Grail, with her uncle than with me.  I guess old men are OK if you’re related to them.   It’s not even sad anymore to think about. It’s something I’ve had to accept, like my former wife telling me I had to move out, or she’d call the police, tell them her life was in danger.  Very effective.  Very legal.  I could have challenged it later, but by then, I’d have been out, and why would I want to live with someone who’d done that to me?  And Karen.  How nice it would have been to tell her about all that, to have a friend I could talk to, who would listen. She wouldn’t listen – it was also inappropriate to speak of anything personal.  I’m not really sure why.  I could understand a woman not wanting to hear about my disintingrating marriage or the end, when it came.  But, even later? Long after the divorce, she wanted to hear nothing of it.   Of course, sometimes I think it was just because she didn’t want to encourage my inappropriate feelings for her.

But, life goes on. Sort of.  In Watchmen, life goes on, but the underlying tensions are not gone.  Even the deaths of so many millions can ultimately have been for nothing.   I understand the characters in the story who speak of the pointlessness of it all, that we have exactly the society we wanted.  We are violent and selfish and greedy and murderous.  Perhaps we’ll never change.  We cringe at horror, but do little to stop it.  We even participate in our own little ways.

And me? I go on for some reason. Inertia? I don’t know.  I move along with work, with my union activities, with reading, and movies, and guitar, and hiking, and it’s not doing a whole lot for me.  If it were doing something for someone else, perhaps I could accept that as my motivation.  I’m just not really sure I care about anything anymore.  I was happy enough being married to someone I loved, even if not every day was a good one.  I could have gone on that way for a long time, maybe forever.  When it fell apart, and, abruptly it was over, I found myself insanely in love with Karen.  I felt so good, so alive, so ready to fall in love all over again.  It was exhilarating to believe in love, to think I could actually have the “in love” feeling again. That would have given me a real reason to enjoy life and want to go on.  The chances seem slim now.  I feel a great sense of accelerated aging, of death coming soon.  I don’t fear death.  I would like to be happy while I’m alive, but perhaps it’s just not possible anymore.  I don’t even know what would make me truly happy.  Karen. Well, there’s her, and my feelings for her. I’d certainly be happy being with her, but it cannot be.  So, I seem to be rejecting all possibilities that come my way: the old girlfriend back in my life, the other former lover living close by, the union sister who tried to interest me in dating a friend of hers, or even herself – why am I so withdrawn, so quick to misunderstand, so quick to push people away?

Madness Made Personal

silence No word from Karen lately.  My heart is cold and empty.  I haven’t heard from her since Friday the 13th.  I sent her an email after we had lunch, wishing her a lucky Friday the Thirteenth, since she likes those movies so much.  No response, but I wouldn’t have expected one.  It’s pretty rare when she responds to anything, unless it has to do with lunch.  She is very busy these days, and often out of the office, so even the people at the cafeteria haven’t seen her there much lately.  They know her; she’s very friendly to them all, and wishes them a good weekend on Fridays.  She almost always gets a Frito Pie like I do, so they know her as a regular for those delicious things.  She gets hers with beef; I get mine with chicken.  I went last Friday, even though she didn’t respond to my email, but didn’t see her.  No response today either, and a no show.  In fact, I checked the status of the email I sent today, and it was delivered, but not opened.  However, if she opened it with her cell phone, the University’s email system wouldn’t know.  That often happens when I communicate with Philip in the lab, so I never know if he got my emails saying I’d be late, or not coming in. Since he never checks the phone messages, I have to send emails.  He always gets them, but the system doesn’t show it.

So, Karen could have read it, or seen that it was from me and ignored it.  On Friday the 13th she deleted the message I sent right away and purged it right away.  No big deal. She might have been away today; she might respond Monday.

Last weekend I sent an email to her hotmail account.  She used to forward interesting stories to me from that email, so that’s why I have it.  I’ve almost given up sending or forwarding anything to that account, since she never responds.  I even asked her if she still used the account, and, “Yes,” she said,  it’s still her main email account.   She could have decided to block emails from me a long time ago, after I practically begged her to come visit me, and even confessed one time that I kept trying to find something we could do together that wasn’t like a date, (and therefore inappropriate).  She did get that one, I think, because she was mad afterwards, and said something about “people’s” inappropriate behavior. She never tells me anything right out, except in direct face-to-face response to a request to meet  for dinner after work or see a movie, and those, she said, would be like a date.  So, I’ve stopped asking.  However, I did ask her, via email one day, if she had seen Changeling.   It’s written by J. Michael Straczynski, and she’ll read or see anything of his.  She responded, in her typical wordy fashion: “Not Yet.”  Then again, ‘The Changeling‘ is the name of a horror film from 1980, so maybe she thought I meant that?  She much prefers movies like that.  Perhaps the Clint Eastwood-directed movie with Angelina Jolie is not her style? No, she stays current on everything Straczynski does, so it has to be that one.  She probably already saw the horror movie.  Actually, the whole idea of a changeling is centuries old; the belief that a baby was switched at birth  and a demon substituted, as in: changeling_large – from 1780.

So I rented it from Netflix; it had been in my queue for months, and was finally available.  She won’t let me lend her a Netflix movie after I’ve watched it.  She thinks that is improper somehow, even though the movies aren’t checked out just for me to watch by myself only.  I can’t imagine they care if someone else watches it, even if it’s not in my home with me.  She won’t do it.  So, I had the movie; it had arrived on Thursday afternoon and I hadn’t had a chance to watch it. I sent an email to her hotmail account, asking her to come watch it with me.  I said I’d wait until 7:00 pm, but if she needed to come earlier or later, that was OK, but to let me know if she was coming later.  I even said I’d wait until Saturday or Sunday if she liked.  No response.  In fact, I gave up on the whole idea of watching it.  I sat on it all week, hoping to see her today, ask her in person, but she wasn’t there.  I didn’t send an email this time.  Not much point.  I still wish we could be such friends, at least, as would watch a movie together.  I don’t know why I feel so attached to her.

Madness:

I received a note in Facebook from an old friend of the Dragon.  She has known the Dragon since childhood in LA.  She asked how I was doing, and I wrote to her.  I told her that my step-daughter had heard her mother tell someone on the phone that we split up because I told her I didn’t love her.  Fucking unbelievable!  I never said such a thing.  I assumed that the Dragon heard me say, “I didn’t call her while she was away, because I didn’t miss her,” and she heard that to mean I didn’t love her. No, not the case.  Apparently, the Dragon told her old friend that I specifically told her I didn’t love her, and she threw it in my face, saying, for instance, “Why would I want to go with someone who doesn’t love me?”  And, since I didn’t contradict her, it must have been true.  Bizarre!  The actual words she used were, “Why would I want to go (as in travel) with someone who doesn’t want to be with me?”  A little different, but we’d already been over that, and she was yelling it at me, and my step-daughter was right there, so I wanted to avoid upsetting her any more than necessary.  There was nothing I could say.  I told her I did want to drive with her, but she was having none of it.  Later on, she called me from LA, wanting to know why I was using HER daughter as a messenger.  And, how DARE I say anything to her at all? My wonderful step-daughter had tired to tell her mom that I still loved her, which is what I had told her, and, I had not asked her to say anything to her mother.  The Dragon roared, screaming in my ear, and accused me of being a liar, and a terrible husband, and cheap, and stingy, and I had to hang up.  She called back to tell me that half of everything I had was hers.  She had noticed that I’d written her a check for half of the IRS refund, as was our custom, and she said I was already splitting everything up for a divorce.  She would not listen to me at all.

dragon1 It”ll be two years in May since this happened.  I went into the details in earlier posts back then, so no need to rehash it.  The interesting thing is that the Dragon is telling people I actually told her I didn’t love her, when I was telling everyone who would listen that I did.    So, the entire thing could be a result of miscommunication?   She often did that anyway.  Her hearing is bad, even when I’m looking directly at her and speak clearly.  She’ll tell me I said something else entirely, and insist that I’m lying, and I hate being told I’m a liar. It always made me mad.  I couldn’t help it. I would try to show her how she might have misunderstood or not heard right, but since she’s never wrong, she couldn’t even admit the possibility.  In her mind I change my story later, even when there’s no benefit to me to do so.

Now, I’m supposed to have not retracted my statement about not loving her (and she is supposed to have given me a chance to), and to have not fought for her, when she wasn’t talking to me at all, and locked herself in a bedroom and stayed on the phone non-stop night after night for three weeks.  She would glare at me like a child and not speak, and then finally said I had to leave or she’d call the police, say her life was in danger.  Turns out that people do that, and I would have been forced out, and later on there’d be a hearing, but by then I’d be out of the house living somewhere else, and why would I want to go back then?  (When she finally spoke, it was only to get the house for herself.)

So, I didn’t think there was much to say.  As I expected, I am the villain – it was all my fault, and everything I ever said was a lie.

I don’t know what to think anymore.  Is she crazy as a loon too, or is it just me?

Applicable Image

___the_tree_of_life____by_tysheaby Tyshea

Still Into Karen; She’s Just Not That Into Me

Lunch is off-schedule.  Never a sure thing anymore. Hit and miss.  Sometimes I hear from Karen, sometimes not.  I’m seeing a pattern though.

07/18/08

How is your schedule today? Any plans to have lunch early and listen to the music?  – T

I have to attend a meeting and take the minutes.  – Karen

07/25/08

am going to lunch now. Karen

OK. – T

08/01/08

Is lunch on the agenda today?   – T

ok.  – Karen

08/08/08

Hi Karen.  Are you able to go today?  I have something to show you.  – T

I am going in a few minutes. Karen

I show Karen the new “Sad” tattoo – she says nothing.  She doesn’t know she is the inspiration. sad1

08/15/08

I will not be going to lunch today.  I will be with my aunt in the hospital. – Karen

Not serious, I hope?  – T

08/23/08

Today I will be meeting my cousin for lunch. – Karen

Thanks very much for letting me know early. :-)  C ya l8r.   – T

08/29/08

I will be visiting my aunt today at lunch.  She has finally been moved out of ICU. – Karen

I wish her well.  Let me know how she’s doing.  Miss ya.  – T

09/05/08

Ran into Karen in the lobby of my building.  She was rushing somewhere with another woman.  I said Hi.  I should have asked her about lunch, but I was in a hurry myself. Sent an email later:

Looked like you were training someone new.   Sorry to rush off; had a meeting.   I did want to ask if you’d be able to have lunch today?  – T

No reply.  I went over to the cafeteria, but she didn’t show.

09/12/08

I am going to lunch now.  – Karen

Since it’s 1:00, I don’t reply; I rush over. Lunch is quiet.  We don’t say much between mouthfuls of Frito pie.

09/17/08

I will not be going to lunch today.  It’s my bosses b-day and we are having gelato.  – Karen

Sounds like fun.  Is your aunt recovering OK? – T

No reply, no emails from Karen.  She doesn’t show up at the cafeteria for the next three weeks.  I eat alone.

10/17/08

It looks like I can make it to lunch today. Karen

The usual 1:00 or so? – T

Yes, 1:00. Karen

Conversation is subdued again. Karen’s Aunt needs surgery. When she recovers, she will need more surgery.  Karen has been going to see her a couple days a week.

11/07/08

Happy Birthday!  I know, I’m a day late.  Actually, I sent you an e-card via Blue Mountain yesterday, so it may be in your junk folder.  Anyway, with the card, I offered to treat you to lunch today, if that is an option.  Let me know if you’d like to meet for lunch, or if you already have other plans.  – T

My boss is taking me out to lunch. – Karen

Good! I hope it’s someplace fun.  Hope your birthday was a good one, and your Halloween too – hope it all went well, and you had fun with all that.  – T

11/14/08

Lunch today?  @ 1? – T

We are having a meeting and potluck today for the Community Advisory Counsel. – Karen

11/21/08

Are you free today for lunch? – T

I will get back to you later. – Karen

I can go at 1 ish. – Karen

C you then. – T

11/26/08
Hey Karen,
If you’re not busy, how about lunch today? – T

I can’t.  Things are too busy over here. – Karen

12/12/08

Would you be able to meet for lunch today? 1:00 pm or so OK? – T

We will be working on the door for the Peds door decorating contest at that time.  – Karen

12/19/08

Can you make it for lunch today? – T

I already have plans.  Sorry. – Karen

No email at all in January. I think Karen is mad about the Xmas card I sent to her house, but since I didn’t see her at work, I decided to mail it.  I decide to email her on:

01/23/09

I’m available to join you for lunch today, if that’s something you still like doing.  On Fridays I always wait until 1:00 or 1:15 to hear from you, because you don’t always go.  Hope you’re doing well. – T

Later:

Sorry I missed your email.  Today was the last day of work for one of our co-workers so a bunch of us went to O’Neill’s to have a goodbye lunch.   – Karen

01/30/09

Hi.  Can I make an appointment for lunch? – T

Later:

Was out all day buying microwaves.  – Karen

02/06/09

I’m heading over to the cafeteria in a few minutes for Frito pie.  – T

I already have plans.  I should be free next Fri.  – Karen

02/13/09 Friday the 13th

1:00? – T

No reply. The email remains unopened.  However, I go anyway.  She shows up shortly after I get my food. We say Hi.  She walks to the counter.  I find a table.  I try not to look, but I keep glancing over to see if she’s coming.  It takes her a while.  The new position of the cash registers blocks my view and for a time I can’t see if she’s still there.  I finally see her at a register, and then she steps away, towards the door, but she’s only getting a plastic fork and a paper napkin. I keep watching out of the corner of my eye.  I look down to put a bite of Frito pie in my mouth and then I see her walking over.  I would have been really hurt if she’d just left without coming over.

(But, I notice, long after lunch is over, that she finally opened the email, so she didn’t know I was going to be there.)

So, we finally have lunch.  I think things are back to normal.  No mention of Valentine’s Day of course, but I forget to mention anything about Friday the 13th. Her Aunt is finally out of the hospital. Her niece is 5 now, and already looking forward to decorating a pumpkin for next Halloween. Karen is collecting pieces of felt to put together a Halloween-themed October 2009 calendar.  I ask her about the Christmas break, if she went anywhere, and she just says no.  Just family things.  She doesn’t mention the card I mailed to her, or the money I put in it.   $100 is really a lot.   I should mention the card, just to make sure she got it OK, but Karen is talking about anime. Karen is watching a lot of Japanese anime TV shows on her computer. She mentions three or four shows, but now I can’t remember the names of them.  I interrupt her sometimes to put my two cents into the conversation, but I do it too often, I suppose, because she raises her voice a bit to continue with what she had been saying.  I had forgotten.  I back off immediately, and let her talk.  I have nothing very interesting to talk about anyway, since we’d already talked about the financial crisis at the university, and the inept bureaucracy.   She gets up to go and I walk to the door with her so we can dump our trash.  She takes her empty Starbucks Mocha Frappacino bottle with her to put in the recycling bin where she works.  She usually gets one with lunch.  We used to walk over to the espresso coffee cart after lunch, but the bottled Mocha drink is all she has at lunch now.  She always hurries back to work. I don’t walk up the hill with her anymore.  In fact, today, she says good-bye right outside the door.  I wish her a good weekend.  Although she has already turned away, I ask, “Any plans this weekend?”  She turns and just says no.   I no longer say anything, or even think of saying anything about the two of us doing something.  I try not to be “inappropriate” anymore.  I turn away myself and walk back to work, without turning around to  watch her go like I used to.  I  still wonder what it is that is so “inappropriate” that two single people who have no plans for the weekend couldn’t do something together, but I know.   However, tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. Neither of us will see anyone else tonight or then.  Both of us will probably stay home.  I will think of Karen.  Karen won’t think of me at all until next Friday, and only if I email her about lunch.  She’ll probably be busy.

It Doesn’t Take All Too Much to Make me Happy

It’s Friday.  On Fridays I have lunch with Karen; have been for four years.  That’s what this blog was all about.  (and madness)

For some time we’ve gotten away from lunch every Friday, and I wondered if we had drifted so far apart that it wouldn’t happen anymore.  Seems rare anymore, and I never know when it will end entirely.  So, rather than wait until 1:00 pm, or even 1:15 pm as I have been, I sent her an email: “I’m available to join you for lunch today, if that’s something you still like doing.” No answer.  Had lunch by myself at 1:15.  Didn’t see her there.  Haven’t seen her since early December.

But!

I got an answer later:

“Sorry I missed your email.  Today was the last day of work for one of our co-workers so a bunch of us went to O’Neill’s to have a goodbye lunch.”

Happy.  I don’t know why that makes me happy, but it sure does.  She replied! She said she was sorry she missed my email!

(Not that I’m still in love with her, or obsessed, or crazy).  I’m normal now.  :-}

joy

I Wish I Weren’t An Old Man

funny-001 (AGC, Inc.)

Chinese proverb: Men grow old, pearls grow yellow, there is no cure for it.

Walt Whitman:

Youth, large, lusty, loving-youth full of grace, force, fascination,
Do you know that Old Age may come after you with equal grace,
force, fascination?

Day full-blown and splendid-day of the immense sun, action,
ambition, laughter,
The Night follows close with millions of suns, and sleep and
restoring darkness.

Li Po:

The living is a passing traveler;
The dead, a man come home.
One brief journey betwixt heaven and earth,
Then, alas! we are the same old dust of ten thousand ages.

The rabbit in the moon pounds the medicine in vain;
Fu-sang, the tree of immortality,
has crumbled to kindling wood.
Man dies, his white bones are dumb without a word

When the green pines feel the coming of the spring.
Looking back, I sigh;
Looking before, I sigh again.
What is there to prize in the life’s vaporous glory?

Buddha:

People who have learned little grow old like an ox;
their flesh grows, but their knowledge does not grow.

Clint Eastwood:

“Aging can be fun if you lay back and enjoy it.”

Me:

I’d do anything, give anything, to be young enough for Karen.

………………………………………………………………………………….. 

Crazy Karen Dream

Ah, there it is: proof positive that I’m certifiably loopy – another dream about Karen!   Even though I’ve accepted any relationship with her as impossible, and she has already pulled away – in fact, I may not see her anymore – my brain still invents fantasies?

I wake up and I am in bed with Karen; we are nude.  We are at her house, and all of her relatives, brothers, sisters-in-law, parents, etc. are there. Karen and I are in a large room.   Karen is snuggled up with me, and I am telling her how long I have been in love with her.  She seems a little shocked, but as I tell her of my fantasies, I am giving her little kisses on her face.  She doesn’t stop me or pull away.  The dream is very vivid. I can see her face clearly, and it is Karen.  She smiles at me a lot.  There is a lot of activity in the house, as it is late morning.  We get up and I pull on some pants to look for a bathroom.  I don’t see where Karen goes.  There are two guys standing near the bathroom door, but I go in.  I pull the door shut behind me, but it bounces open and I ignore it, as this is a large multi-use public-style bathroom.  As I walk to the urinal the two guys come in and go somewhere else in there, but I am aware of them the whole time.  I pee into a large round urinal, such as I have seen in public bathrooms, but this one is full of water and there are multiple objects floating around.  Two of them look like miniature urinals, and I proceed to sink them with a long steady stream of piss, and then sink the other objects which are toy-like in appearance, like bathtub toys.  The dream ends.  (When I analyze the second part of the dream later, I think it was like a pissing contest, and I am trying to impress Karen’s relatives that I am still virile.)

happy_and_naked_by_beloved_creature Happy and Naked, art by: beloved-creature.

I awake fully aware of the details of the dream, and how happy I still feel. I am also very aware of reality, but the dream has pleased me no end.  I am smiling, happy, content.  I care about nothing else, and stay in bed late, until, 9:11 am.  I had hiked ten miles over hilly, rocky and loose terrain yesterday, just like a week ago, and I needed a good rest.

122108-46-stitch 12/21/08         122808-8 12/28/08

No work today.  I get up because there are things to do, especially pulling the rear wheel off the motorcycle so I can get a new tire.  The bald tire has got to go.  I might not survive the next fall on an icy or wet street.  I am surprised that I care.  I think that I have accepted my fantasy life as real, and it gives me peace.

How many of us live in fantasy worlds, and no one ever knows?

As I have matured, I have learned:

(A picture is worth a thousand words, but this picture contains words, so is it a thousand times each word?)

ivelearned

This Is The End

This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend, the end

Of our” my “elaborate plans, the end

It hurts to set you free
But you’ll never follow me

No safety or surprise, the end
Ill never look into your eyes…again

This is the end.

_no_more_sorrow__by_nonnetta

Forbidden Love

forbidden-love

See more or buy this print from the artist, at: http://la-sera.deviantart.com/art/Forbidden-Love-105120975

In scarlet Town where I was born
There was a fair maid dwelling
Made many a youth cry well a day
Her name was Barbara Allen Karen Ellen

It was in the merry month of May
When green buds they were swelling
Sweet William Terry came from the west east country
And he courted Barbara Allen Karen Ellen

He sent his servant email unto her
To the place where she was dwelling
Said my master’s sick, bids me call for you
If your name be Barbara Allen Karen Ellen

Well, slowly, slowly got she up
And slowly went she nigh him
But all she said as she passed his bed
Young Old man I think you’re dying

Then lightly tripped she down the stairs
She heard those church bells tolling
And each bell seemed to say as it tolled
Hard-hearted Barbara Allen Karen Ellen

O, mother, mother go make my bed
And make it long and narrow
Sweet William Terry died for me today
I’ll die for him tomorrow

They buried Barbara Karen in the old church yard
They buried Sweet William Terry beside her
Out of his grave grew a red, red rose
And out of hers a briar

They grew and grew up the old church wall
Till they could grow no higher
And at the top twined a lover’s knot
The red rose and the briar.

Still my mind is not at peace

I hadn’t seen Karen for awhile, since my last post here.  With Halloween, she was busy.  I emailed to her that (since she has always extended an open invitation for all to see her yard haunt) that I would like to bring my camera and take pictures, and that I’d take pictures of everything if she would like.  Since she never responded, I didn’t go.  I asked her about that today, and she dismissed it as her being just crazy busy.  She got a haircut recently, a birthday present.  I didn’t comment (could be inappropriate), although the haircut did look good on her.  Possibly she expected me to, as she went out of her way to let me know I hadn’t noticed a haircut once before.  The cashier in the cafeteria asked her, and I heard her say it was a birthday present.  I hadn’t heard what the cashier had asked, so when we sat down I asked her what is was she had gotten for her birthday.  She told me it was the haircut, among other things, mostly cash, coin_spinssince that’s what she has told everyone she really needs; no more things.  She didn’t get taken out for dinner this time, as everyone in the family goes, and not everyone pays their own way.  Her nieces did give her some Halloween decorations for her birthday.  She said that they had wanted to give her a collection of Goosebumps movies, and Karen thought that was pretty funny.  They are so young that they think of the Goosebump stories as very scary, goosebumps and they knew Karen would like to watch scary stories.  Actually Karen’s tastes run more to the Halloween movies and the Friday the 13th movies.  She’s looking forward to seeing the new remake of Friday the 13th, but in this one the mother is not a killer. jason

Anyway, I didn’t even give Karen a card this time for her birthday, and no gift certificate for dinner, or cash.  I had sent her an e-card, but she never got it.  She says she doesn’t accept e-cards usually, and has her email filters set pretty high.  Perhaps she expected I would give her a real card with money in it?  I never know what to do.  Hate to be “inappropriate”.  I did actually buy a wonderful painting of a dragon with a rattlesnake skin, placed near the Anasazi ruins of New Mexico. anasazi-ruins I thought she would really like that.  However, since I wasn’t going to see her on her birthday, or the week after, I held onto it until I’d see her again. But, I forgot to bring it anyway.  It doesn’t fit in my bike bag, so I’d have to drive the car, and I never know when I’ll see her.  Who knows if she’d accept it? I’ve become so inhibited around her now, never knowing what I can say or do. After watching the movie Venus, and then Ghost World, ghostworld I decided I finally had an understanding of the nature of our relationship. I mean, I get it, we’re too far apart in age, and who knows what else.  I probably seemed like an interesting character, and she enjoyed having someone to talk to who could appreciate her tastes in movies and books.  No interest beyond that, even though my inappropriate interest in her was transparent.  Just like in those movies, she could overlook what’s not interesting to her, and not really care about my pathetic insanity.

Such an odd relationship still.  I asked her about her Halloween, and she got animated talking it, and her family.  She was in a real good mood again, and it was great to eat with her.  Of course, I’d rather eat her, but that’s a thought I have to forget about.   Talked about my nephew’s visit, and the movie I saw – Ghost World – but she said she hadn’t seen it or read it. I was going to bring up inappropriate relationships.  I could have sworn she’d read it, but anyway.  After a while, when we’d finished eating, I ran out of things I could say, and I’d swear she looked at me as if expecting me to say more, or perhaps give her a card or present?  I don’t know.  I felt awkward.  It’s probably just my deteriorating mental state.

I love seeing her, listening to her, but afterwards I get depressed.  I’m so sad now I wish I could die.  That’s depression, of course, hanging over me like a dank, foul-smelling sulphurous gas cloud. depression

I’d already accepted that my feelings for Karen were just an obsessive infatuation, and that there will never, could never, be any reciprocation of feelings, or more of a friendship than what it is.  It is what it is.  So why am I so unhappy after seeing her?  I’d see a counselor for help, but I don’t want any help.  Just don’t care about much of anything.   And yet I was looking forward to today, just for the possibility of seeing her for lunch.

Come and sit by my side if you love me,

Do not hasten to bid me adieu

Just remember the Duke City valley,

And the old boy that loved you so true.

Saw Karen today

She was in a very bright happy mood.  Of course, it’s almost Halloween, but last time I’d seen her, she was anything but chipper.  She says things have been pretty hectic at work, with grants and people out sick and such.  She said she hasn’t had much time for lunch lately.  And, she also had four wisdom teeth removed.

I saw her at the coffee cart, in one of those serendipitous moments when our paths crossed.  I said, “Hi Karen,” and got behind her, in a two person line.  We were oddly the only two people getting coffee at the time.   I never know exactly what to expect, so I didn’t say anything else, just waited my turn.  She was in a very good mood, from the tone of her voice ordering her coffee, and she turned slightly towards me, still smiling, as though expecting me to say something more.  That was more than I expected, but as she got her iced mocha I stepped up and asked her about her aunt.  She told me, and went over to dress up her coffee and put a lid on it.  Instead of turning and dashing off, however, she waited, and she was waiting for me.  I was very pleasantly surprised, and did my best to get my coffee quickly and step over there for sugar and cream.  We talked some more briefly, and she remained smiling and seemed happy to talk to me.  She did start to turn away, so I asked her about lunch.  She said she’d like that, but wasn’t sure, things were still hectic.  She was still smiling happily when she said she’d let me know, for sure, gave me a bigger smile and headed off.  Sure  enough, at 11:01 am, pretty early, and not long after I’d seen her, she emailed me, “It looks like I can make it to lunch today.” Cool.

It certainly was nice to see her.  She was all smiles, and that really makes me feel good.  It’s nice to be over the obsessive infatuation. Any other time in the last few years I’d have been on cloud nine just to see her, and reading all kinds of make-believe things into her friendliness.  This is better.  I’m reminded of the 2006 movie, Venus. In that, a very young woman, younger than Karen, and a very old man, waaay older than me, become friends.  Oddly, he never hides his infatuation with her, including his desire to touch her, kiss her, and see her naked.  She never hides her disgust with the idea of him touching her, kissing her or seeing her naked.  They drink together, talk, see a play, and hang out, becoming odd friends, while his same-age male friends disown him for this behavior.  I know, I know; at this point in my little narratives I try to apply what I’ve read or watched to me and Karen.  It’s not all that important, but there was that idea that, despite the difference in age, and despite totally opposite expectations of each other, a friendship could still survive.  I’ve always had trouble understanding what this relationship between me and Karen is.  I certainly desire her, even though that is not likely to come to fruition anytime in this universe.   I do enjoy her company, and she seems to enjoy seeing me.  That gives me an odd sense of peace.

I shouldn’t have ever expected anything more, and I shouldn’t worry about anything less.  It certainly takes me a long time to understand things sometime.

Why Would I Go? she said.

Forwarded a Halloween invitation to Karen.  It is an annual event, hosted by two of Albuquerque’s hardest working advocates for peace.  I figured: 1.) Karen loves Halloween.  2.) She went to one of the demonstrations these people organized, so she’s part of the anti-war community, and 3.) I wasn’t asking her to go with me. 

I didn’t expect to hear anything back, unless she mentioned it at lunch tomorrow, assuming we have lunch together tomorrow, but she replied, and quickly:

“Already have plans for the Saturday before Halloween.  Plus why would I go to a party hosted by people I don’t know?”

I thought that was odd.  Perhaps I’m misinterpreting the plain text, but I got the feeling I pissed her off.   How terrible that I would let her know about a Halloween party?  This feels a lot like my marriage did before it ended.  I am sooo good at relationships!

The Unrequited Love of Hector Berlioz

19th Century composer Hector Berlioz (eck-tor bare-lee-ohz) wrote Symphonie Fantastique, op 14 in 1830.  I listened to it tonight, performed by the New Mexico Symphony Orchestra.  It was fantastic! Loved every minute of it, from the musician character who poisons himself with opium, and falls into nightmares, as represented in music anyway, to the March to the Scaffold, after the musician kills the object of his infatuation, to the dream of a witches’ sabbath that takes place at the end.  We were all on our feet in a moment at the end. It is a very interesting  and stirring piece, and it was wonderfully performed.

Berlioz had two infatuations in his life that inspired the symphony.  He wrote of the first:

“The moment I set eyes on her I felt an electric shock; in fact, I fell in love with her, desperately, hopelessly.  I had no wishes, no hopes, I had no idea what was the matter with me, but I suffered acutely and spent my nights in sleepless anguish.”

I can appreciate that.   Of his second infatuation, he said:

“No words can describe what I suffered; even Shakespeare has never painted the horrible gnawing at my heart, the sense of utter desolation and the worthlessness of life, the torture of one’s throbbing pulse, and the wild confusion of mind.  I stopped composing; my mind became paralyzed as my passion grew. I could only — suffer.”

I couldn’t have said that better.  I only wish I were a composer so I could have set my silent suffering into music, and made someone to understand what it feels like.

The most interesting aspect of Berlioz’s life is that he actually obtained his second object of desire.  The day  after the premier of Symphonie Fantastique in Paris, he meets her, and they marry several months later.  THIS IS THE BEST PART: He found her to be a jealous nag and a hopeless alcoholic.  They separated 14 years later.

Ah, unrequited love: best savored alone.  Reality is rarely so like the dream.

Karen, in My Dreams Again

09/14/08

Had a dream with Karen in it last night.  We were sitting together along a street.  Our bodies, from the waist up, were empty and translucent, and there was a light bulb in our stomachs.  Our heads were white, rounded wheel-like shapes and detachable, hung to our necks on pins, like the lid of a trashcan, or a roll of tape.  She wanted to try my head on, so I gave it to her.  She handed hers to me, and put mine on, but she missed the pins, and it fell down into her body.  I said, “Be careful! Don’t break my bulb,” even though it was her bulb. I helped her pull my head out of her body, and get it set right on the pins.  I put her head on, and she gave me her hand.  The feeling I got was so exquisite.  I could feel the smoothness, the coolness of her hand. She smiled at me. The pleasure spread through my hand, and up my arm to my brain.  Oddly, it didn’t matter which head we had on, my thoughts were still my thoughts, and I was still looking at her.  I woke up.  I was erect.  Despite the best efforts of my conscious super-ego, Karen is still roaming my subconscious Id, somewhere near my libido.

We had lunch Friday. It had been four or five weeks, I think.  She’s been busy, at work, and with her aunt’s illness.  She was visiting her aunt several times a week during lunch at the hospital right there alongside where we both work.  She always let me know when she couldn’t make lunch.

Lunch was uneventful.  When I saw her I said it was nice to see her.  She nodded her head without saying anything, but her smile remained.  OK to say that, I guess.   She told me about her aunt.  I asked about her aunt’s sisters who are in town, whether or not they were around much, but she said they spent most of their time at the hospital.  Her aunt has been moved to a nursing home now.  She is recovering from surgery, so that the doctors can then treat her cancer.   I couldn’t tell how this affects Karen.  She didn’t seem sad, just distracted.  She did say that, “I don’t know why these things always happen to the nice ones.”   So, she likes her aunt.   I asked her if they talked much, and she said they didn’t.  I was trying to find out how much this meant to Karen, but I guess she didn’t want to say. Too personal.  I wanted to express my sympathy, but I don’t know what to say if I don’t know what someone is feeling.  She was hard to talk to about other things.  I mentioned the small gathering, the Obamarama party I hosted at my house to watch his acceptance speech.  That got a small smile.

She brought a book with her.  I guess she wasn’t sure I’d show up.  It was a collection of H.P. Lovecraft stories.  I couldn’t remember if I’d read any.  I know the name, and often come across references to him in science fiction magazines.   His Cthulhu Mythos stories have a cult following.  According to Wikipedia, “His works are deeply pessimistic and cynical, challenging the values of Enlightenment, Romanticism, and Christian humanism.” He is sometimes compared to Edgar Allan Poe, one of my all-time favorite authors.  I guess I’d better try some of his works.  Karen knows a lot about him.  She told me he never wrote anything but short stories, and I didn’t know that.  She was surprised I thought he had written novels too.

She got anxious towards the end of lunch. She wasn’t checking the time on her phone, but she became visibly tense.  She hadn’t been sure she’d get to go to lunch because there was so much going on at work.  She has an interesting job which involves children’s health programs.  She sometimes has to travel now, so that’s why she’s not always around.  She only had time for lunch Friday because she didn’t have to travel.

Karen looked at me, I felt, expectantly, like she was waiting for me to say something.  There isn’t much to say.  I could talk about how lonely I am at times, or how I’m adjusting to living alone so well that I’m staying away from gatherings of people.  I could tell her how little I can stand people anymore.  I could tell her how much she means to me.  I could tell her I’d visit her aunt with her.  Unfortunately, these are things she doesn’t want to hear.  Too personal.    I told her instead about my new digital TV, and how I’ve joined the 21st Century by going wireless on my internet connection.  She didn’t seem interested.

I asked her about Halloween, but she said this thing with her aunt has her too preoccupied to give it much thought. She is already prepared anyway, since she spent about half the year or more thinking about it and getting things together.  She seemed disinterested, which was too bad, as I thought it might make her happy to talk about how soon Halloween will be here.  Perhaps her aunt’s illness is really bothering her deeply.

I wish I knew how to talk to people, how to talk to Karen, how to be a friend to her.  I think my dream means that I can’t keep my emotional and sexual hangups from interfering with any possible friendship.  I think she knows this.

The Introvert is back!

09/12/08

That would be me.  I was that way as a child, was a loner in high school, and lived alone for years after.  I even traveled across country alone, at first.  Of course, I learned to interact with people, smiled more, and started conversations with strangers.  I became good at meeting women, and enjoyed the sex a lot, and the intimacy and living together.  After this last marriage fell part, however, I find I’m happy by myself.  I actually avoid contact with other people.  I have a new computer, and I’m busy migrating old programs and images.  I spend a lot of time writing now, and rewriting and editing.  I’m excited to think I may be able to finally get something published in print.  It is a lot of work, and I may ultimately be unsuccessful, but, like taking photographs, I enjoy it.  I may never be able to make a living at writing, photography, and selling used books and movies, but that seems to be the way I’ll spend my retirement.  Of course, since my retirement pay will not be enough to cover the living expenses I have now, I don’t know when I’ll retire.  I am so tired of this job.

How appealing it seems now to retire!  I could even bury myself in writing and internet stuff, and never have much interaction with anyone ever again.  Misanthropic.   I am falling back into my usually unconscious distrust and dislike of people.

The bicycle is repaired, and ready for me, but I haven’t ridden it anywhere yet.  I’ll ride it down to the co-op tomorrow, buy some bread and sushi.

Sometimes I think I should move away, into the mountains.  There are too many people around here.  I don’t like hearing the conversations and noise of the city.

I don’t like the traffic or crowds.

Some people bury themselves in their family.  I did that with each marriage, and now, without either of those people in my life, I have nothing.   I have a few friends, but the interactions are limited.

Ha!  I say I don’t want to be around people, but at the same time, I’m disappointed that the interactions I have are too shallow and distant. Of course, it’s really me that’s shallow and distant.  Depression is normal after divorce, but after all this time, I should be over that.  Instead, I find myself sinking further into alienation and misanthropy.  It’s like: “Why bother? Why should I care anyway?”  I don’t know the answers.  I think I’ll buy the t-shirt.

Blog is dead

09/05/08

In as much as my fantasies about Karen have been effectively squashed by her, and bled out of me through her indifference, I find there is not much to say about her anymore.  I like her, and we sometimes still eat lunch together, but since there is no longer even the slimmest of strands of hope that we could ever be real friends, like going out to movies, nightclubs, for a drink, or a drive, or ever have a meaningful relationship of any kind, there isn’t much point, as it seems to me.  I’ll always consider her a friend, and never forget her.  She is different, and I’m oddly fond of her, but such is life.

However, I do write, and I write often.  Short stories, poems, fiction and non-fiction, can all be found on my Word Press blog Random Writings (http://terrystuff.wordpress.com/).

Thanks for visiting!

Why why why :-)

08/13/08

Unrequited. Art by John Su (http://JohnSu.DeviantArt.com).

John Su is pretty funny. Loved this take on unrequited love. I hope he doesn’t mind if I post it here.

[Message to Karen:

Come and sit by my side if you love me,

Do not hasten to bid me adieu

Just remember the (Duke City) valley,

And the old boy that loved you so true.]

- (with apologies to singer Box Car Willie)

Shaved off my feelings; no one noticed.

07/27/08

The refrigerator has been acting up, and I left a watermelon in the fridge too long.  “Someone left the cake out in the rain, I don’t think that I can take it.” Richard Harris wrote those lyrics, and they might apply to my life.  For some reason they popped into my head as I was writing, …”leaving a watermelon in the fridge….”  I bought two small ones a couple weeks ago, when Elaine was coming over to play chess.  She had plenty and I finished off the rest – it was deliciously sweet.  I saved the other one in case we played chess again the following weekend, but instead we went to the lavender festival near my house.  I had met her and two friends at the cafe across the street and we all went together.  We listened to music and I bought some plums from the local farm there, but we didn’t stay long.  Everyone decided to leave after we toured the old hotel.   Elaine and one friend came with me back to my place and we talked awhile, but they went home after a short time.    I haven’t called Elaine since, although we could have done something this weekend, perhaps at least play another game.  I toyed with the idea, called my step-daughter instead and invited her to go do something Friday evening, but had to leave a message on her cell phone.   She didn’t call back, but I never did call Elaine.

I decided to just stay by myself this weekend.  I’ve sliced the watermelon up and I’m picking out the good stuff that’s not been frozen.  There’s a slight off-taste to the whole thing, but I always have trouble letting something go.  I paid for it, I want to enjoy it.  Like, all that money and work I put into a house I’ll never be able to enjoy. Whine, whine.

Watched a really interesting movie today: La Moustache.  I’d been wanting to see it since it came out, but at that time, in 2005, my then wife wouldn’t have been interested in something that boring.   It’s not that bad.  It is odd, but I found it so easy to identify with the character who shaves off the moustache he’s had all his adult life and no one notices the change.  Of course, that is what the movie is built around, but it is more of a story about how two people who love each other can suddenly pull apart, and find themselves strangers.   All during the movie one can not tell exactly what happened.  That is certainly the way it is with relationships.  One minute everything’s nice, the next minute it can be horribly bad. These two people struggle to hold things together, and the viewer knows something is wrong, but it’s never clear exactly what.  One suspects the female character of being crazy, even while it’s not clear whether or not the male character is crazy now, or was at some point.  Both people believe the other is having reality problems, but neither gives up on the other.

I suppose that’s the most unreal part of the movie, not the mustache that the audience knows was real, not the insistence of everyone else that it was not, not the tendency to think that perhaps the moustache was all in the man’s head and the pictures not real.  What seems most unreal to me is that the two people find a reality they can share at the end, and end up back together as if nothing had happened.  A year ago I learned that my wife’s view of reality was totally different from my own, and that we could no longer even talk to each other in any way that made sense.  She felt I’d given up on the relationship, which I hadn’t, and I took her throwing me out to mean she was the one who had given up.  I have no idea of the truth, and it no longer matters.  My stepdaughter told me her mom is telling people I told her I didn’t love her.  Not true.

In La Moustache, the truth ends up a casualty.  Although it is bitterly important at first, in the end, the other truth, of their feelings for each other, is what wins out.

I suppose that’s what I’d always hoped about Karen, thinking we had some kind of feelings for each other, and that those would eventually win out.  Karen’s reality is a bit different from mine.  She mentioned how people sometimes try to intrude into other parts of her life, and how she’s had to change emails and drop various on-line activities once people intrude like that.   She has every part of her life compartmentalized, I think, into family, Halloween friends, other on-line friends, and other people in her life.   She cannot accept any overlap in those areas.  I didn’t realize until we were having lunch this past Friday that she had meant that I’d found her space online  where she has friends that enjoy Halloween as much as she does, and that that was an entirely separate part of her life, one I had no business even knowing about.  I joined that online community, just to see the pictures Karen had posted there.  I know, it’s a stalking issue, but I had given up on that line of thought already, and didn’t know she knew I knew about the site.  I’m beginning to talk in circles.

Well, at least I did find out that something was bothering her, and what it was.

Strangely, I don’t care what she thinks anymore, in the same way I don’t care what happened and what misunderstandings prompted my divorce.  None of it matters.  I really am liking this living alone stuff now.  I don’t want to go out with anyone, don’t want a lover, don’t want new friends.  I must have retreated to an older me, the one that I remember that hates everyone else.  It’s an odd way to feel, but here’s no anger, no bitterness, not much in the way of feelings at all.  I’ve been following this serialized story in the NYT Magazine, Mrs. Corbett’s Request, and one character describes another as a man who had given up; “…he just gave up.”  He said that men give up, that with one look at them you can tell they’ve given up, whether it happened fast or slow.

That’s seems to be where I am.  I haven’t given up entirely, but I’m almost there.

My Independence Day Anniversary

It’s been one year since my move into this place. Last year I took a couple extra days off, so I had 5 days to get my shit moved. I took some stuff over in the car at first, then got a truck. The dragon never offered to help, never said a word, as I had hauled all those boxes out to the rental van. I carried two recliners, my old one that had been stored in the garage, and the newer one, as well as the big oak entertainment center, my desk, my old bed and tools, and my old table out of the house into the truck and then out again into here, all by myself. I know, big whoop. On the one hand it was exhausting work; on the other, it helped me focus all my energy on the physical. I had most things moved, but no electricity in the new place for days. Our local electric utility was swamped with people also moving in over the extended weekend, and they couldn’t even get to me to turn the power on. I’d been staying in the big bed I’d been sharing with the dragon for ten years, until I took the extra bed she’d been sleeping on, which was really my old bed from before we married. Two nights I stayed there on the little bed she kept in her exercise/TV room. It took a while to get all my crap out of there, making lots of trips with little shit I’d stacked up in the garage. Finally, by July 4, I spent my first night here. Independence!

I had a one-year lease, with no idea what the future held. Would I ever see the dragon again? Would I ever go out with my friend Karen from work? Would I ever marry again? live with someone? have sex again? Would I ever feel like I was in love again? Would I want anyone ever again? Still unanswered questions, except for Karen.

At least I learned to see myself as others see me. Since I’d not been all that old 15 years ago, I’d not run into the sensation of appearing as an old pervert to young women. I’d noticed over the years that most young women didn’t make eye contact or nod hello anymore, but I hadn’t ever accepted that I’d gotten old. I feel young and healthy (Hell, I took off an old tar & gravel roof, replaced all the rotten wood, replaced the roof with a shingled one, and built an addition on a house by myself). My skin looks young, but the grey beard and hair give me away. Someone told me how disgusting it actually is to have an old man hit on her, and how young women are willing to be friendly until that happens. Somehow Karen overlooked my interest in her, and we still had lunch together. That’s gone now too. I’ve looked in the mirror and seen that old man looking back. I get it; I’m old. My choices are limited; my options fewer. How odd that it took a young woman to finally drive that into my thick skull.

Happy 4th of July!

When will the wheel stop?

Although I keep saying that my obsession with Karen is over, it bothered me to see her today.  I ran into her in passing, held a door for her, said Hi.  She looked fantastic, really pretty.   She seemed to pause, seemed to want to say something, but since she didn’t, I asked her if she liked Spamalot.  She said it was fun.   I said the same, and she continued on her way downstairs as I sprinted up the stairs back to my cage.

Depressed now.  That chance meeting got me thinking about her, and how we don’t have lunch anymore, and how little we had to talk about anymore, and what she must think of me now.  I don’t know why it should matter.  I did obsess over her for a long time.  I started and wrote this blog, for a year, all about her and my fantasies regarding her.  It’s been months since I was able to finally accept the futility and finality of the end of the fantasy, but damn, I feel bad now, again.  Why?

<-the obsessive love wheel

Of all the people I’ve ever met or known or wanted, she is the only one that affects me this way anymore.   I was obsessed, and I confused love with obsession.  Knowing that, I still haven’t entirely broken the obsession.  No wonder she fears me now.  I feel broken, sad, and  empty.  At times like this I wonder what there is to live for.

Well, that’s depression for ya.  Entirely my own doing, and I won’t stop thinking about her.  I could, but I don’t. I should, but I don’t.

From the Obsessive Love Wheel:

  • Overwhelming feelings of depression (feeling “empty” inside).
  • A sudden loss of self-esteem, due to the collapse of the relationship.
  • Extreme feelings of self-blame and at times, self-hatred.
  • How odd is it that I suddenly meet the one other person in my life that I used to obsess over for many years, Elaine? After she found someone else, I was left in the lurch, unable to go on, feeling as though I’d lost the one great love of my life. I had to go through several lovers and two marriages to be beyond that, and now, here she is again. We’re friends. I can easily be friends with her. Karen: I still must have feelings for Karen, or it wouldn’t hurt so much.

    Spamalot, life, the universe and dating in general

    06/16/08

    I saw Monty Python’s Spamalot on Saturday afternoon.  Once Karen mentioned she wanted to go, I looked for tickets, and only found some for Saturday afternoon, and not together.  I briefly considered asking her to go with me, but really knew better than that.  I noticed they were almost all sold out, and pretty expensive, considering that it was a traveling Broadway show, and those kind of things are pricey, even when they suck.  However, I thought I would buy two tickets and simply give her one.  I could tell her that the seats weren’t together, and there was no obligation on her part intended, and nothing was implied by it; I just wanted her to have a ticket.

    This one was going to be fun.  I had this odd dream about it too.   I dreamed that I gave Karen the ticket, explaining that she would be sitting alone, and I would be way off to one side and further back.   I dreamed that I got called up on stage by the cast and played some brief role in some skit of theirs in front of everyone, including Karen.   As it happened, in the play, the Holy Grail is discovered to be under the seat of an audience member, and they do indeed call that person up on stage to thank them for finding it.  I had no idea they did that.  Of course, Karen didn’t get the ticket.  It turned out that she had already bought two tickets and her uncle was going with her.  I don’t know what show she went to.  So, I was going to be going alone.  I tried to interest my step-daughter into going with me, but she had plans.  She said it was possible she wouldn’t go to a party she had been invited to, so she’d call me.  However, I never heard from her, and I didn’t know who else to ask.  I was going to a party Saturday evening with my neighbor Benay, so I asked her if she wanted to go to the play too.  Since it was at 2 pm, there would be plenty of time to get to the party by 6, but she said she had too much to do to be ready so early in that day, so she begged off.   So here I was with an extra ticket to an expensive Broadway play, and no one to even give it to.   I had hoped my new neighbor would be around; she a damn good-looking pharmaceutical rep, but she wasn’t around.

    I went to the play, and walked up to the ticket window,  Some guy with a bicycle was there trying to get a good seat, so I plunked the ticket down in front of him.  He said, “What’s this?” so I told him: “Free ticket,” and went inside.   I didn’t see him again, so I don’t know if he used it.

    My plan was to give the one ticket (front and center) to Karen, and use the ticket on the far right and further back for myself.  However, given all the money I’d spent buying two tickets, and not having anyone but a stranger to give the ticket to, I used the better seat for myself.   Lo, and behold, the Holy Grail is found four seats to the right of where my second ticket had been, and sure enough, the girl sitting in that seat was called up on stage, introduced to the audience, congratulated on finding the Grail, and given a round of applause.

    I have the strangest prescient dreams sometimes.

    A Holiday of Dreams

    06/03/08

    I watched an old movie tonight: Roman Holiday, with Audrey Hepburn in her first starring role, as a princess who escapes her obligations for 24 hours on the town, with Gregory Peck as the newspaperman who shares her day.  In 1953, it was far easier to believe that people from different worlds could fall in love, but not that there would be a happy ending.  In the end, they must each return to their respective worlds.

    Me and Karen.  It has been fun sharing lunches and a few laughs, discussing the stories we read and the movies we watched, even though we never did those things together.  It was quite a holiday from my boring life, and perhaps Karen enjoyed having someone new to talk to.   I certainly enjoyed listening to her, watching her smile when she talked about Halloween, and her decorations and the life-size horror diorama she sets up on her lawn every year.  It gives her a lot of happiness.  I don’t know if I gave her anything but my strict attention.  Perhaps that’s all she needed.

    I knew all along how impossible it was, but somehow, I allowed myself to fantasize, to hope, to imagine.  I guess one never outgrows romance, once one accepts that there is such a  thing.  Who knows?

    I guess it’s time for us to return to our separate worlds now.  She’s no princess, and I’m no writer, but it’s certainly analogous to our situation.  30 years?  Too far apart.  Just too different.  I think she’s like me in many ways, but really, she’s only 27, and there’s so much she has yet to experience.  She has so much fun yet to have, and love to enjoy too.  I wanted so much to be a part of that.  I don’t know why I see my younger self in her, and why that was so important for me.  It sure surprised me to find out that there are people like her.  Perhaps I’ve just never let myself really know anyone before.  Of course, I hardly know her at all.  So much of what I think I know is all in my imagination.  

    No, she’s not really like me after all. She has friends, family, and dreams. The only dream I’ve had is being with her.

    I saw an old friend at a Salsa concert the other day.  She said that I’ve always been a loner.   Perhaps I am slightly autistic after all; I certainly have the difficulties in social interaction and restricted, stereotyped interests and activities, along with the motor clumsiness of those with asperger’s syndrome.  Not impaired, just different.  Of course, so many people think they are unique and different, but really aren’t.   I’ve never understood why social interactions are so difficult for me, why I had to question everything in order to learn to at least partially interact with others.  Lots of lovers, some friends, and two or three marriages, but, in the end, I’m unable to understand what’s going on, or what my responses should be.

    Karen told me the other day that her friends take her to dinner and parties.  I should have asked, “So, I’m not a friend?” but I already know the answer, because all interaction outside of work is inappropriate, she says.   I can’t even speak up when she gives me openings like that.  It all seems so unreal, like it’s happening to someone else far away, and I’m not even there.

    I see her sitting there on the grass, so clearly, so beautiful and lovely.  The light clothing, the untanned areas of exposed skin.  A smile on her face, but I just say something about how she’s dressed for the sun but she is sitting in the shade.  It was cold in the cafeteria, she said, as least the way she was dressed.  I turned to the cafeteria and ran to get something to eat, to sit with her there on the grass, but she was gone.  She may have even been preparing to leave as I saw her.  I have no idea why I rushed away without even saying anything else.

    I have to be some kind of idiot.  I just don’t know what else explains such behavior.

    It’s times like this when I really wish I’d die soon, because I just don’t know what’s left for me.  I went to a singles’ picnic, had a good enough time, met someone interesting; I asked her out and she said yes.  It doesn’t excite me or anything.  I feel sort of like I’m just going through motions.  Where am I? Where did I go?  Why am I talking to myself?  Why this dissociation?

    Just life, I guess.

    Went home early from work yesterday; I could barely tolerate being there.  At home I slept some, ate, tried to watch the Hepburn movie, but ended up cutting and drilling some wood pieces to fix my cutting board.  I enjoyed that.  Next project is getting the bicycle running again.   I need a fork tube for the motorcycle too.  One thing at a time, and then the next, and the next.  Just the way it is.  No reason to expect anything more out of life than that, really.

    Finis to Karen

    No email from Karen about lunch today; I waited until 1:15 and then headed to the cafeteria before they closed. Saw Karen outside, which was odd as she usually won’t sit outside. I said hello, and remarked on her being outside; she said it was too cold to sit inside. She was dressed in light summer clothes, showing a lot of skin. I gawked a little at first, and looked away. I ran inside to get lunch, assuming I’d sit with her, but when I came out, she was long gone, not even walking away. Probably ran as fast as she could. She was the reason I got my new “Sad” tattoo, and I didn’t even get to show it her.

    C’est la vie.

    But, actually, it still matters. To me. Hurts. I keep wondering why she said what she did a couple weeks ago about friends taking her out to do things. So, I’m not a friend? Eveything I’ve ever suggested is inappropriate to her, or like a date. Friends make dates, but I guess that’s an old, outdated meaning of the word. I have no idea if she meant it would be OK to do something together, or she was just saying that she has fun. It’s so odd to me that she has friends she’ll hang out with, but for all the things we used to have in common or talk about, she doesn’t consider me a friend after knowing each other over four years. I just have a hard time understanding this, and why it is so important to me.

    – (More graffiti art. Photo by Paul Armstrong, who took the photo in Minneapolis, Minnesota at an abandoned wheat grain elevator near the University of Minnesota)

    Life Goes On for An Emo Bitch

    05/28/08

    That’s what someone called me in a comment on one of these posts. Odd that people think emotions should be kept quiet and to oneself. Certainly one of the most valuable reasons to use a blog is to be able to vent and rant and rage. It’s not all about politics and sports and recipes. (Jeff Thomas)

    So, I drift along. Had a nice dinner with my step-daughter. She’s my antidote for everything else.

    I still don’t know what to do with my life, but I’m hanging in. I met someone awhile back and we’ll get together soon. I’m also invited to a single’s picnic in the mountains on Sunday, so that should be interesting. I think that’s what I should do more often. One always has a feeling of being an extra wheel on the couples’ bus when one is single. No reason to rush not being single, although spending one’s time alone is a life not fully lived. Having experienced love and being in love, one tends to miss it. (redundant1)

    Got a new tattoo; can’t say why. It had been 33 years since I’d gotten the first and only other one, so perhaps it was time. I thought about a lot of dark tats, full of razor blades and bloody hearts but settled on an image with some power that is still appropriate for this stage of my life. My first tat was of a bicycle I drew myself, surrounded by an omega. This one is an image I used in this blog before, the ‘sad’ image from last June 7th’s posting. it is an amazingly popular image, often the main reason anyone finds my blog at all. Now I have it on my arm. I like it. 

    Several other bloggers have incorporated it into their posts. It’s the most popular post I have with 6412 views so far, (out of 122,119) with most readers having clicked on that image.

    I’ve taken the wheels off of my bicycle, in preparation for replacing the tubes and tires, so I should be back on that soon. Rode all over the USA on bicycles, but got lazy when I got the motorcycle. Perhaps it’s time to give the motorcycle a rest, and get the body back into shape.

    I’ve been treating the pre-cancerous keretoses on my face, so I look like a teenager full of zits now. One month of treatment so far, one month now with no treatment, and then another month of treatment. I don’t know if this will get rid of these or not, or if I’ll have to repeat these treatments during the rest of my life. It’s interesting to see how all that sun I got bicycling is coming back to haunt me now. Well, it’s better to have something pre-cancerous under treatment than have to deal with full-blown skin cancer. This ‘Aldara’ cream they prescribed is also used for basal cell carcinomas (skin tumors) and genital warts, so I have no idea how effective it is going to be in the long run. The dermatologist says I’ll live another 30 years or so, so it’s not anything life threatening. See: Keratoses & Barnacles & Young Pretty Doctors.

    What’s really funny is that my job at one time was giving skin cancer to rats and treating them with various combinations of chemotherapy agents and radiation before the doctors could use those treatments on people. I saw a lot of tumors back then, especially since I used to have to dissect the rats when they died. I saw how skin cancer spreads to internal organs: heart, lungs, liver, and even the brain. Not pretty. So, I will continue to treat these so-called “pre”-cancerous bumps. Let me tell you now – you don’t ever want full-blown skin cancer.

    My friend Jin is back from China. She missed the earthquakes by one day, and her family and friends are OK. It took much longer to travel there than normally. She brought back some Tieh Quan Yin (or tie kwan yin) tea. It is an oolong tea also known as Iron Goddess of Mercy, and has tightly curled leaves, having been subjected to a complicated process of repeated rolling and baking, developed three hundred years ago in Fujian’s Anxi area. When brewed, it is light-red or amber in color, with a sweet mellow taste. The tea can be reused all day without losing its taste. She gave me some after I showed her my tattoo, so I wouldn’t be sad. She is so nice.

    Echoes echoes e c h o e s e c h o e s e c h o e s

    05/29/08

    Everyone seems like an echo in my mind now.

    There’s an emotional distance I couldn’t have imagined before. Giving up on Karen seemed to put me into a euphoric state of relief, relief that I wouldn’t have those haunting lows of unrequited desire and longing, after each time I was with her, or after my dreams were over, or sent her an email she’d never answer. Instead, I found myself unemotional, with a depression-like lack of interest in anyone.

    I saw my old girlfriend Elaine, and hung out with her a little. She was one of those great loves in my entire life, the whole reason I’d moved to New Mexico in the first place, and the reason I’d stayed even after that was over. I found other reasons to stay eventually. Since she’s divorced now, and I’m divorced, the timing is perfect, but the spark just isn’t there. I would think that I’d jump at the chance to be with someone, so I wouldn’t feel the emptiness so much, but, I’ve gotten used to it. She was a woman I loved back then, and she is very similar still, but I don’t really want anyone. She is like an echo in my head, a dim memory that reverberates, but falls off in intensity.

    I don’t hate my ex-wife, the dragon,  anymore, although I briefly wanted to see her head explode after she came between me and my step-daughter. Elaine wanted to get revenge on her for me, which brought me out of that! I simply don’t care enough about her anymore, after being in love with her all those years, to want to even hate her anymore. She is another echo. I remember the feeling, but I don’t feel it. Odd.

    Irene,  my wife in between Elaine and the dragon, works nearby. I see her from time to time, or get an email from her. She was nice enough to send me pictures of her kids, getting married, their kids, and pictures of herself and her guy. She is a very nice woman, but even if she were available, she is like another echo. There were feelings there once, but where are they now? I used to say that once I loved someone, I loved them. How could I forget that I loved someone? I figured either you do or you don’t. Once you do, there’s no end to it, unless you didn’t love in the first place.

    Echoes of feelings, from beginning to end: Teresa my amazingly beautiful 4th-cousin; I wanted to marry her. Kathy, who I thought I was in love with when I started life on my own; she filled me with desire. Sue, who brightened up my life like a supernova; I was so hot for her. Bonnie, who I went to classes with, and drove around town with in her little sports car; I wanted her so bad. Echoes now.

    Echoes of sex and love. Geri, my first lover; who disappeared into a mental hospital in Texas; she left me so confused. Polly, the Zionist I argued with about the Palestinians. She had been a virgin, but she left for DC, and then for Israel. Bunny, the first married woman I had sex with; that was weird. She had four kids; one from her boyfriend killed in Vietnam, three with her husband. Her trucker husband was on the road a lot and wanted to kill me later, but they divorced instead, and, after Bunny told me in tears that she’d missed a lot of her pills, gotten pregnant and aborted it, I pulled away. Linda Tatta, the hot Puerto Rican/Italian mix from the projects in NYC. A beautiful woman, smart. I wanted to marry her. She had other guys around, and there was the venereal disease scare that one time. I became a little crazy then; thought she was doing coke, and scared her off. The nurse, an older woman whose last boyfriend had done strange things with knotted plastic bags in her butt. I can’t remember what the sex was like. I know I wasn’t into kinky. Then, I met Leah at a Sci-Fi convention. Leah, who was all about sex, and sex, and sex. Hoo boy; did we ever have sex! I can’t recall if it was ever more than ten times in a single day, we were at it almost all the time, until I left town on my first bicycle trip. We wrote, but by the time I made it back into town, that was just over. Cathy, the dollmaker, divorced, with a daughter, in Scottsdale; we had so much fun together in the desert, and secretly in bed in her rich parent’s house; I left her to continue my bicycle travels, and never made it back. Debbie, a bicyclist I met on the road, and she said I touched something deep inside her; but I had already met Elaine, and I had given her my heart.

    The echoes pile up and interfere with each other, like multiple stones dropped into a pond. But the pond is not still, and much more than a 2-dimensional surface is disturbed.

    Jody, who I met at a commune in Virginia; she was a Native-American beauty, and her serenity touched me. The utopian commune frowned on monogamy however, and I was already committed to a return to New Mexico by then; I continued my bicycling. I met Marcy, and we drifted sideways a moment, had wild sex, and it was the briefest time imaginable. When next I saw her, it was over, just an echo. The echoes keep coming, and coming. Many of them center around sex. Mary, the carny while I worked for a traveling show. Cindy, the college student I met in Oklahoma. Sheila at the foundry in Arizona. Amy, a friend of Bunny’s; we found a hayloft and pounded that prickly straw into gold. The pregnant woman at the commune in Maryland. The friend of a friend in the cat costume, in a hammock when I first returned to my hometown. Shirley, an older woman, a receptionist at the University while I was still working concrete.

    Getting my first blow job in the middle seat of a van full of sleeping people on the road between Albuquerque and New York; that was surreal. Had anyone heard? Did they all know? or care? I was overloaded on sensations then, and can’t remember her name 30 years later.

    Jane, the bisexual friend of my roommate. Chris, with the stiff, fake boobs, and Mary, the med student, Rose, the Mormon-Native American mystic, and Maria, the ex-nun from Columbia, and Karen, the air-traffic controller, and Carla, the smoker, from LA. Sigh, too many choices to make just one.

    Judy swept into my life, a younger married woman while I was still with Elaine, and the sex was good, and she liked me so much, it seemed. After my relationship with Elaine was over, I saw a little of Judy, but she was married. Even when she finally divorced, I wasn’t sure about her. At a dance one evening in the old hotel downtown, I was ready to ask her to move in with me, daughter and all, but she disappeared with Bruce, of the bad teeth, from Guadalupita in northern New Mexico, who was much more sure about her. I visited her a couple times, but she and Bruce were a definite item. There was Teresa, the meth dealer supporting her daughter; she wanted me to put meth on my penis like people did with cocaine. Fortunately, I didn’t have to make a choice there; she drove off to start a new life in Colorado.

    Benay was there right after Elaine. Even while I met other people, we spent so many nights together for five years that we were almost a couple, but not quite. She had two kids, but they lived with their father in Texas. She and I had wonderful sex, but not much else. She met a professor who taught at the University and she was in love with him. He traveled a lot, had an ex too, and wasn’t with her a lot, so she called me, and I’d come over, any time of the night. She had vodka in a water bottle by the bed every night. The pregnancy and abortion were our last acts together too.

    When I met Lorraine, I thought I’d found a good replacement for Elaine. She was warm and sensual and we had a year-long friendship before we ever had sex, but only the week before she left town. She called me from Colorado; she was pregnant too, and she needed money for the abortion. I seemed to attract women then for sex, but not for the real life together, raising kids and all such stuff. Such sad, gut-wrenching echoes. Even when she moved back, things didn’t work out.

    I spent some time alone with the echoes for awhile. I tried to be alone, but Jane, the cowgirl who rented the place out back was just too interesting to resist. I was trying to sort out my feelings for Elaine, and Lorraine, and Benay, but I was a little put off by the smell of horses she brought into bed with her. A couple guys moved into her place with her. I didn’t see her much after that, except in passing.

    One day I met Vickie; I don’t know where. She worked in administration in the school system here. She is very intelligent and the most incredible sexual being I’ve ever met. She once had me lay perfectly still while she fucked me! I was impressed. She was divorced too; had a son. I kept an eye on him while she went off to a conference in Mexico, but while she was gone I met my first wife Irene. When Vickie came back, I had to make a choice. I was still seeing Benay too. One day I ended up, purely by luck, having sex with all three of them on the same day. That is an echo that used to cheer me up, but it seems so far away now.

    Before marrying Irene, I went off to Peru to connect with a pen-pal there, a woman, of course. She looked beautiful in her pictures, but I didn’t feel attracted to her when I met her. ELSIE1 We flew off to Cusco and visited Machu Picchu. I was afraid to get her pregnant, and she got an IUD implanted in a Cusco clinic while we were there. Sex was awkward. We also had language problems. My Spanish was rudimentary, and her English lacked understanding; a friend of hers had been helping her translate letters. When my vacation there was over, she cried into her dad’s chest while I sat on the bed watching Spanish-language TV with them, her mom and her bother and sister-in-law. I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t promised her anything, and I couldn’t stay.

    As soon as I got back from Peru, I moved in with Irene. After a year together, we went on vacation and got married. She had two kids, and it seemed best to marry instead of shack up. I was her third husband. That lasted six years, but we dated for a year after the divorce. It still didn’t work. Celia came after that, but when I told her I didn’t love her or want to marry her, she got mad. It was brief.

    Then I met the dragon, and there followed 14 years of monogamy, sex, love, fights, travel, and raising her two kids. That’s gone now.

    All these echoes. Some patterns there. Some destructive interference, just like sound waves can cancel each other out, or add up to white noise. I screwed up so many times, misunderstood so much, made so many stupid choices. It’s no wonder I find myself alone now. I guess I can’t really complain.

    Post High School Life Is Way Better, Really

    Awhile back, I wrote 2 short stories here about my romantic encounters with women, an alien species.

    After having fallen in love in the second grade, the fifth grade, and then with my fourth cousin after eighth grade, I was on a roll. I was certainly attracted to the opposite sex, and even had dreams about fantastic encounters, but found myself in high school never having dated anyone except my cousin, who had then run off to Texas with some older guy. My high school, unfortunately, was all male. Originally a ‘manual’ training school for ‘delinquent’ boys, the Baltimore Polytechnic Institute did not admit girls. It was an experiment at the time to separate boys and girls to facilitate learning – less distractions, more focus. There is a move these days to bring that back. It may help in grade school, but I think by the time most of us hit high school, you’re not going to get us to ignore biology just because of greater distance between the sexes.

    Hell, beside cars, the main topic of conversation in that high school was sex. Personally, I wanted to fall in love again, but without any females around, the prospect was bleak. In fact, since I had zero social skills, I didn’t even have male friends, and didn’t know how to go about having friends. It’s hard to talk about cars or girlfriends if you don’t have either. It’s possible I had what is now recognized as Asperger’s Syndrome*, as I was oblivious to non-verbal cues and couldn’t understand how to have a conversation with anyone. Before High School, I walked to and from school with my eyes on the ground; if I saw people coming towards me I crossed the street to avoid them.  I hated to look in people’s eyes, although it was probably more because my dad insisted, “Look at me when I’m talking to you,”  and he was always angry when he said that, and often grabbed my face.  High school was no better, and with puberty raging, it was a dark and dry time.  However, by the time I was in my second try at my Junior year, the old school had been abandoned for a new one and the city built the new all-girls high school right next door so we could share some facilities. This opened up possibilities, but my complete lack of social skills left me high and dry throughout the rest of my high school days. I was one of those guys who did not go to any prom. After graduation I went to work, and took evening classes. I also volunteered time at the local Free Clinic, so there were lots of opportunities to meet women, but my social skills still sucked.

    I met a guy from a nearby college while I was in high school, and we had common interests in politics. We met on a bus ride to Indiana to canvas people for Eugene McCarthy. Len had a group of friends, so after high school, I started hanging out with them, and I shared an apartment with Len. There were lots of parties. I tried weed, but found it didn’t have any effect until my fourth try. I had been ready to give up on it, but on an excruciatingly-long bus ride to Florida for a rock concert, I met some stoners who turned me on to some good stuff, and we took turns smoking in the bus’s crapper. That was nice. I felt much more at peace, and my stress levels fell off to near zero. I had missed out on Woodstock. Although I had made plans to go, there was this woman in Len’s group of friends that I’d fallen in love with. Kathy went to Woodstock with the guy she’d just started dating, the handsome, but nearly blind Chuck, so I decided I wasn’t going to share the car with them.

    Ah! Kathy. Now there was a woman. Intelligent right off. She was four years older, as were the rest of the group I was hanging with, so there was a gap. She once told my roommate that I was just a snot-nosed kid, which was true enough, literally, as I had problems with hay fever then, now known as seasonal allergies. Len, who was gay, told Kathy once that I liked her, which is when the snot-nosed kid phrase got trotted out. However, we did occasionally go to a movie, and she lived nearby, so I often stopped by her place to listen to music, or discuss politics or economic theory with her. She was a fan of Ayn Rand capitalism, an overly-idealistic view of market economics that is blindly believed would create a better society. Always wanted to try out her silk sheets. She wrote poetry, and I still have one of her poems:

    “COME, FOLLOW ME  – Kathleen Norvell

    You called to me                 but I could not follow.
    You ran fleeting over fields of
    forget-me-nots, asphodels, lotus.
    I tripped, fell,
    through meadows of hemp, poppies.
    I could not remember what I chased
    I lay down in the red fields of
    forgetfulness.
    Now I lay me down to sleep            perchance to dream?

    But you whispered to             my slumbering self-seeker,
    “Come, follow me.
    I will take you to               the liquid sky -
    a sea you may walk upon.
    You can turn cartwheels on a sickle moon.
    Swim through seas of mustard seed waving.
    Come, follow me.”
    But I could not rise             from my scarlet slumber.

    You pleaded again.
    “I will let you                  swing from lampposts
    by your knees.
    Paint the sky at night
    in green and lavender.
    Slide down the
    seven-tone bannister
    into tomorrow.
    Come, follow me.
    We’ll build sand castles
    in the Sahara
    anthills on Everest.
    See sun-up-and-down at once.”
    Still you beckoned me.
    “Come follow me.
    Your raiment will be
    of crystal webs and moonbeams.
    Awaken!
    Come, follow me!”

    I shook the dust
    of dreams from my eyes
    I dragged myself      away
    from the ruby dell of dreams.
    I leapt into the shimmering skies
    following the sun rays
    of your eyes.
    I ascended beside the glittering voice
    of you who summened,
    the plains of the mind,   seas of the psyche,
    within me, without me.
    I could not see your voice
    only heard the beautiful
    flowing streamers of gold you wore.

    “Come, follow me!”

    I reached up, I
    struggled, stretched my
    hand out.  I touched the
    glistening hem of your garment.
    Closed my eyes.
    Blissful
    expectant,
    exhilarated,
    breathless,
    I opened my eyes

    You lied.”

    She was a romantic like me. She wasn’t interested in me, however, as she was in love with someone else in the group, who eventually married the woman, also in the group, who he was in love with. I was fascinated with the whole dynamic from my outsider perspective. Kathy was in love with Brian, who was in love with Maggie. I was in love with Kathy, but the only person in love with me, or at least attracted to me, was my fat, foul-smelling roommate, and I wasn’t having any of that. For awhile, Brian moved in with me and Len, so Kathy found lots of excuses to drop by, and that was the only reason she went to movies with me. I tried to get her to go for a drink or get a bite to eat afterwards, but she always wanted to rush back to my apartment. She had these long, beautiful legs and she could really move. Brian, of course, was usually there. Only after his wedding did she back off. That’s when I thought my chances would improve, but then Chuck came into the picture, and I had no chance at all. Story of my life at this point.

    Then I met Sue at a mixer. Someone intelligent, in college, and my age. Things were looking up.

    *Asperger Syndrome Symptoms

    Lust, insanity, and, help me!

    05/04/08

    Just when I thought my life had settled down into a nice calm routine I could live with, things could get crazy again! I had lunch with my ex-limerent-object-of desire, and it is different without my interest in her making me happy with her every smile and gesture and rapid-fire speech and obsessive hand movements. She seems so subdued now, and we had little to talk about. She is still into Inuyasha, but since the most recent stuff from Japan hasn’t been released in the US yet, she reads and watches episodes of the hot new show Bleach. Seems to fascinate her as much as Inuyasha or other animes or mangas. But, that’s not what got me writing tonight.

    I met an old girlfriend Elaine, recently, and we’ve hung around a bit. She’s nice, and not bad looking, but crazy.   She’s become a cat lady, for one thing, with somewhere around 8 or 9 cats and two dogs. The odor once I go into her house is intense! She says she is going to replace the carpeting, and it needs it really bad! The smell is horrific. I’ve been there twice so far; helped her move an old desk from her sister’s house to her house yesterday. I thought it was bad the first time she took me there. This time I was glad I wouldn’t be there long. Last time she insisted I watch this cult-like video about The Secret (of getting wealth and love), and I don’t even want to talk about that. She still thinks the invasion of Iraq was justified because al-Qa’ida was training terrorists in Iraq, something few sane people would believe in the face of all evidence to the contrary. The difference between Sunnis and Shiites is not even a matter for discussion. She also believes that Bill and Hillary Clinton are murderers, powerful enough to have covered up their actions with more murders and other cover ups. We’ve talked a bit, while shopping and browsing junk stores. I told her about my ex, and about how bad I felt when I realized I wouldn’t be able to attend my step-daughter Maya’s graduation party. It was depressing at first, and I was angry with the old dragon for making her daughter think she would be too “uncomfortable” having me there. Since then I’ve come to accept it. However, when I mentioned it to Elaine, she gave me sympathy, and exuded empathy, getting mad herself that someone would do this to me.

    I told her about all the work I did on the house the dragon has now. Told her how the dragon manipulated things so she’d get the house, and reneged on her written promise to give me even a token compensation for all the work and money I put into it. She asked me if I’d like to see the house burn down! That was odd, but I had to admit the scenario had crossed my mind. There are times when I do see red. I would, however, never do such a thing. 1.) Pointless: the dragon would get insurance, much more than she could ever get selling the house 2.) I couldn’t do that to anyone 3.) It’s dangerous to many other people, including the firefighters 4.) It’s a terrible thing to do anyway 5.) I love my step-kids and that would make them sad too 6.) As much as I feel I hate the dragon now, I couldn’t do that even to her 7.) It’s insane, beyond insane, and absurd.

    I had forgotten Elaine had even asked me that, later, as we were driving away from her house. She said she wanted to see the house where I’d lived. She was a little evasive about why, although at the time, I didn’t notice. She said she wanted to see the house, and it’s very near where she lives, so I showed it to her.

    It was so odd. I didn’t really want to go there. As we turned onto the block, I saw my old young friends outside playing, and a neighbor too. I tried to talk Elaine out of going up the street, but she couldn’t see the house from that angle. If she had to see it, I wanted her to drop me off away from there, but she had me put the seat back all the way, so I couldn’t be seen. I thought it would be too odd for me to be there, and showing up with another woman would be stupid. I’m not like that. Anyway, I put the seat back and she drove by the old place.

    Later on, I wondered just how crazy Elaine is. If she has lost touch with reality enough, could she be planning something against the dragon to give me some sort of crazy revenge? This now is insanity. I haven’t seen her in many years, and her reclusiveness, and the way she condemns the dragon, makes me really worrried. This woman could be stark-raving mad, for all I know. I don’t know what to do at this point. What if she tries to burn the house down or something like that? It’s horrible enough to think she’d do that, but she won’t get away with it, unless she is suicidal or something. I would, nevertheless, be blamed anyway, and end up in jail, or even worse if someone gets hurt. This is suddenly like a nightmare come to life. I have nothing but my paranoid suspicion to go on. I often overreact in my head and writings. What have I done by hooking up with this woman again? I’m still keeping my distance, but she keeps wanting to kiss me, and I don’t know what she expects is going to happen. I’m afraid to mention my fears to her. What if I end up giving her ideas? What if she is totally insane? I thought I was a bit mad, but who have I hooked up with now?

    I guess that’s all she wrote

    No word from my stepdaughter Maya. I wasn’t expecting any, after what I wrote about her mom. I really do care about her; just can’t stomach her mom. I shouldn’t have been so open with her about my anger over the dragon’s behavior towards me.

    No word from my lunch friend Karen. Again, I could see it coming. We don’t trade books and movies anymore. She was mostly quiet around me, looked uninterested in anything I said, and seemed afraid of me as well. She has no real reason to want to see me, and I think she’s been trying to find a way to tell me so.

    Haven’t heard from the dragon/ex-wife at all. She has her house. She can’t really afford it on her own, but if she’s careful and can keep a job, she’ll have it free and clear before too long, thanks to the extra payments I made on it.

    I am just sooo successful in my relationships with women. Perhaps it’s because they have family and social networks, and I don’t?

    Perhaps I am myself insane? Or, I wonder if I could have Asperger syndrome, related to autism? I read this: “a pervasive developmental disorder, Asperger syndrome is distinguished by a pattern of symptoms rather than a single symptom. It is characterized by qualitative impairment in social interaction, by stereotyped and restricted patterns of activities and interests, and by no clinically significant delay in cognitive development or general delay in language. Intense preoccupation with a narrow subject, one-sided verbosity, restricted prosody and intonation, and motor clumsiness are typical of the condition…”

    That’s a bit technical, but I found this explanation even more interesting:

    “Individuals with AS experience difficulties in basic elements of social interaction, which may include a failure to develop friendships or enjoy spontaneous interests or achievements with others, a lack of social or emotional reciprocity, and impaired nonverbal behaviors such as eye contact, facial expression, posture, and gesture. Unlike those with autism, people with AS are not usually withdrawn around others; they approach others, even if awkwardly, for example by engaging in a one-sided, long-winded speech about a favorite topic while being oblivious to the listener’s feelings or reactions, such as signs of boredom or haste to leave. This social awkwardness has been called “active but odd”. This failure to react appropriately to social interaction may appear as disregard for other people’s feelings, and may come across as insensitive.”

    Actually, that describes my friend Karen extremely well! I wonder if that is what I feel about her, that she is like me in that respect. I’ve never known anyone else like me before.

    Sometimes it seemed the unhappiness I felt after the divorce had more to do with the change in my routine than anything else! The reasons I thought Asperger might apply to myself are:

    Hans Asperger’s initial accounts and other diagnostic schemes include descriptions of motor clumsiness. Children with AS may be delayed in acquiring motor skills that require motor dexterity, such as bicycle riding or opening a jar, and may appear awkward or “uncomfortable in their own skin”. They may be poorly coordinated, or have an odd or bouncy gait or posture, poor handwriting, or problems with visual-motor integration, visual-perceptual skills, and conceptual learning.

    Yep. That was me, clumsy as all hell – I still drop, knock things over, and break things more than anyone I know. My brother, a year younger, easily rode a bicycle, and I couldn’t get it. Once I did, I was fine, but it took me a long time to learn, same as driving a car. That took me longer than any classmate in high school. I just couldn’t get it all coordinated, even with driving lessons. The bouncy gait – my father pointed that out to me. He said he could tell it was me a long way off from that gait. I practiced walking like normal people for a long time, but sometimes I forget. My hips are often uncomfortable to me, and I feel twisted around, so I keep adjusting my clothes or position. My handwriting is legible, but I remember it took intense practice, and never became smooth or easy – it always takes strict concentration. All typing has to be checked and double checked for switched letters, switched words, extra letters, nonsense words, and missing words.

    “…unusually sensitive or insensitive to sound, light, touch, texture, taste, smell, pain, temperature, and other stimuli…”

    Yep. Me again. I often wondered about that. It’s not all the time, but anything above ambient sound at times is actually almost painful and I can’t stand it – makes me very uncomfortable. Same with lights or the texture of my clothes. Smells are often overwhelming. None of these things makes it impossible to function, but people have usually commented on them, especially people I’ve lived with.

    “Stereotyped and repetitive motor behaviors are a core part of the diagnosis of AS and other ASDs. They include hand movements such as flapping or twisting, and complex whole-body movements. These are typically repeated in longer bursts and look more voluntary or ritualistic than tics, which are usually faster, less rhythmical and less often symmetrical.”

    Me again. The hip movements are usually interpreted by others as being caused by pain, but I just get into weird ways of walking sometimes. Sometimes my shoulders just don’t feel right, so I’m constantly moving them around to get comfortable, same as my hands, hips, eyelids or other body parts. I can attribute some of this to stress, but not all.

    “Pursuit of specific and narrow areas of interest is one of the most striking features of AS.”

    That would seem to describe myself and Karen extremely well. How odd that we met and had this long acquaintanceship, but actually exhibit traits that are counterproductive to real friendship. Of course, if neither of us likes to change routine, that would explain the way we continue to see each other. Sometimes, she does drone on, happily, about Halloween or a specific series of stories, and I can’t get a word in. I don’t mind, however, since she gets so excited and smiles so beautifully. I’ve been like that myself, with my extreme focus on war, or politics, although I have learned to notice when people get uncomfortable, even though I often don’t care, like writing this long-winded blog entry.

    “There is no single treatment for Asperger syndrome, and the effectiveness of particular interventions is supported by only limited data. Intervention is aimed at improving symptoms and function. The mainstay of treatment is behavioral therapy, focusing on specific deficits to address poor communication skills, obsessive or repetitive routines, and clumsiness. Most individuals with AS can learn to cope with their differences…. Researchers and people with AS have contributed to a shift in attitudes away from the notion that AS is a deviation from the norm that must be treated or cured, and towards the view that AS is a difference rather than a disability.”

    Well, I’m certainly different.

    Here’s what a test for Asperger’s has to say about me:

    I’ve calculated my Autism Spectrum Quotient as 40, which is very high. Most women score about 15 and most men about 17. Most people with Asperger Syndrome or high-functioning autism score about 35. However, many who score above 32 and even meet the diagnostic criteria for mild autism or Asperger’s have no difficulty functioning in their everyday lives.

    Motorcycles, Maya, and Madness

    Sunday was the third annual Ride for Kids here. It’s a motorcycle ride to raise money for the Pediatric Brain Tumor Foundation. Nationwide, it was the 25th year of the Ride For Kids. We collectively raised $87,000 in Albuquerque. Last year, my step-daughter Maya went with me.  She’s not a kid anymore, but she went through painful brain surgery, ineffective chemotherapy that made some of the tumor grow faster, and finally radiation therapy that killed off the tumor and burned the area around it to kill off all possible remaining tumor cells. She went through it all. She’s a survivor, and that makes me really, really, happy. I signed her up as a survivor at the Ride For Kids, so they called her up on stage last year, and asked her if she’d come back this year. She said she would, and told me she would ride with me again. This year she said she couldn’t go. I understood. She is finally finishing college after that little break to take care of the brain tumor, and I’m so proud of her. I thought about her on the ride yesterday. I almost cried, I’m so happy she is alive and able to enjoy life. I was a little sad too, that she wasn’t with me, but I knew she had a lot to do to finish school, finals coming up, graduation to plan, etc. She had sent me a graduation announcement, with an invitation to her party. Even though I’m divorced from her mom now, and I really wouldn’t want to see my ex, I didn’t think it would be a big deal, because it was Maya’s day, and I would be nice to my ex for Maya’s sake.

    However, when I got home I found an email from Maya saying that she never intended for me to attend the party, just to send me the announcement. It would make her mom uncomfortable for me to be there. I imagine it was her mom that didn’t want her to go on the ride with me either.

    Nice.

    The one thing keeping me sane was Maya. I was so looking forward to her graduation. I thought I could help supply food or help pay for whatever she needed for the party, like a regular parent would, and now that’s denied me. I can’t even say what I’m feeling right now.

    Here’s what Maya wrote to me:

    I’m not going to beat around the bush; this has been an e-mail that
    I’ve been putting off for a while. My plan from the get-go was to
    always send you a graduation invitation, but I was not going to
    invite you to my party out of respect for my mom. I feel if you come
    to my party it will make my mom uncomfortable and that will make me
    uncomfortable. I really don’t want to deal with all of that on “my
    day”. I’m so sorry I hope you and I can do something together
    to celebrate . I really hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I
    need to respect my moms feelings.

    So I wrote back. I know it was not a good idea, but as I was writing, it just came out:

    Sure. No problem. I find it odd that your Mom would go at all. She told me she was never going to go to your Dad’s house ever again. She felt Evangeline was always disrespectful to her, and she has always not liked going to your dad’s house, probably because it’s his house and not hers.
    Be that as it may be, it was not me that ended the relationship with your mom. I told her I didn’t want to leave, I didn’t want a divorce. Yes, I said I had been unhappy, but I wanted to try at least some counseling. I tried to tell her I still loved her – according to her I am a liar. I told her I wanted to drive her to California – she not only refused but accused me of not wanting to be with her, and then blamed me for her car being in bad shape. I tried everything I could, and calmly, and respectfully. She would not talk with me. She wanted what she saw as her house, so she wouldn’t have to worry about her future. She got what she wanted. She promised, in writing, to give me $2,500 as part of the divorce agreement, which was certainly fair on my part. She has reneged on that. She lied to the attorney who helped her figure out the money – she never told the lawyer about the community debt we got into to pay off your dad’s interest in the house, which reduced the equity she had in the house. My fair part would have come to $13,500, even with the 10 years of my retirement she could claim. Instead, all my hard work on what I thought was our house was just working my ass off for her. I suspect this was her plan all along. I gave her a good excuse to act like the wronged party by not calling her while she was on vacation and I was working on the house. I even told her I didn’t miss her while she was gone. It certainly was less tense around the house when she wasn’t there. That’s ALL I did or said. Your mom accused me of planning to leave her, accuses Evangeline of having it in for her, accused me of trying to turn you against her, and intimated that my having any further relationship with you was inappropriate because of your age. She doesn’t even trust you. Why would it make her uncomfortable that I am at your party? She doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me. She cares about control. She can tell you that it would be uncomfortable, only to have control over who comes to your party. She’ll tell you anything. She’s a total liar, an alcoholic and without any concern for anyone but herself. And she’s insane, in my opinion.
    She’s your mom, so you’re stuck with her. I’m sorry about that. I know you love her. Some part of her still cares about you, but not as much as she cares about herself. I wouldn’t wish her on anyone. I’m sorry too, but as you’re an adult, I going to give you truth, as I see it. I’m sorry too, to make you feel bad, and to make myself into an ass. I shouldn’t but, I’m afraid I will never see you ever again anyway, so I might as well say it like it is.
    I still love you, but I can see that it doesn’t really matter anymore. I will always love you, and I miss you all the time. I wish the very best for you. There isn’t anything I won’t do for you. I didn’t want to see your mom at the party. I was willing to put up with the dragon for your sake.

    So, now I’ve made Maya sad, I imagine. Pretty selfish of me. It just made me so mad to imagine that vicious dragon saying something like she would be uncomfortable with me at the party. The dragon is uncomfortable around her ex’s wife. Should Maya also ask her not to be there because it would make her mom uncomfortable? Well, none of this matters. All that mattered to me was Maya, and now I’ve fucked up my relationship with her, if I was ever going to be able to see her again anyway. Who knows? I seem to have this self-destructiveness down cold.

    I wonder what else in my life I can sabotage?

    My Freaking Friday

    I started this blog a while back, putting down my secret life, this unrequited love/limerence/obsession with a woman I know from work.  I was obsessively infatuated with her, but I finally got over it.  Crazy as I am, I finally convinced myself how stupid it was to carry a torch for this woman, to feel pain on rejection, to miss her any time I couldn’t see her, or to dread the day when I couldn’t see her again. My last desperate act was to send her a huge bunch of tulips for Valentine’s Day, and she made it clear that, not only did it bother her, but it was wholly inappropriate. That was the end for me.

    She sent me an email today telling me when she was going to lunch, so I met her there. She was very distracted, and I did most of the talking. Finally, she told me that I had almost run her over with the motorcycle last Tuesday! I never even knew! I had pulled into that parking lot by mistake, and was in a hurry trying to cut across to get back to the campus road. I was distracted by a car coming diagonally across the lot too. She said she had just opened her door and I almost hit her. I didn’t remember! After thinking about it, I vaguely remember something like that. You’d think I’d have recognized Karen anyway, or even done a double take and realized it was her, or remembered that I came that close to hitting someone. Suddenly her behavior in the morning made sense. I had been standing in line for coffee when I saw her come out of the stairwell. She didn’t seem to notice me, but I waved anyway. She went on by, but I noticed in the corner of my eye that she didn’t head out the doors; she stopped around the corner. I thought that was odd, so when I got my coffee and headed for the stairwell, I looked over and she was there. She walked right out then. She had one of those huge muffins in her hand, so after I said Hi, I asked, “chocolate?” because that is what she likes, but she didn’t answer, and turned away and walked quickly to the coffee cart. Seemed strange, but she acts that way sometimes, so I didn’t give it any thought until she told me about the motorcycle incident.

    For some reason, this is bothering me a whole lot. I even wrote her an apology later, as I realized I had made light of it at lunch, and it may have been more of a serious thing to her. What if she thinks it was deliberate? That I was angry that she had rejected me? No wonder she seemed so preoccupied and anxious during lunch. The reason she hadn’t said anything sooner was that she wasn’t absolutely sure it was me, but the “old” guy with the white beard, in the black jacket and black cap had almost run her down. Had to have been me. I cut through that lot two days in a row. I remember now, someone getting out of a car as I passed, and it was close, so after that I didn’t go that way again. But Karen! To have almost run into Karen! It’s like having an emotional flashback. Spoke to my 1st ex-wife, who is a mental health counselor close by. She doesn’t think it’s a big deal, so I guess I shouldn’t.

    Still.

    The funny thing about the car that angled across the parking lot, now that I think about it, is that it was the same car I seem to remember someone getting out of almost as soon as it stopped. Which, well, which would mean that the car angling across my path on Tuesday was Karen, and she had recognized me and was trying to get my attention, and I blew right by her, almost into her! Perhaps she wanted a ride, or to say hello? If so, then I must be the most self-destructive being on the planet! Actually, there is a shuttle stop in that lot, and there was probably a shuttle sitting there and she hopped out quickly like that to get the shuttle before it left. Probably never saw me until I almost ran her down. Jeezus effing H Keerist!

    When the Ticking Echoed Off the Walls Into My Nerves

    And, how are you my strange friends? Those of you in Canada and Pennsylvania and Texas, Pakistan, India, Iran, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Australia, New Zealand, Bangladesh, Hong Kong, England, Sweden, Ireland, Brazil, and Peru, according to the sitemeter, anyway. I know that most people are just looking for pictures, because those get clicked on most. And few of you spend more than a second or two, so I know you arrived by serendipity, and quickly moved on to the next image, the next thing you were looking for. However, I’m glad you stopped by. I’m glad there are people around the world who can possibly read what I write, or are just connected to me, however briefly. This was a dream I had as a teenager, that one day we all could connect with another all over the world, anytime, and talk, learn, or just be connected. At the time, I thought it would have to be in some sort of ethereal form, some kind of world consciousness. People thought that was a crazy idea. We are not there yet, and may never be, but it has been so incredible to see the world move along and develop such potential for instant communication and sharing of ideas. I hope we keep going until we are all connected, or at least, can be connected, if and whenever we like. A few of you actually read the things I write, because a few leave comments. That makes me smile. 

    I remember visiting relatives when I was young. Often, I ended up waiting somewhere in a room, silently with my brother, or by myself. The clearest memory I have is listening to the quiet. I liked the quiet, sometimes. I liked being alone, sometimes. I have three brothers and three sisters, and many, many cousins, and there were so many occasions back then for all of us to be together. It was great, but I often longed for peace and quiet, to just be alone. Sometimes I didn’t like it. It could get boring. Sitting in some relative’s house, I would always hear the clocks ticking, and then striking, echoing the hours off the dull walls. I liked the cuckoo in the old German clocks. The cuckoo was alright; it made me laugh to hear it. Only my grandmother had one of those, I think. The clocks in the other old houses we would visit always seemed to intone, sonorously and slowly. The paintings on the wall were dark and hard to see details in. The wallpaper was always dull, grey, or pale, and really boring. I don’t remember what age I sat in those houses. I remember sitting alone, quietly, trying to find unusual patterns in the wallpaper. I remember too, sometimes working on jigsaw puzzles, quietly, with just my brother John. I like being alone, but I like having other people around. It sounds contradictory, but that’s the way I am.

    I like having people in the other room talking or sleeping, or playing games, even if I am by myself, reading, or thinking. I don’t know what it was about visiting those old houses. I think the adults would go off to talk, or to a funeral home, because that is what often got us to those houses that we rarely saw. Somebody was always dying, some great aunt, or other relative that I had never known. I hated those houses. I grew to hate the clocks striking hour after hour, perhaps because it was otherwise deathly quiet, and so boring I could almost have cried. Perhaps it was just the perceived feeling of abandonment that occurs to children.

    Now, here I am again. By myself. It was lonely at first. I read a lot, and still do, but I also worked on jigsaw puzzles, wrote in this blog, or just sat and thought about Karen a lot, and about my ex-wife. It’s a good thing there isn’t one of those old ticking, chiming clocks because I’d have either smashed it into little bitty pieces or gone insane. I thought about this moment when I was very young. I thought about being old and living alone, in a quiet house with paintings sticking out of shadows, and no other sound but the clocks ticking, ticking, ticking. I was afraid of that. I never wanted that to ever happen.

    Fortunately, I have radio and music and TV, and internet, and none of it matters for shit if you’re depressed, but what the hell, I can’t stay depressed for long. I like this little place I live in. The three rooms seemed huge at first, so empty, so quiet, so dead. It’s my place now. I look forward to coming home. The house is familiar, and comfortable, and the cats show up when they feel like it. I don’t regret not having other people here. I do like the quiet sometimes still. Near the farmlands and river and away from the busy streets, it is actually quiet here at times. The thick adobe walls and the well-insulated roof keep out most sounds.  Sometimes it is just like those childhood memories of being along, or feeling alone in some stranger’s house, waiting for something, but without the clocks ticking away. I can turn off all the electronics now, and sit quietly, and it is peaceful. That is what I missed during that marriage – peace and quiet. It was never peaceful with the TV on all the time, and the dragon wanting to tell me the gossip about her friends and family, often over and over. I guess that’s why I finally started looking forward to her vacations away. I loved the chance to sit quietly, or read, or do nothing at all. I liked working on the house too, but it became a constant thing, without break or end.

    Even when the roof was complete, the addition needed more. Even if I had been able to complete the room I added, there were things that needed repair, painting, cleaning, nailing, digging, gathering, etc. It was just never going to end. I needed time alone. I didn’t want a divorce, or more living on my own. I just wanted time away, and whenever I needed it. I don’t think it was ever going to happen. Of course, now I have all the time in the world. It’s good. I’m not depressed anymore, much. It’s quiet and it doesn’t bother me. I should get one of those old clocks whose ticking echoes off the walls, just to see what that would be like.

    I haven’t seen Karen for awhile. My ex never calls or writes. I read lots of email from strangers or union members and sometimes distant family. I will have breakfast with an old girlfriend on Saturday, in the coffeehouse across the street from here.   I had a Green Party meeting today after work, and more to come, soon. I have a union meeting after work tomorrow, and negotiations start next week for the next contract. Maya, my step-daughter, graduates in May. I look forward to seeing the ceremony, and going to her dad’s house for the party, even though my ex will be there. The dragon doesn’t bother me anymore, and I don’t even care if she has a date. She is very unimportant anymore. I still wish I could have Karen visit me sometime, or go with me to a movie or out to eat, but, well, that ain’t gonna happen, so I’m OK with that too.

    I don’t know what it is I’m trying to say here, or why. It is nice to be connected to you all. Thanks.

    The Boy Who Rode His Bicycle Into Manhood – a fable

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    There was a boy who rode his bicycle one day and did not stop until he became a man. He became strong, thoughtful and kind. A woman took his hand and pulled him to her. At first, this puzzled the man, for the woman had another man as her husband. The woman dazzled the man with her beauty, wit, and intelligence, and he kissed her. Her husband, seeing this, took her home. The woman returned the next day and took the man to an empty house where they let their bodies touch and glide and rock together. The man, who had been lonely, was filled with joy.
    However, he would not come between a man and a woman who loved each other. He prepared to leave, but the woman stopped him, saying that she did not love her husband. She asked him to stay with her for two weeks, so he did. During that time, the woman told the man she desired a child with him. The man had never wanted to father a child before, but this melted his heart and he and the woman found a house to live in and were happy.
    Their happiness was short lived, however, for the woman was unsure of the man’s love for her, would not have a child, and left the man for another man who had been whispering his love for her in one ear, and whispering terrible things about the boy who had ridden his bicycle into manhood in her other ear. The man was terribly puzzled and hurt by this and wept. In despair, he thought of ending his life, but did not.
    In time the boy who had ridden his bicycle into manhood found that other women were just as pleasing and he tasted many women’s bodies over many years. He married one day to a gentle, pretty woman with two children. They had many happy years together, but, in time, they grew apart. The man looked longingly at other women. The woman would sometimes order the man around, or make fun of him, or call him a liar, and the man would be angry with her. They divorced and the man found himself alone again. He wept again, but did not despair so much this time.

    One day the man met another very pretty woman, again with two children, and they spent a lot of time together for several years until one day he asked her to marry him. The woman, who had been married once, had sworn to never marry again, but after some thought, the woman agreed to marry the boy who had ridden his bicycle into manhood, and he was very happy again for many years. The two children grew up and moved from their home. In time, the man and his new wife quarreled and she decided it was best they go their separate ways. The man was sorry it was over, but he did not cry this time, for the woman had caused him much hurt over the years they had known each other, so that the man found he was happier without her.

    The boy who had ridden his bicycle into manhood sighed often, and felt great loneliness for some time, but he did not despair, for he had found another woman who gave him much pleasure in her appearance and talk, and they were friends. The man was still lonely and desired this woman greatly, but she did not love him, and would not let him touch her nor would she go out with him to even a movie. Although they found joy in many of the same stories and tales, and talked often of the things they both loved, they could not enjoy these things together. This woman was not married, loved children, and did not yet have children, and had never had a husband. The boy who had ridden his bicycle to manhood loved her deeply, and despair grew in him, for she would not love him. He desired to have a child with her, to live and love life with her. She seemed not to care for the man, but the man often wondered why she had sought him out so often. He persisted in courting her, but she resisted any attempt by the man to see her more often. One day the man gave her flowers and let her know his feelings. The beautiful young woman was angry that the man thought that way about her, for she was young, and the boy who had ridden his bicycle into manhood was no longer young, and had not the pleasing face and dark hair of his youth. This was despair indeed, but the man had been so sad for so long, because this woman would not have him, that he felt his sadness lessen.

    The boy who had ridden his bicycle into manhood, in fact, felt nothing anymore. He was not sad, and smiled at odd times. He was no longer lonely. He felt no desire for any woman, past or present, and no desire to meet anyone new. He lived by himself for the rest of his life. He walked often, and reflected on his life. It had not been what he expected, but it had been his life, and there was much to remember and be thankful for. Somewhere inside of him, he was still lonely, for no one should ever be alone for very long. None of us live fully without the presence of family, friends and loves. The embrace of a lover brings great comfort. The touch of a hand, the warmth of a body next to you, or the sweet kiss of love shared; these things are needed by all of us. But the man would not, could not, ever have those things again. He had no desire for nor awareness of this need. dark.jpg

    When he died, he was mourned by no one, for he had been forgotten by all. It did not matter. Love is fleeting and forgetful. The boy who had ridden his bicycle into manhood had finally learned that life can only be lived fully one day at a time, with no expectations, and no regrets.

    Is it a good trade?

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    Got an email moments ago from that very same woman I would have traded everything for:

    ” I will be going to lunch at 1 today.” 12 minutes to go.

    Tried the green chile stew finally today. It’s OK, but I could hardly taste the chile. Karen got the grilled cheese this time, with fries. She looked good, as always. Told her that the new version of Blade Runner is at the Guild theater; bladerunner.jpg I want to see it. She already knew about it. Too bad we couldn’t go see it together. How odd it is to have a friend that likes all the same things, but we can never do anything together, except have lunch at work. I almost blew even that with the flowers. She didn’t look real happy when she came in, but after she told me about completing another Halloween project – the scarecrow burning on a bonfire, and showed me pictures, and talked about that for awhile, she was in a good mood. We talked about movies and she gave me back the Persepolis books I lent her. Neither of us have seen the movie yet. I want to see it. And I know just the person who’d enjoy seeing it, but, sigh, not with me. persepolis.jpg

    Seeing Karen in a good mood, I thought it would be a good time to bring up the flowers. I didn’t want to destroy the mood, but I thought I should bring it up; I knew she wasn’t going to say anything. I asked her if she had been given a really hard time by her family, and she said, no, just that they had kept asking her about them all weekend. I told her I really didn’t have anyone else to give flowers too. I told her that it really made me happy to send the flowers. She said, “Yeah, but it was really inappropriate.” Well, I expected that. Knew it, and knew better than to do something like that, but did it anyway. I already told her in an email last week that I wouldn’t do it again, so there wasn’t much else to say. I told her my theory that maybe they wouldn’t bug her as much about having a boyfriend, but she said something like that just makes things worse.

    I think the fire is out for me now, finally. Sure took me awhile to let reality sink in. It’s hard to know for sure, as I don’t feel much of anything right now anyway. It was nice to feel that I was in love – inappropriately – but what do I care? I felt more alive than I had in 30 years. I still like her, and would gladly spend more time with her, but that is never, ever, going to happen. C’est la vie!

    How strange it is to know someone I’d have done anything for: get divorced, lose the house I’d worked so hard on, turn my whole life upside down, but it doesn’t matter. That’s the chances we take, huh? I feel a lot like this guy in the picture. Traded my comfortable life for a slim chance at a wild, passionate, free-for-all love, and ended up with nothing, not even a taste of love. And now, now, what do I even want love for? The misanthrope part of me is taking over. Did you know that there are such people as humanitarian misanthropes? Maybe I should strive for that.

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    Fruit Wines and Blue Plate Specials

    caffeine.jpg Let’s see, if the unrequited-love part of my life is over for now, what will I write about? What will get me to sit and write? I know! Eight (8) shots of espresso! Yes. That’s the ticket alright. Now I feel the muse. So I sit down to write, but since my connection is a dial-up one, I must wait. I share the free connection with thousands of others, so it’s not readily available. So, I go back to my project: moving an old silkscreen of pueblo architecture (Taos Pueblo) up and over so I can hang the old storage drawer on the wall as space for netsuke, odd coins, knickknacks and other junk curio. If one is materialistic, one likes to see the acquisitions on display. 030908-05.jpg Check on the computer, which is still redialing until it connects, and eat a few more bites of waffles covered in maple syrup. Only pure maple syrup will do. Ah! the computer connects. I check on my eBay auctions. Nothing is selling yet, but one auction had been looked at 35 times and had three watchers. Maybe it’ll sell. Close window. Go back and finish hanging the drawer/shelf. Finished. Back to WordPress. Lets’ see, where was I? Oh, yeah, sometimes it’s difficult to focus after eight shots of coffee. caffeine-mug.gif Kind of the way Karen often is, full of ideas and plans, and talking in compressed speech that is sometimes hard to decipher immediately. Funny how my mind can interpret the words after a few minutes, even when I didn’t fully comprehend them as they came spilling out. She’s an odd one, my limerent object (of desire, love, and affection), which is, of course, why I like her so much. I don’t know if she will want to see me anymore. Such is life.

    logo.gif I went to a “fine wine and fine food pairing party” last night. I had asked my step-daughter to accompany me, but she had a date. I met my neighbor Nancy on Thursday. I had spoken with her on the phone, and waved across the parking lot, but we finally met for a drink across the street on Thursday night. I had it in mind to ask her to the party at the winery, but decided against it. My landlord had mentioned me to her, possibly in an attempt to set us up. I’m not against meeting strange women, so we finally did meet. Talked about this compound we live in, and the boiler problems. She also works at the University where I work and will retire soon. She spoke of the retirement money as being insignificant: nice, but not a big deal. She has this wild curly hair, mottled skin, mottled.jpg and two very small but intensely blue eyes. blue-eyes.jpg Not immediately attractive, but you never know. We talked awhile, and my old girlfriend/neighbor Benay came in. They knew each other and waved. Benay came by the table later with a male friend she was with or met there. As we talked I saw people I know come in: Sue, my friend Mark’s ex-wife, Helene, another ex-wife of someone else I know, and Sally, a coworker from the University who recently retired. Waved at her and she waved back. I didn’t get up and speak to them. I was hungry and had ordered a beer and the petite burger, which in Americanese, is a normal-sized one. I attacked it when it came, and the roll it came with and the little fruit cup too. People come to this place at night more than I thought. Friends of Nancy came in that she wanted to visit with, so eventually she left to use the bathroom and visit with them. I don’t think she was much impressed by me. I told her that I won’t even be able to afford to live here on my retirement income.

    Ah! the fine wine and fine food party. I forgot. The caffeine doping of my brain scatters my thoughts. blueplatespecial.jpg The food was incredible! I went by myself. I had also put in two calls to my ex-girlfriend Elaine whom I’d shared dinner with a week ago, but she never replied to the messages I left on her answering machine. Where did the word answer come from anyway? Such an odd spelling. (Turns out she had given me a phone number off by one digit.)  I’m drifting again. The food: I was greeted at the entrance with an individual tray with cheese, and it had a glass in the cutout for one, which was already half full of dry peach wine. tray1.jpg The wine is one of my favorites there. It goes very well with cheese and fresh fruit, of which there was plenty. Where does one get fresh, sweet watermelon and strawberries this time of year? After I tried most of the cheeses I moved on to the jerked-shrimp salad on toast and the venison stew with chocolate and coffee seasoning. Mmm, coffee. The wine, a Merlot mixed with blackberry wine, complemented each appetizer nicely. I’m such a connoisseur. :-)

    Venison is so gamey tasting (by definition) that the Merlot seemed required. The shrimp actually seemed to sweeten after a sip of wine.

    Then, it was on to the curried chicken/mushroom strudel and plum wine. Man! was that strudel good! Such food! My ex will be missing out on this kind of fare now. However, it’s a good thing they only do this once a year. Ah! and dessert: a key lime torte! Wonderful stuff! and served with a Chardonnay mixed with apricot wine. Very nice. The owner, meanwhile, while meeting and greeting every guest, also wandered around with a new creation of his. It’s an all-local-grape wine, a new thing for him, and it was delicious! I wanted to buy a bottle, but at $50 a bottle (the club-member price) it was way too rich for me. money.jpg I have never spent as much on any wine, champagne or spirit of any kind. I guess these wines are going to be out of my reach soon. Inflation is running rampant, but no one seems to notice that our spending power is decreasing by the day. Soon we’ll need stacks or money, or much larger bills to buy a cup of coffee. Ah, well. With the ex not in tow anymore (or was I the one in tow?), it is not so important to have such “fine food” or “fine wine”. I think the winery is doing well enough that it no longer needs my membership.

    That last point seems to sum up my life. I don’t need the fruit winery anymore. I don’t need the ex-wife anymore, or the ex-girlfriends, or the friendly neighbors, or even Karen, the whole reason I started writing in the first place. I don’t need anything or anyone. What do I want? Well, that’s a different story, and I don’t even know myself.

    “I am not going to lunch today,” Karen said.

    lunch.jpg “I am not going to lunch today.”

    That’s was the whole text of the message I got today. I responded by asking if she was OK. I also said I hoped the flowers hadn’t freaked her out. No response.

    Last week, she said, ” I won’t be able to make it for lunch today.” I responded with, “Well, damn. :-(

    I get it. I got the message. I will eat somewhere else from now on – no need for her to avoid Med II (the medical school cafeteria). I won’t go there anymore. I would apologize, but without a conversation or a face-to-face meeting, it seems pointless. I am sorry I lost this friend. I guess I was wrong. She’s not going to forgive a degenerate old fool everything.

    degenerate.jpg

    I guess it is finally time to end this blog. It has been a year. I’ll miss the wild ups and downs of unrequited love. I’ll certainly miss Karen. I knew better; I knew all along. I had to send those flowers. The feeling I got sending them was wild and inexplicable. I guess it was because it was real action. Couldn’t be mistaken. Couldn’t be overlooked. Couldn’t be forgiven. When the stalkers send flowers, it must be time to distance yourself. I am sorry, my friend Karen. Bye. gothic_valentine_by_cardowl.jpg

    Well, I did get a response, after I wrote the above:

    “I am not feeling too well, so I just grabbed some soup and ate in the office. I may leave early today. I also was not too happy about the flowers, the entire weekend I had people bugging me about who sent them.”

    I feel like the fool I am, although, since people are always bugging her about not being married or having a boyfriend, maybe having a secret boyfriend will get them off her case.

    Yes. It was fun.

    It was fun to laugh with two people who had meant so much to me in my life. irene04-small.gif Irene arrived first, bearing two bottles of margarita mix, strawberries, and a bottle of tequila. Since Elaine wasn’t there yet, I asked if she’d like a glass of wine to start with. She preferred it. Good wine: Pale Morning Dun, a very tasty white from a New Mexico winery, Wines of the San Juan, in Blanco, New Mexico. I’ll have to get some more of that. I’d had it since the Bernalillo Wine Festival last Labor Day weekend. I don’t drink much anymore. Gave away a bottle of sweet wine I bought to my step-daughter for X-mas. Really need an occasion and people to drink with. This was certainly an occasion. elaine02b.gif Elaine showed up just as I finished giving Irene the nickel tour of the place. We were looking at photographs of my relatives over the fireplace when she arrived. She had decided we needed a spinach/noodle cassrole to go with the crabcakes I was making. I had whipped up some mashed potatoes and carrots (Mammy’s Colored Mashed Potatoes in whitetrash.jpg White Trash Cooking), but I had let the water boil out and they had a burned taste to ‘em. They said I should serve ‘em anyway, and I put the bowl in the microwave, checked on it, gave it a couple more minutes and forgot about it until the next day. I guess I was distracted by having two beautiful women in my house. Good thing Elaine had brought the casserole.

    Elaine was the person who got me to move to New Mexico in the first place. She’s five years older, but still fine. We had been married in a non-legal hand-fasting ceremony in the Ozarks. Jumped over a fire together. Never got a license. Only lasted a year and half. She left me for a quick-talking extrovert. They had two fine kids. They’re divorced. Elaine married again, twice, since then, and divorced them both.

    The other woman, Irene, was my first (legal) wife, and still a sexy-looking woman. I’d ask her out but she has someone, and it’s a very long-term committed relationship. I had been her third husband; she has no desire to marry again.

    Elaine and Irene had met years ago, during my marriage to Irene, and we went back and forth to each other’s houses for dinners for awhile. It strained the marriage though, and after a big fight that included Elaine as a point of contention, we agreed to split, and divorced. Irene and I actually started dating again, and saw each other for a year after the divorce, but the incompatibility hadn’t gone away.

    It’s an odd thing to be around two women you used to have relationships with. It doesn’t take long for everyone to agree that I was a difficult person to live with. Hell, even I agree. It was fun to talk about freely. I have reached the point where I don’t care what I say, to anyone. It’s dangerous, especially at work, but neither of these two are bothered by me anymore. They enjoyed talking with each other. Lots to catch up on.

    Since I live by myself, and am not seeing anyone (not someone that will go out with me), Irene wanted to know why I didn’t just move in with Elaine. That was always her thing: she always thought, after finding some of my writings, that I was still in love with Elaine, and couldn’t wait to get back together with her. At first, yeah, sure. But, as the years wore on, and after I met Irene, that no longer mattered. I never could convince Irene of that.

    The strangest thing was that Elaine and I had the same answer, almost simultaneously: I have never forgiven Elaine. And I haven’t. She dumped me, although she didn’t seem to like me saying it so bluntly. She thinks we should get together once in a while. Perhaps we will. She’s OK.

    I haven’t talked to people off-line so much (except for Karen) in a long time. It was fun to laugh at ourselves. I seem to have come to terms with my own poor behavior in the past. I am glad I knew both of these women. It would be nice to keep connected. It’d be nice to fuck them too, but that’s neither here nor there.

    Elaine wanted to know if, given the choice, I’d rather kick my recent ex (legal wife #2), or go to bed with her. Elaine thinks I haven’t heard the last of her. I told her I’d prefer sex. I always prefer sex, to just about anything. I’m not in a hurry, though. Elaine is an odd one, and I don’t know if I could take getting involved with her again. Perhaps sex would be possible, if there is nothing else to the relationship besides a friendship. She remembers me having a fine ass when I was young.

    If Irene was free, it would be nice to fuck her, but really, one of the problems was that, to borrow a bit of popular culture, I just wasn’t that into her anymore. I learned from a friend of hers that when we had first met, she had been looking for someone for a good fuck. She looks really, really good. It’d still be fun, but maybe wouldn’t be repeated much. Not an option anyway.

    Both women remembered me as being good for sex. That was nice. Maybe they were just trying to make me feel good.

    Irene had to leave first. She wanted to get home. Her boyfriend works late, but he was due home, or there already. Elaine stayed for a cappuccino; I know how to make those. She asked for cinnamon, which I have, but we both forgot to add it. She kissed me when she arrived, and made sure Irene noticed. I think she kissed me when she left. She’s a kisser. I miss kissing.

    Reader: what else were you expecting? :-)

    Well, damn! :-(

    February 22, 2008

    “Hi,
    I won’t be able to make it for lunch today.”

    She said. :-(

    doom-gloom.jpg

    No mention of the flowers I sent yet. That could be good, could be bad. I shouldn’t worry. Karen is my friend, no matter what else.

    Silence from Karen; but life gets stranger yet

    February 20, 2008

    red-tulip.jpg No word from Karen on whether she liked the flowers, or if that pissed her off. Oh, well. Saw her Monday waiting for an elevator by the coffee cart. The line for coffee was long, so I opted out of waiting. Wanted to go over and say Hi! to Karen, but felt oddly nervous, and left without going over. I had wanted her to have time to forget the flowers before I saw her again, assuming that it was a bad thing to have done. She sure keeps me guessing.

    Sunday was interesting. I ran into my ex-girlfriend Elaine from 30 years ago, at the Flying Star across from where I live. Happened to sit right down behind her and recognized her voice. She was enthusiastically happy to see me. She was eating breakfast with a friend. Turns out she is divorced from her last husband. She had discovered that he was seeing other women (plural), and kicked him out. That’s four husbands she’s been through, not counting the unlicensed pagan marriage we had together in between husband #1 and husband #2. She says she’s not good at picking men. Duh! She still looks pretty good. A little surgery, hair dye, and peroxide-whitened teeth helps with that, but overall, not bad. She said she’d gone into a long depression after her divorce, for years! Reminded me of the depression I went into after she left me for husband #2. Can’t say I’ve really forgiven her for that. forgiveness.jpg

    Anyway, I asked her and her friend if they wanted to come see my place, but her friend begged off. Elaine came over. She said it is a nice place. Finally someone has come by to see it. I was walking her back to her car when we ran into Benay, the woman I hooked up with after Elaine dumped me, who lives in this same compound. That was weird too, but they knew each other and talked a bit. When we got to her car Elaine asked me to come with her to see something, so I went. She took me to see a house she fell in love with. It’s not for sale. She was looking for houses at one time and chanced upon it. It’s not fancy or anything, but it has a view of the Sandia mountains that is totally unobstructed. Of course, many of the homes in that neighborhood have views like that, but she has a feeling about this one. They are fairly new, so I said, “Maybe you’d been here before they were built.” She said maybe in a past life. She’s still into that. She parked and told me some of her recent life, the divorce, the depression. Then she took me to her house. I’d been there before. When I was married (legally) the first time, my wife Irene had invited Elaine to my college graduation party. That was weird. What was stranger though, was that Elaine then invited us to her place with husband #3. We went back and forth like that for awhile, until one day my wife and I had a huge fight, and one of the main topics was Elaine! Irene said I had been sitting too close to Elaine; said there was something going on; accused me of wanting to get Elaine back. I got mad, and we divorced shortly after that.

    I hadn’t seen Elaine since then. I’ve talked with Irene, since then, and we get along OK now, but she has a long-term (14-year) relationship, so we don’t get together.

    Elaine made us a couple cappuccinos miniespresso.jpg and we talked a bit, until she suddenly asked me if I knew the secret. Turns out there is an organization that promotes the idea that positive thoughts can lead to a happy life full of love and wealth or whatever you want, and they call it “The Secret”, which is based on a book of the same name written by Rhonda Bryne, a friend of Oprah. the-true-secret-1.jpg She dragged out a video for me to watch. Lots of common sense, celebrity interviews, and testimony to the wealth and life-changing results of thinking about what you want, not what you don’t want. Apparently there is “scientific” evidence to back up the idea that your thoughts go out into the world and influence things. Lost me there. It is of course common sense that a positive attitude helps you focus on a goal, and having a goal in mind helps one reach that goal. This is just a rehashing of a book called The Science of Getting Rich by Wallace Wattles written in 1919. gettingrich.jpg Wattles promoted what he called “The Law of Attraction.” The Law of Attraction states that by the power of positive thinking you can achieve anything and have everything you always wanted. You can be rich just by thinking the right thoughts. Bryne picks up the Law of Attraction in The Secret. This group, based on the book, has that same cult-like appeal as the last one Elaine subscribed to, the chanting people. The belief of that group is that one can chant every day, not just for relaxation and inner peace, but to get what you want from life: money, cars, love, fame, whatever you want. I asked her, “What happened to the chanting?” and she said the group folded up after 9-11. I don’t think there was any connection between the chanting organization and Islam, but a connection was drawn in people’s minds and the organization’s power faded. So now, it’s “The Secret.” Same thing, without the chanting. She is pretty excited about it, and tries to change her life by thinking thoughts of what it is she wants. Doesn’t seem to be working just yet. The guy who got rich off of all those Chicken Soup for the Soul, etc, etc, etc. books is helping promote The Secret. chicken-soup-for-the-soul.jpg

    I got out of there as soon as I could, as I was dependent on her to drive me back to my house. Her place is overrun by animals, at least two dogs, and eight or nine cats, so her carpeting reeks of animal urine, pet food and hair. She says she has plans to replace it with saltillo tile. She also has plans to renovate other parts of the house, and replace her bathroom sink, which needs a washer real bad right now. I’d have offered to do that, but I don’t want to get back into being Mr. Fix-it just yet. I’m not sure about her either. She says it would be nice to meet for dinner some times. She doesn’t want another marriage or live-in relationship, but something like having dinner once in a while would be nice. I said sure, but we didn’t make a specific plan.

    I mentioned this meeting up with Elaine in an email to my ex-wife Irene the next day. Irene had emailed me, telling me her son was getting married for the second time. As soon as I told her that Elaine had been depressed and that Elaine had said she’d like to get together for dinner or drinks, Irene said we should all three of us get together. As odd as that seems, I agreed. We’re trying to work out the place. Irene suggested a restaurant downtown, or a place that has mariachis and margaritas; I suggested my house for crab cakes, oldbaycrabcake.jpg and she said she could bring margaritas. mixingmargaritas.jpg I am oddly interested in having this happen, but Elaine has not responded to my emails yet. I’ll have to call her and see what’s up.

    Ah! All communications finished. Irene and Elaine will both come by for dinner Friday evening. Stay tuned.

    crab_cakes2.jpg

    Happy Valentine’s Day, NOT!

    Feb. 14, 2008

    Karen sent me an email Wednesday, said she couldn’t go to lunch Friday; “…do you want to have lunch tomorrow?” Well, of course. Tomorrow, which is today, is Valentine’s Day, so it couldn’t be better. My convoluted mind believed that I might get a card from K, or something like that. Yesterday, I happened to see her coming in to the coffee cart, and a student group was selling cookies, so I bought her a heart-shaped iced cookie and gave it to her, and ran back to my lab. Since she sent the email later, I figured the cookie was OK, and perhaps she liked it? Hah!

    heart.jpg

    I found a recipe for a bloody heart cake that actually drips blood.

    Penn & Teller’s Bleeding Heart

    Ingredients
    4 cups of water, four 3-oz. boxes or two 6-oz boxes of peach (pink; think of lung tissue), or strawberry (redder; think of livers and hearts) gelatin dessert mix, 4 envelopes unflavored gelatin, one 12-ounce can unsweetened evaporated milk, 1/2 cup grenadine syrup, 1 cup light corn syrup, one small bottle (0.3 fl. oz.) red food coloring, 3 drops blue food coloring, one 1-gallon food-storage bag (the plain kind without the zip closure), heart-shaped gelatin mold

    Preparation
    Boil the water. Put the packaged gelatin dessert and unflavored gelatin in a bowl and pour the boiling water over it, stirring constantly. Cool to room temperature (very important or the next step may present problems). Stir in the evaporated milk. Note how it already is acquiring the color of freshly skinned flesh. Pour the mixture into the gelatin mold. Cover the bottom of the mold (this will be the top when you serve it) with a layer about half an inch think. Refrigerate until it gels firmly.

    Meanwhile, prepare a nice bladder of blood. Stir together the corn syrup, grenadine, and food colorings (we do it right in the measuring cup to save dish washing–every erg saved in preparation is an erg one can use to enjoy the Payoff). For the bladder (the bag that keeps the blood together inside the mass of gelatin) take the gallon-size food-storage bag and turn it inside out. Pour the blood mixture into one corner of the bag and twist it closed so that no air bubble is caught between the sauce and the twist. Tie a knot in the twisted plastic. Adjust the position of the knot so that when the bag lies on the counter, it’s about 1 1/2 to 2 inches high, and tighten the knot. With a pair of scissors, snip off the frilly extra plastic outside the knot.

    When the gelatin on the bottom of the mold is stiff and firm, position the bladder of blood in the mold, with the point of the bag just inside the point of the heart. Make sure there is at least 3/4″ of space between all sides of the bag and the walls of the mold (this will ensure that your guests don’t see clues ahead of time). Pour in the remaining gelatin until the mold is as full as you can handle. Don’t worry if you see a little of the blood-bladder grazing the surface of the gelatin, as longs as it doesn’t project too much; the side you are looking at now will be the bottom when you serve it.

    Refrigerate until gelled firmly to the texture of fine, lean organ meat. It takes about 4 hours.
    To unmold, put about 2 1/2 inches of hot, but not boiling water in your sink. Set your mold in the water so that the water comes just below the edge of the mold for 15 to 20 seconds; the time depends on the thickness of the mold pan. Remove the mold from the water, and run the blade of a knife around the edge of the gelatin. Invert your serving platter, ideally a white pedestal cake plate, on top and hold it firmly in place. Then use both hands to turn over the mold and the plate. Remove the mold; you may need to tap or shake the mold slightly to free the gelatin.

    Presentation
    The blood looks prettiest when it flows over white plates, doilies, and table linen, which it may stain permanently–but what the hell, it’s the effect that matters. To serve, use a nice, big Psycho-style chef’s knife and stab the side of the gelatin about one third of the way up from the pointed end of the heart. Twist the knife slightly, and blood will start to ooze out. Bare your teeth like a Marine jabbing with bayonet, and widen the wound. When the blood is coming at a good slip, grab a dessert plate, and cut a slice from one of the lobes of the heart. Flip it onto the plate, and drizzle it with blood by holding it under the edge of the pedestal. Add whipped cream and serve.

    Happy Valentine’s Day! skeleton-on-a-bleeding-heart.jpeg

    So, I took all this information and made my own card, and printed it up to give to Karen today. She looked a little apprehensive to be getting a card from me, but with the picture of the bloody heart and no sweet sentiments in it, it was OK. While we waited for lunch, there were some more cookies by the lunch counter; these had traditional sayings on them, like, “You’re Sweet.” Karen picked that one up to look at it, and screwed her face up – she doesn’t like stuff like that at all! Hates it! In fact, as far as she is concerned, Valentine’s Day is too contrived, and meaningless. I cringed inwardly at that. What will she think of 30 tulips at her house when she gets home? She did bring in her painted candle for me to look at today. That was nice of her. She was happy with it. She added a couple of clay bats with ruby eyes. Showed me a picture of the wreath she’s making with the skeleton hanging from a noose, and a human heart at the bottom. It has eyeballs all around it, spiked on nails. That’s what she likes, which is OK by me – hence the bloody heart picture and recipe. Unfortunately, I think she is sweet, and sexy and I do have feelings for her. I’m glad I didn’t add my name to the card with the flowers now.

    I think I’ll send her an e-mail before I go home; tell her it wasn’t me, I didn’t do it; I don’t know anything about it. :-(

    throwingitaway.jpg Oh, well. I didn’t have anyone else to blow $75 on anyway. What would I need money for?

    valentines_day.jpg

    REAL Tulips for Karen, but never again

    Well, Valentine’s Day is approaching. I arranged for flowers to be delivered to Karen. Tulips, symbol of fame and of the perfect lover. The gift of a red tulip is considered a declaration of love.

    tulips.jpg

    I know I shouldn’t have, but I did it anyway. I even got confused. I meant to order 20 tulips, but I selected the 30 tulip bunch by mistake. Then they charged me extra for delivery on Valentine’s Day. I got so high doing this. I can’t remember being so excited about sending flowers. This could well scare the crap out of her. She might reject and return them to me. She might tell me we have to stop seeing each other. I don’t know. I’m not worried about the outcome. My heart was pumping as I hovered my pointer over the ‘order now’ button. As soon as I pressed it, my pulse raced even higher. I felt so high. I was all smiles. Of course, I did wimp out and send them anonymously, with the following, taken from an earlier posting here (Aug. 5, 2007):

    There is an “… Oriental legend about a Persian youth named Ferhad who fell in love with a maiden named Shirin. When Shirin did not accept Ferhad’s feelings for her, he went out into the desert to die from his broken heart. As he pined, each tear that fell into the sand turned into a beautiful tulip.”

    Karen will surely know who they’re from. I can’t help it. That’s how I feel about her. I’m dead meat now.

    Saw Karen today, Woo Hoo!

    February 08, 2008

    Had lunch with Karen today. She was in an exceptionally good mood, kind of giddy, really. She didn’t know why. She’s still working on her Halloween projects. ledcandle.jpg She picked up an LED candlestick at an after-Xmas sale and painted it a pewter color. She is working on a skeleton that will hang from a noose, a scarecrow that will appear to burn at the stake, and a Halloween wreath with skulls, that the skeleton will hang from. She has a new artificial pumpkin that can be carved, and looks exactly like a real one. Lots of ideas running through her head. She is still re-reading the Pern books too – Sci Fi, dragons, music and human politics – and excited that the final book is being written for publication soon. We talked about Anne McCaffery’s books. dragonseye295.gif Karen read a book of her short stories that adds to the general world of Pern literature and other worlds that McCaffrey created. Karen asked me about the Silver Surfer books, and I told her how much I enjoyed them. She talked about Marvel bringing back some of the old characters from the 30s and 40s who mysteriously reappear in our time, like the original Human Torch, Captain America and the Sub-Mariner. marvel_mystery_comics_1940.gif There are others too, that few people remember or know about: Whizzer, Miss America, the Destroyer, the original Vision, and the Angel. Karen is such a joy to listen to and be with. She has so much life. Damn good-looking too; I still lust for her bod.

    Karen is the one. Karen is the one woman I want, if I could have any woman at all. I guess I’m still in love with her. It feels different. I still get excited when I see her, or listen to her. I still daydream and fantasize about the possibilities. thepain.jpg The pain is gone; the intense longing, the regrets, the loneliness without her. She’s just here, a part of me. I still want her. I still wish for what I can’t have. I like seeing her happy. I am happy when she’s happy. She’s the one. chart.jpg Who do I see about selling my soul?

    Lunch & Life, on Hold, Again

    February 01, 2008

    emails:

    >>>Hi T,
    I won’t be able to make it for lunch today. I am just going to grab some food and head back to the office. See you next week.
    Karen
    <<<

    >>>OK. I have your Silver Surfer comics here. Do you want me to just hold onto them until next week? – <<<

    >>>OK <<<

    beerhappysad.jpgmy-heart-is-on-hold.jpg

    Leaving Treadmarks On My Ass

    January 28, 2008

    53_kartini.jpg I have these conversations with Karen all the time, in my head. Much of what I’d like to say to her or tell her about is off-limits, off-limits-sign.jpg so I do it anyway, with the image of Karen that camps out in my brain. I used to have a lot of these conversations, but the real Karen manages to make all of those conversations seem pretty unreal, which they are, but, hey, works for me. I’ve been having a hard time coming up with new conversations that can overcome: “That would be like a date,” and “I would never date a man old enough to be my father.” 56_kartini.jpg Tonight I came up with this:

    Karen – “I’m a little freaked out. I read your blog.”

    Me – “Sorry. Do you want me to delete it?”

    Karen – “No, it’s OK. It just makes me feel uncomfortable around you.”

    Me – “I can delete the whole thing.”

    Karen- “No, really, don’t do that. I just don’t know what to think any more.”

    Me – “What if we just start all over?”

    Karen – “Yeah; I’d like that.”

    Me- “OK. Hi. My name is Doofus. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Will you marry me?”

    persistence.jpg Those conversations have a tendency to go that way: touch, kiss, disrobe, enter, shoot, kind of like being 18 – total impatience. One of my problems is that I’m honest (and sometimes impatient). It’s possible that I’m not all that honest with myself, but I do like to say what’s on my mind, especially if it’s been rattling around in there for awhile. I don’t know how I could have a real conversation with Karen without blurting out that I’m in love with her and I want to spend the rest of my life with her. Scary stuff. I can see her running so fast her shoes smoke, leaving treadmarks on my ass. <— (I don’t know how to top that last sentence.)

    Life is what you Bake of it

    January 27, 2008

    I wake up calm. I should get out of bed, but there’s no hurry. No one waits for me; there is nothing I particularly want to do. Exiting stuff, huh? Took the magnetic starter switch out of the bike yesterday, but by the time I had it out, it was too late to go to the shop with it. They are only open on Saturdays from about 11 to 2. I don’t know if it’s the problem, but I have to start somewhere. magna.jpg All I can get out of the bike now is a whine when I press the start button. Battery is good, and the plugs are high quality and not that old. Fuses are OK, spark plug wires are attached. There’s gas in the tank, and the fuel cock is on. Just won’t turn over. Can’t be the generator either, as the battery is fine, and the lights come on strong, and haven’t wavered. Without a truck anymore, I can’t get it into the shop to have it checked over thoroughly. I’ll just have to keep taking things off, maybe replacing ‘em one by one until it fires up again. It’s a ’97, so it’s not that old, compared to the ’79 I was riding. Nice engine, 4 cylinder, 4 carburators. 750 cc displacement. Gots power. Accelerates like a demon. Usually ride it every day, rain or shine, hot or cold. Xmas is usually my best time to work on it, but I was gone for my entire vacation. I will try to get off work early, stop by the shop tomorrow before they close.

    riogrande.jpg Made it to the Flying Star Cafe this morning. Got my regular Americano with four shots of espresso. Gets me going on Sundays. Had some green-chile turkey sausage too. I read as much of the New York Times as I can while drinking. I love the serialized novels and the The Funny Pages that their magazine has had for some time now. Mister Wonderful could easily be me. 27serialclowes.jpg Must be why Daniel Clowes writes such things. Coffee drunk, I came back home and wrote a stupid little rant about the empty coffee cups I see everywhere. Used to be cigarettes I’d see everywhere. Getting on my high horse motivated me enough to get out of the house. I usually go for a walk, but I wanted to get to Ta Lin, the big asian supermarket here. Mostly I just wanted some chili oil for my Ramen noodle dinners. Some frozen veggies, an egg stirred in, a little sesame oil, some chili oil, and voila! – dinner. Anyway, I naturally looked around, and ended up with a couple bottles of Mexican-made Coke, (cane sugar, instead of high-fructose corn syrup), some roasted green tea (might as well see if roasting makes it mix better with whiskey). Turns out it doesn’t. Also picked up a tin of Jasmine tea for when I’m tired of Jim Beam Black with Lipton’s loose tea blend, and, and some sugar wafers. They have the best sugar creme wafers I’ve ever had, in strawberry, lemon, coconut, peanut, chocolate, etc. mango.jpg My favorite is mango, but they never have it anymore. I bought some cappuccino ones from the Garden brand, $1.29. Tastes good, light, crispy. I eat half the package before I decide to read the ingredients: wheat flour, sugar, hydrogenated palm oil (oh boy), ascorbyl palmitate, tocopherol, soy lecithin, whole milk powder, corn starch, artificial flavouring & artificial colour (it’s from Hong Kong), leavening, emulsifier and salt. Oh, well. I’m going to ask them to get the mango back in the other brand – supposed to contain real fruit.

    Put some music on when I got back, b5covermed.jpeg Babylon 5 CD: Chrysalis, Mind War, Parliament of Dreams, and the Geometry of Shadows. Heady stuff. Afterwards, the soundtrack from House of Flying Daggers came on. covervy51cs7.jpg That , a Clannad CD, and a Myst/Riven soundtrack CD seem appropriate to a gray, drizzly day. myst.jpgriven.jpg I’m waiting for Herbie Hancock’s Head Hunters hancock.jpg to come on. That should change the mood. I’ll be done writing by then. Go back and read some more Love Monkey. Someone commented that I’m like the guy in that novel. love-monkey.jpg

    Halloween in January & Silver Surfer’s Death.

    Jan. 26, 2008

    silver-surfer-requiem.jpg Karen keeps me up to date. On Thursday she brought me the final four Silver Surfer comics ever: Silver Surfer Requiem, silver-surfer-requiem2.jpg with appearances by the FF, Spiderman and Mary Jane, and even Doctor Strange (aka Stephen Vincent Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme).

    This was the Marvel I grew up reading: tales of the strange doctorstrange.jpg and bizarre, with emotional characters and moral messages. Before any of these characters appeared, I read of people whose hate destroyed them, of fictional civilizations that lived and died according to their politics and beliefs, the good within those we think of as monsters, and the evil within us. I grew up believing in a better world, one without the need for war, greed, and hatred, largely because of Marvel. This is the world that Karen visits now; she knows more about the current Marvel universe that I would think possible, certainly more than I used to know. gabriele-dellotto.jpg The “walking bowling trophy” does indeed die, but not before teaching a random civilization the fallacy of war, visiting his home planet, and being briefly reunited with Shalla Bal, a woman he could never love! After saving his planet from Galactus by going to work for him, he had to leave all he loved behind. In the end, the destroyer of worlds finds himself touched by the surfer’s heart and soul, qualities of the most honorable being he had ever known, even though old SS had rebelled against his master to save our planet from consumption (we will probably do that well enough ourselves).

    Old SS gets to ride the spaceways again courtesy of J. Michael Straczynski, who is the man Karen admires most, I think, besides her dad. She reads everything by Strączyński, and has seen every TV show and movie he has created. JMS created the Babylon 5 series, babylon-5.jpg and spin-offs, and has written everything from New Twilight Zone shows and stories to Fantastic Four, Spiderman, Supreme Power, Midnight Nation, and a host of other comics and books. He is a prolific writer and producer, having worked on Jake and the Fatman, Murder She Wrote, Walker Texas Ranger, and an adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson’s The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Karen is quite a fan, although fan is a bit of an understatement. He writes or produces it and she reads it or sees it. Anything anyone wants to know about him, she knows.

    Having grown up on similar stuff from Marvel throughout my young years, I understand the attraction of these stories to Karen. As a fan, she is well aware of Straczynski’s political leanings from his writings, blogs, and his constant interaction with fans. j_michael_straczynski_2007.jpg Oddly enough, although he is younger than me, he appears older. If I had done as much as he has, I’d be older too. I wonder if he gets much exercise?

    There’s that theme again: age. I keep coming back to it. I never thought it would matter to me, but my own age keeps me from Karen, for which I have cursed growing old. It is said that one is only as old as they feel. Hah! Sometimes I feel 114 years old! In my head though, I’m still 26, riding my bicycle through the universe (although these days it has an engine). I see a woman like Karen, and I actually think I could have an intimate relationship with her. Not even the power cosmic could do that for me. (What exactly is that power cosmic anyway, if it can’t even save the Silver Surfer?) I should be writing fictionalized stories about all this; get some mileage out of it like Mr. Strączyński. Instead, I simply entertain myself and the occasional reader here.

    Thursday’s lunch was back on track, just as I expected. Turns out Karen hadn’t read my mickeys.jpg Barstool Cowgirl story yet, nor seen any of my other writings. She is already planning for Halloween, and has several projects in mind. She will be able to use PVC pipe in her creations, giving her the ability to break things down for storage. Of course, that means she can store more. The woman is going to need a big house some day; I wish I could get one for her.

    May-December Relationships; Mathematics of the Age-gap

    Jan. 24, 2008

    02couple.jpg I never knew there was such a term! Found that recently in a comment and looked it up. “The term refers to a romantic pairing where one person is significantly older than the other. The age difference is at least a decade, but often more. The phrase comes from the younger person being in the “spring” of his or her life (i.e., May), while the older partner is in his or her “winter” (i.e., December).” So, I have a label for the type of relationship I would be in, IF there was any way in hell for my fantasy to come true. Moresoever, there is a “rule of thumb”, a mathematical formula to judge whether the age difference in an intimate relationship is socially acceptable:

    rule-of-thumb.png

    That is amazing! Additionally, I found a site where people were discussing the relative merits and failings of May-December relationships, and the most common age gap was 19 years! It is usually women in their late 20s and men in their late 40s. Definitely would leave me out as far as Karen goes. Of course, I knew that already, but it fascinates me to find confirmation of such common sense. Not that it matters. People do whatever they want to. I love Karen. If she loved me, then everyone else could go to hell.

    half_your_age_plus_seven_graph.jpg

    Lunch on the Unusual Thursday

    Karen asked me today if I’d like to meet for lunch tomorrow, since there will be a baby shower on Friday, and she won’t need to eat lunch. Works for me! I’m glad that my fiction hasn’t been too weird for her. I wouldn’t have thought so, but I sent her a link to another blog, and an old story of mine, one of my few attempts at fiction: Barstool Cowgirl. hat.jpg Of course, this will take her to WordPress, and there are links to this blog there, so I’ve been wondering what might happen. The story contains some sexual content, so I worried about that possibly offending. I just never know. I don’t write about explicit sex, but it certainly is a powerful force in life, and has been in mine.

    Got a reply back from Karen concerning lunch. I’d also asked if she had read the story I’d sent her the link to. “What story?” she asked. Oh, damn. I guess I have to go back to worrying now. :-(

    Sent her the link via her work email. She must not be getting any of these emails I send to her personal email account, which would certainly account for her not answering.

    I probably shouldn’t have done that.

    A cold morning with a warm smile

    cold-1.jpg Saw Karen this morning. It’s a cold morning for New Mexico, 23 F, with the wind chilling us to 14 F. Nowhere near as cold as Iowa, but it still feels cold. Saw Karen walking through the parking lot. Said she didn’t do much over the weekend. Only crossed paths shortly, but she told me just as we diverged paths that she won’t be in Friday. But, she said she would see me next Friday. Alright! We’re back on track. I sure wish the relationship could go further, but there is nothing like having a friend to spend even a little time with.

    Had some strange thoughts over the weekend. I think Karen and I started having lunch right about the time my step daughter found out she had a brain tumor. I wonder if my fear of losing her prompted me to fall in love with Karen? Sometimes I wonder about that. Could I have transferred some feelings over to Karen, out of fear of losing my step daughter? On top of that, it seems I probably transferred some feelings for my ex to Karen as well. Does it work that way? I don’t know. I still can’t figure out why Karen matters to me so much? Why, despite all my rational thoughts to the contrary, do I still think I’m in love with Karen? that I would gladly do anything for her? marry her? InuyashaKagomeMarried have a child with her? and these thoughts give me a sense of peace and happiness unlike anything I’ve ever known? normal_riverofgold.jpg

    Even with my overwhelming state of limerence in abatement, I still like Karen, still enjoy seeing her and talking with her.

    Just Lunch

    Saw Karen today. She didn’t send her usual email, short or long message, and she went to lunch earlier than usual. I never should have sent that last desperate plea for her to visit me before I left for Iowa. I was feeling so lonely and abandoned, so I wrote that in an email to her and asked her to stop by for a few minutes, have coffee, see the tree. I knew I was crossing that boundary again, but I felt so bad I didn’t care. Well, I wasn’t back from Iowa last Friday, so it’s been three weeks since I’ve seen her. I’ve wondered all this week if I’d hear from her today. I didn’t. I waited until 1:15 and headed over to the cafeteria anyway. She was alone there, reading. I wonder what I’ll think when she’s not alone?

    Got my Frito pie with extra red chile all over it and went over to her. fritos.jpg ( They really don’t know what chile is in Iowa.) Karen didn’t seem particularly happy to see me, and I asked if she was busy reading. She misunderstood me, and showed me what she was reading, one of dragonflight.jpg Anne McCaffrey’s Pern books, Dragon Flight, I think. I’d read most of the Pern series so I knew I’d read it, but now I don’t remember which one it was. I bought Karen a nice stained-glass dragon one Christmas time. I sat down anyway, asked her how her holiday was. She said she was really busy, so I asked her, “Doing what?” She wouldn’t say, just, “Things.” Could be she was on a date or such and didn’t think that was any of my business, and, it’s not, I know. I was just curious. Anyway, she asked me about my trip, bill-richardson.jpg so I told her, in between shoveling in Fritos smothered in chicken, cheese and red chile. I was ravenous. 1:15 is later than I would prefer to wait for lunch. Anyway, Karen did get the tattoo she wanted, and showed it to me. It is above the one she has of a dragon on her ankle. This one is a Halloween theme, complete with bright orange and black, green, and yellow. $200.  Not too bad. She is very happy with it. I didn’t get to look at it very long, so I never even realized I could have looked at her leg too. Oh, well. Karen perked up a lot talking about the tattoo. Now she’ll be saving up for the next one. I wish I could buy one for her.

    We talked a little politics, clintonobama.jpg but she had come early to lunch so she had to leave as soon as I finished eating. I walked up the hill with her and we wished each other a nice weekend.

    I almost didn’t write about this at all; seems so low key, so normal, and so uninteresting to strangers. It made me happy of course. It’s good to have something in your life that is normal and somewhat routine too. And, of course, I like Karen. I didn’t feel that rush of feelings, emotional or sexual, that I’ve often had with Karen in the past, but I felt good. Just lunch with a friend. I won’t save this in the depression category today.

    Masturbation, High School, Cross-dressing and Acting

    With Theresa gone from my life, I basically concentrated on school. poly.jpg My high school wasn’t an easy one. I’d chosen it because my first choice for future employment was going into space and piloting a spacecraft. To this end, I decided I needed to get into the Air Force Academy, academy.jpg and then apply for astronaut training. I needed a good high school and good grades. Going from a Catholic school to a public high school was a challenge. For one thing, I was suddenly confronted with Algebra and Geometry, two subjects that had not even been hinted at in my grade school mathematics classes. However, I had passed a competitive entrance exam to get in, so I should have been able to succeed. My HS had three levels: (A) Advanced College Prep, in which you got to skip your freshman year of college; (B) College Prep; and (T) Technical. I started 9th grade in the A level, but like a whole class-full of other students, came to realize we weren’t going to make it through four years of that. I did my best, but ended up in a no-man’s land in between A and B for the second semester. Grade school hadn’t really prepared me for the rigors of studying, thinking or hard work involved in high school. In my 8th-grade Geography book, for example, I learned that the reason we experienced earthquakes and volcanoes was because God willed them. roman-god-saturn.jpg No mention of stress in Earth’s crust, or magma under the surface, or underground gas pockets, or drifting continents. The science of tectonic plates was too new to be taken seriously I guess. As I progressed through high school, I learned that I wasn’t going to get into the Air Force Academy. Not only was I struggling with my studies, but you needed 20-20 vision, which I didn’t have, and no history of asthma or bronchitis, both of which I’d had. That was depressing when I learned about that. I did study, however. I remember when Star Trek came out. I longed to watch that show, but homework took about three hours, sometimes longer if I had to babysit, bathe the younger kids or change diapers. They got to watch the old 6″ B&W much more than I could then.

    Studying, however, had it’s upside. While my parents dragged everyone else off to roller-skating lessons, practices, and contests in three states (they had been Tri-State champions), skates.jpg I got to stay behind, on my own, alone, in the peace and quiet, to study. Also, I refused to go. I just wasn’t interested. Nerds back then didn’t have video games, or Internet, or role-playing games, but we had books, and coin collecting, and science kits. Loved to mix chemicals up to see what would happen. For awhile, I kept a jar of piss and spit and fingernail clippings and hair. The results were disappointing. chem.jpg With real pure chemicals though, I didn’t do much better, often just creating smelly and/or smoking goo. It kept me entertained though.

    Including skating practice, my brother John began spending more time on his own, with friends instead of me. Combed his hair down, a la Beatles, and even found a part-time job after school and summers on a PC-board assembly line. He never said how he got the job, or where to go, but many years later said I could have just gone to a place downtown and applied, which I never knew. Thanks John. We had both worked together with our snowball stand for a few years. food_trad8.jpg It made money, but only enough to buy a few pair of socks, or candy, or books, or things like that. We had tried, unsuccessfully, to sell magazine subscriptions door to door. We had both worked at the same hamburger place. ginos-menu.jpg I liked that job, but they never gave me many hours. I was spending increasing amounts of time in the attic room we shared by myself (hence the human waste experiment). I read a lot of course, and studied. I also discovered masturbation on my own. I told John about it, but he had spent a year going to some sort of pre-seminary high school out of state and had learned about it from those guys. We tried doing it at the same time, as it didn’t seem to have any stigma attached to it at the time. I mean, if seminary students did it, why not? It was exciting to discover this fun fact about our penises, and speculate about how much or how high we could shoot in the air. penis.jpg After that though, we kept it to ourselves, but it was hard to completely hide when the covers of your bed were inexplicably tented in the middle of the night. Discovered masturbation before I even knew what it was for or what sex was. It wasn’t so easy to know about in the 50s and early 60s, and our dad took his time getting around to the talk, which was actually so vague we had to complete the lesson through books and magazines. sexed.jpg

    John was interested in girls, and actually had dates. After one such date I remember him telling me that he had gotten his finger in, and he was really excited about that. He did enjoy french kissing, although once, his tongue got stuck in her braces, and that was embarrassing. He married her right after graduation, and they had a baby soon after.

    Since I didn’t skate, and there were no girls in our high school, I didn’t know anyone I could ask out, after the falling out with Theresa. Once I saw a obituary for a grade school classmate’s father and called her up to express my sympathy. I also asked if she’d like to go out sometime. Very tasteless, tactless, and stupid.bereavement.jpg She was the one that had persuaded Kathleen to rat me out, and was always trying to trip me, so I thought maybe she had liked me. I think I called her another time to invite her to a dance at my high school, but she said no.

    That was how high school went socially. I was in clubs after school: Science, coin collecting, camera, computer, and even in plays. Those were odd, since we had no girls, but we simply wore wigs and sock-stuffed bras and took on those roles. (This was a very different time. Frank Zappa was born in this same town 10 years before I was.) Even the captain of the football team and many of our teachers got into the act, donning wigs and dresses. smallprocessionkick.jpg Hey, the pictures are in my yearbook – I wouldn’t make up shit like that! We had Christmas plays, and we had The Poly Follies. They were not serious drama, but just for fun; we even had faux can-can dancers one year. I tried out, but couldn’t cut it as a dancer. I ended up being a female nurse with a line or two that year. One time I was a folk singer – not too bad at that. Other times I was one of many sailors or soldiers. Drama showed up later on with the introduction of the Drama Club. mrroberts.jpg Our first production, Mr. Roberts, had only one woman, and we borrowed her from the girls’ high school. Once I got a part in one of their plays: Sorry, Wrong Number, in which a man plots to have his wife killed (yes, those were very different times). I was the hired killer. There was only the one girl and her drama club director, so I didn’t get to know any girls there. I had a pass to be in the halls, and was often challenged by teachers as I went to and from rehearsals. sorry-wrong-number.jpg That was my biggest thrill – being able to walk through the all-girls school with impunity. I wasn’t much of an actor though, so that one play was my only one there. The director even took over that last scene, on a dark stage, when the killer rushes into the house suddenly and strangles the woman. No one could tell it wasn’t me, and he thought it was more effective. The audience screamed. He got to deliver the last and title line, instead of me. Ham. ham.jpg

    In High School Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime

    So, I dated my fourth cousin Theresa while I was in high school, even fell in love with her. She was a year or two older, but so far more mature looking than the girls in my elementary school classes that I’d fallen for years before. I was so amazed the day I showed up to take her to a CCD dance logo.gif (Confraternity of Christian Doctrine – for Catholic students not attending a Catholic high school). She was breathtakingly beautiful. The style at that time still included beehive hairdos, and I didn’t care for that, nor the glitter sprikled onto it before the hairspray hardened. beehive.jpg Dancing with her close, besides the thumping of my heart and the burning heat everywhere her body made contact with mine, I also noticed how hard her hair was. I never understood that need to stiffen hair into a semi-permanent shape. Of course, when you are 14 or 15 and you have a beautiful woman in your arms, such things as glitter sticking to your face hardly matter. After that dance I had Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime running through my head for weeks, and always after that I think of Theresa when I hear that song. I was dumbfounded, of course, to have danced with such a beauty. We dated a little, once going to a swim social at the Knights of Columbus pool. There was music there, and the girls danced among themselves. I knew how to dance a little then of course, and was torn between wanting to dance with Theresa and my fear of being laughed at. 60sgirls.jpeg The boys stayed in their corner, the girls in theirs. No one danced together, and I always regretted being such a coward. I lived in the past for years afterwards, regretting all of my actions, obsessing over everything I should have said or done.

    Still, I saw Theresa more and more. I often stopped by her house on the way home. Like me, she was the oldest, and often in charge of the younger kids. Uusally her parents weren’t home yet. One time, after I’d been doing this for awhile, she led me by the hand upstairs into the bathroom so we could kiss. I thought it would be better to go into a bedroom, but she didn’t want to, maybe thinking I had more in mind. I was nervous. We put our arms around each other. I wanted to kiss her real bad, but there were those other kids running around, and some nearly Theresa’s age, so I didn’t want to get caught. Her father was really strict. I was so nervous that I can’t even remember if we managed to get a kiss in before someone knocked on the door. It was one of her sisters. The sister told her she was needed downstairs. Theresa left while I jumped behind the shower curtain. I thought the sister would leave, but since she started closing the door, I jumped and went, “Boo!” I left the house after that, embarrassed as all hell. Oddly enough, many years later, in my mid-20′s, I was involved in almost the exact scenario, but the other players were a married woman and her husband.

    Sometimes my brother John would show up there. He knew where I was going. Of course, we had always been together before this, and it was not unusual to have him doing whatever I was doing. I did not, however, expect him to hit on Theresa, but that is what he did. He went so far as to try to get her to think I looked like Howdy Doody, the puppet from the children’s show years earlier. I did have the big ears and a goofy grin. 14.jpg However, Theresa told me about it, and I resented it ever after. I don’t think I have forgiven John since. I like him, and miss him, but I never forgot that betrayal. That is what puberty is all about, I guess. New friends push out old friends, especially if the new friends are female.

    I was also still in the Boy Scouts back then, although both John and I had switched to the older, more sophisticated Explorer wing. As explorers, we would do things like visit a Nuclear Power plant or an aircraft carrier, fly in a small plane, or run the Boy Scout encampments. At one such encampment, we played poker long after the younger boys were put to bed. We had a lantern and could stay up, since we were basically in charge. No lights for the younger Scouts, and we enforced that. One of the other Explorer Scouts produced a bottle of Thunderbird (a bottle of the cheap whiskey was embedded in a post at the entrance to Camp Thunderbird). I didn’t want any, but it sure made me feel older to be part of such a group. One time, they had a party at one scout’s house. I decided to take Theresa. We’d been to another dance, this one at my high school, but didn’t date regularly. When I went to pick her up, her dad had warned me not to come home late, or he’d be waiting for me with a shotgun. That was a scary thought. We still hadn’t made out – but this was going to be the ideal chance. We danced to Louie, Louie, and other rock ‘n’ roll songs of the time. The song was reported to have hidden meanings, and even deliberately-slurred profanity. (The song was banned on many radio stations and in many places in the United States, including Indiana, where it was personally prohibited by the Governor. The FBI became involved in the controversy but concluded a 31-month investigation with a report that they were “unable to interpret any of the wording in the record.”) kingsmen.jpg

    During the party that night, Theresa disappeared. I was crushed. There were boys and girls going off together, and I’d seen her with Louis, whose house this was. Louis was a weird one, claiming to have an incurable disease that would kill him in a few years. I never found out if it was true, but he used it to impress girls that he was dying and accelerate the ‘game’ from base to base. I could have killed him when I saw him return from another part of the house with Theresa, with her hair and makeup messed up, but I was mad at her. I couldn’t believe she’d go off with Mr. Sleezy after the way we’d danced close and almost made out. It was very late by then, so I called my dad to pick us up to get Theresa home. She avoided my eyes, but I thought she’d been drinking. Her dad was at the door, but he didn’t say anything. I didn’t call her or go over after that. Maybe John did. I probably told him about it, or he heard from one of the other boys. He was the type to tell my mom, who would have called her cousin. Theresa actually called me. She apologized, but it sounded like a forced apology. I didn’t buy it. Never saw her again. I heard, not long after, that she had run off to Texas with an older guy. Years later, I heard she’d moved back to Maryland and had a horse farm.

    No lunch but Karen gave me a Xmas card

    Saw Karen on Friday, our last day of work until Jan. 2. She was too busy with meetings and other work to have lunch or even coffee. I made some calendars through the University printing service and gave her one. bouncenm1.jpg It had some of my best pics of the Balloon Fiesta. I also gave her a gift certificate for a Japanese Restaurant where she likes to go. I would have rather taken her myself, but that is impossible of course. Oh, well. Anyway, we were able to talk a little, and she is going to get the tattoo she wanted over the holiday. She was in a good mood contemplating getting the tattoo done. She’d been almost against doing it since she would still be itchy when she came back to work, but she decided that was OK. Perhaps I had helped talk her into it? I had told her I thought she should do it anyway. She gave me a Xmas card, the first such card ever. I wasn’t expecting anything, and had even convinced myself she might not meet me at all. card.jpg She wrote, ” Have a great holiday and a happy new year!! Karen” Perhaps she feels that it is OK to give me a card now? that I won’t be encouraged to pursue her? She did tell me how impossible a relationship between us is, and I have accepted that. It was certainly nice to see her.

    Later, I began experiencing sadness and depression again. I’m still in love with her. I don’t know how that can be? I know better. I felt I made that break, finally accepted reality. How can I still desire her so much? I was practically suicidal. If these low spikes in my gradually improving state of mind get any lower, I probably will entertain those thoughts more. graph.jpg Damn, I got sad. You’d think I’d lost a loved one to death, from the utter sadness and hopelessness I felt. It took hours to recover. I decided to write to Karen, invite her to stop by for a cup of coffee sometime:

    tree122507-2.jpg>>>Karen, I have a nice tree and I’ve been buying old ornaments off of eBay to decorate it with. It’s still a bit empty and lonely in this place, and I thought the tree would help brighten it and my mood up. It does smell really good. It would be so nice to show it to you, and show you the house. I was going to invite my step-kids over, but I just found out that my step-daughter has already left for Vietnam, and then Australia, courtesy of her dad, who works for Intel in Vietnam. She had mentioned going, but I thought she meant at the end of next semester when she would graduate. I miss her already. She has been very sweet to me since the divorce, and took me out on my birthday in October. It possible she called me at home while I was on this computer, but I’m a little bummed out not to have been able to say goodbye. She is just about all the family I have here, and she will be gone ’till mid-January. I’m just a tad lonely here, and your company would certainly be appreciated, however briefly. It would be nice to share a cup of coffee with you before I head off to the frozen wastes of Iowa on the 26th. If you trust me to make a good one, I can do that, or get you a fancy one across the street at the Flying Star. I made some beer too, if you’d be willing to taste it. Anyway, I hope it doesn’t cross the boundaries to ask, but I am just feeling pretty down here. I know that’s not much of an enticement. Who would want to be around someone who is depressed during the holiday? Well, I would certainly feel a lot better if you could stop by. You’re always such a pleasure to talk and listen to. I’m going to try and get a fire going tonight. It’s an old tradition on Solstice, or Yule, to keep a fire burning all night. I hope the wood is dry enough. If I don’t see you, then have a happy holiday. I wish you and your family much happiness, and I really do hope your New Year is going to be great! I’m looking forward to seeing how the tattoo comes out!<<< tree122507-3.jpg

    No response from her, and I gave her my phone number in the email too. Oddly enough, after I wrote this to her, I felt better. There was almost a sense of relief. I think it helps most to talk in person, but just being able to tell a real person, that I know, how lousy I felt, made a world of difference in my mood. I write things like this in this blog, but it is not as helpful as telling someone I know. Of course, she didn’t reply. I’ve pushed against that boundary again. I just felt so bad, and writing to her made me feel so much better. Very selfish of me, and very short-sighted. I may never see her again. She told me that she didn’t like it when I said such things, but seems to have forgiven me. If I don’t stop doing things like this, she is going to lose her patience with me. Can’t say I’d blame her at all. She told me about her bad experience with an older man, and how (with a shudder) she couldn’t date someone old enough to be her father. That should have been enough for me. Why do I still have feelings for her? I must simply have gone off the deep end here.

    I can’t distinguish between reality and fantasy anymore. I suppose that’s why I think a candidate for President who wants to bring all the troops home now, and close US military bases in Iraq, has a chance of winning the nomination of the Democratic Party. The same Party of fools and cowards who have let this regime do what ever it wants. presidentialcircus.jpg I’m off to Iowa for the Presidential circus there in two days. I hope the roads are decent. snow5.jpg If not, well, so what?

    Dreamstate

    December 18, 2007

    I dreamed about Karen last night, and this time it was about her and she was definitely there. Last time it was just her room full of cats that could have been dragons.

    I was at a party in the dream, at my old house before the divorce. Karen was there. We sat together and talked. My ex, The Dragon, was there close by. The other guests gradually left until it was just the three of us. The Dragon began talking to me, but Karen was also trying to keep my attention on her. It was getting hard to talk to both. Karen told me about some craft project she was putting together. She was trying to figure out how to add something when she hit on the idea of using green twist ties. I said that was a real good idea. The scene shifted suddenly. We were outside. Karen was walking away fast, and I was following. She said I was never going to get the twist ties. I desperately, lamely, told her I didn’t know she wanted them right away. She began running. I ran after her, yelling her name. She turned suddenly, yelled at me to stop following her. There was a woman there, a biochemistry grad student from work, and she stepped in front of me with her hand raised like a traffic safety. She said: “You lost.”

    1.jpg2.jpg3.jpg4.jpg5.jpg6.jpg7.jpg8.jpg10.jpg11.jpg

    As enacted by my internet friends siesam and girlwiththespatula. Thank you.


    The dream ended right there; I was awake. 3:30 am. My head was clear. I remembered a meeting I had forgotten the night before. I tried to return to sleep. Time crept by until it was time to get up for work. tea_lime.gif I’ve got to stop drinking green tea sodas before bed.

    I can see the chasing scene showing up in my dreams. I’d watched a movie of the lovehina.jpg Love Hina series in which the hapless Keitaro keitaro_002.jpg chases the object of his affection and she yells at him to stop following her? Check. Affection divided between Karen and the Dragon while still married? Check. Craft project? That’s Karen. Check. Chasing Karen? Check. Rejection? Check. “You lost”? Loser. Check.

    Feelings, Karen?

    December 17, 2007

    So hard to let these feelings for Karen go. I know the whole idea of me and her is stupid. She makes that clear. She’s not about to have a relationship with some pervert old enough to be her father. Saw her today, by accident. I was coming up from the basement, saw her waiting by the cashier’s window a couple yards away. I stopped, involuntarily, wanted to say hi, but she wasn’t looking my way. She turned her head slightly as I moved into her peripheral vision, but didn’t look my way. I decided not to bother her. She usually hurries by if I run into her, or seems almost embarrassed to be talking to me in front of other people. I must have my silly grin on then. I can’t remember when I was so happy to see anyone except her. I’ve accepted the futility of my love for her. I’m trying to be the mature, responsible adult, but I wish I could find the magic that would make me younger, or throw me into her future – something, anything. Why does there have to be such a gap in our ages? Why can’t I just forget these feelings? Ah, well. I don’t know why, but we still have lunch. I only have that one hour a week with her, as a friend. I’ll miss her over the Xmas break. I always do. Almost two weeks off while the University shuts down. I’m half expecting that she’ll cancel going to lunch this Friday. She’ll probably get off early, or have something to do. No big deal to her. It’s always been a big deal to me, but, now I understand better. I have no hopes of trying to see her over the break, to see a movie, have dinner, talk to her.

    I think one of my commentators was probably correct. Who knows if I even have feelings for her at all? I thought I did. I am always so happy to see her, to think about her, to dream about her, but perhaps it is all an illusion. Perhaps I am only wanting such happiness, and got fixated on Karen. A relationship has to be two-way. She is nice to me. She smiles at me. I can’t imagine what she would think if I told her all the things I’ve thought and felt about her.

    My paranoid insanity tries to take hold of me again. I imagine that Karen saw me today, and I offended her by not stopping to say hello. Perhaps she thinks I didn’t want to see her? Hah! Not likely that I’d miss any chance to see her, but then again, I did it today. How can I be this sad again, when I’ve finally accepted my lot in life? No Karen for me. Can I do this again? I didn’t expect to fall in love with her. I had no reason to. I see no reason to fall in love again. I suppose that means it could happen anyway. I don’t know why I would want to. Seems silly now. How many times can I fall in love, if love it be at all? Sure feels good, good enough to tell anyone who doesn’t like it to go to hell. Love and depression – what a wonderful cycle of emotions I’ve picked for myself! I feel, therefore I live? I live, therefore I feel? No wonder people kill themselves over love. So much to do yet, so much to see, to experience, to do, to be. Do Be Do Be Do. Strangers in the night -

    Something in your eyes was so inviting,
    Something in you smile was so exciting,
    Something in my heart,
    Told me I must have you.

    What were the chances….

    No chance at all.

    Women: an alien lifeform? Or is it me?

    wedding_kids.jpg To me anyway. I proposed to a girl in the second grade. I was 6 or 7 years old. She said she’d have to ask her mother. Her mother said no. I don’t know if that was the catalyst. We had exchanged notes in class a lot. We liked each other. It was fun. (Bear with me – I’m in second grade at the moment). I can’t remember exactly what she looked like anymore. Dark hair, and dark eyes, I’m fairly certain. For some reason, after this rejection of my proposal, we began exchanging hate notes instead of love notes. Whatever dirty words we knew at the time, we wrote them. nun.jpg The nun caught us. The nun, as nuns were wont to do at the time, shamed both of us publicly.  We never talked to each other again, or exchanged another note. I didn’t fall in love again, if that can even be applied to kids at that age, until I was in another school after my parents moved again. They were always moving as more kids came along. When it was just me and my one brother, it was room enough. Having another brother seemed to put a strain on my parent’s relationship, as they were already fighting when I was in kindergarten. I remember the dented wall from a thrown coffee cup. I asked my mother about that years later, and she said my dad was always doing things like that. So, we moved. After fours years of elementary Catholic school at St. Thomas of Aquinas, we moved again. Then I was enrolled in St. Anthony of Padua. That’s when I saw Kathleen. She sat in front of me in 5th grade. katherine.jpg One day I noticed the zipper on the back of the blouse of her uniform was down. I zipped it up for her. She said thanks. She was the first girl to speak to me since 2nd grade. I was instantly in love. For the next few years I watched her, talked to her. I rode my bike to her house and watched her skip rope. I called her up once and asked her to a movie. Her parents said we were too young. I wrote love notes to her. To be honest, I was noticing other girls then too, like Janet and Joyce. I sent notes to them too, but Kathleen remained the primary object of my affection. She wasn’t interested, but I persisted. Once, I wrote a note to her professing my love and wanting to be with her. I may have said something weirder, but I can’t remember it anymore. I had a dream just prior, in which she was in bed with me, but I didn’t know anything about sex until later. It was a pleasant dream, and it seemed we touched each other, cuddling perhaps, and she was in pajamas. In fact, it may have been this incident that prompted my mother to tell my father to have the sex talk with us two oldest boys. It was at a time of one of the early Mercury space flights. ma6glenn.jpg I think it was John Glenn’s orbital flight. The nun had brought a TV into the classroom – very exciting event at the time, circa 1962. In the darkness of the classroom I passed that fateful note to Kathleen. There was another girl Janet, whom I had also been giving notes to, but who had a friend she would have trip me as I walked up the aisle to my seat. I had the feeling she didn’t like me much. Janet persuaded Kathleen to give the note to our teacher. The nun, again, decided to shame me, reading the note, with its innocent declarations of my deepest feelings at the time, to the entire class. That was bad enough, but the nun called my dad and he came to school to get me. That was very odd, since I walked to and from school, and I don’t know why it couldn’t have waited until I got home. He was mad, asked me about the note, which he had. I had no idea why he was mad. Perhaps I was so used to passing notes, I didn’t think there was anything wrong with it. belt.jpg However, I got the belt when we got home – the worst punishment, for only the most serious offenses. I never spoke with Kathleen again. The last year there, in 8th grade, they put me in a different class, one composed of all boys. Since I ended up going to an all-boys high school, I never had a girl in my classes again until college. I saw Kathleen one day shortly before graduation, during a May Day procession through the streets near St. Anthony’s. I had been part of the school safety patrol in earlier grades, 1951.jpg and an altar boy, but in my current persona as an Explorer boy scout, I was helping direct traffic. I hoped I looked dashing in my dark green Explorer uniform with my walkie-talkie realistic-trc-27-new.jpg and AAA safety belt, but Kathleen never looked my way. An odd thing those belts: white and military-looking. It had a strap that went over your shoulder as well as around your waist, something like soldiers use to wear. I think I saw a picture of an MP wearing something like that. Very authoritative. Every day after school the nuns had all the younger kids line up two by two and we marched them in a long column up the street, along the sidewalk a couple blocks, past the supermarket and the drugstore, to the main street. I don’t know where they went from there, but my job was done then. Funny that everyone drives their kids to school these days. That would have been ridiculous at the time. If one’s family had a car, it was used by the father for work. Moms didn’t have cars for shopping. My mom used to send me to the store a lot. It was the same walk as going to and from school, paper.jpg but carrying a gallon or two of milk, and maybe 5 lbs of sugar, infant formula, canned goods, and other cooking items, made it seem a lot longer. I had strong arms after awhile. After I graduated from St. Anthony’s I had to take a bus to the high school I’d gotten into, so I don’t know who got the groceries. There were seven kids by then, and I stayed at school in various club meetings as long as I could. Sometimes I still had to go to the store at night after I got home.

    martin_everybodyloves.jpg Before I started high school my mom and her cousin introduced me to my fourth cousin Theresa. I liked her a lot. She was a year or two older and she was fantastic looking. We went to a dance at St. Anthony’s, and danced, to the amazement of my classmates. She taught me how to do a box step, so we even slow danced, to Dean Martin’s  “Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime.” I was in love again.

    My lunch with Karen; I’m a pervert

    December 14, 2007

    xmasdoor-001.jpg Heard from Karen today. So we had lunch. Always a pleasure. The tension is gone now. She seemed more relaxed. I was relaxed.

    “Hi T,
    I will be going to lunch about 1-ish today.
    Karen”

    She sent me pictures the other day of her office door she and another woman decorated. They won 1st place in the decoration contest – and it is all hand made. Karen is very creative and talented, I think.

    xmasdoor-002.jpg xmasdoor-003.jpg xmasdoor-004.jpg xmasdoor-011.jpg xmasdoor-014.jpg

    Karen looked lovely as usual. I told her her haircut makes her look older. She said, “Good! Maybe it’ll keep the perverts away!” She told me about the older guy whom she’d dated (turned out to be married) who’d also dated his high school students. Certainly a pervert, and he got caught. She told me about this a long time ago, but for some reason I repressed the entire thing. We talked about age differences. She thinks women in their 20s shouldn’t date anyone in their 50s. Not that it’s anyone’s business what other people do, but it’s not for her. She could not date anyone old enough to be her father. She says that perhaps it’s not bad for a woman in her 30s to date older men. Well, we didn’t talk about us directly, but we seemed to cover everything that’d been on my mind. Talked about anime some too. Lunchtime went by quickly; I was surprised when the hour was almost up. We enjoyed each other’s company and conversation, and what more could I possibly hope for from this bright, young and beautiful woman?  At least I know where I stand.

    I don’t know what I want anyway. I wanted her, but that’ll never happen. I still don’t want to date anyone else, don’t want to even go out much at all. It’s a good thing I’m going to Iowa over the Xmas break. I’d probably have just stayed home, withdrawn into my little cocoon for 12 days. Probably still go for solitary walks. Nothing else seems very inviting. That’s the good thing about being in a relationship: you always find things to do together because you want to do things together. It’s fun and such a pleasure to enjoy things with another person. One does not need to always be with someone, but it certainly can be very nice.

    Another rainy night

    December 10, 2007

    darkstormy.jpg Charles Schulz used to have Charlie Brown’s dog Snoopy sitting on his doghouse pounding out a novel on an old typewriter by starting with: “It was a dark and stormy night.” The story never went further than that, but Snoopy was always rather pleased with the start. (The strip first used the phrase on 12 July 1965). It evoked writer’s block, trite, overused sayings and run-on sentences, but still, a dark and stormy night is still a dark and stormy night, and the perfect setting for mystery, intrigue, melancholia, and horror. (It was originally penned by Victorian novelist Edward Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton as the beginning of his 1830 novel Paul Clifford.) scary-cat.jpg It did rain earlier today, and left a pool of deep water where I would normally park near my little house.

    It’s the rainy season in New Mexico. We don’t get much rain all year, but nature makes up for it in winter. It is a dark and stormy winter evening, with rain pelting the roof and windows, the cats snuggled cozily in an old recliner, and a pot of tea on the counter. I’ve little to complain about in my status as citizen of the richest country in the world. frontdoors.jpg I’ve a warm and dry place to read, to write x-mas cards, to cruise the internet. I’ve food to eat, and a x-mas tree in the room. The radio is off tonight, but it’s available, as is broadcast TV, VHS tapes or DVDs. Vinyl records sit silently on the shelves situationcomedys.jpg with cassette tapes and CDs, directly across the room from a wall full of books books.jpg covering all manner of fantasy, both real and imagined. I’ve set the stage tonight for melancholia.

    My chest still tightens reflexively as it has since my exile here pending the divorce. The divorce is long since final, and I no longer sigh as much, but the tightness that grabs my chest from time to time makes me wonder if I have a heart problem or just unresolved emotional turmoil. My blood pressure is normal, my cholesterol is not high, and I’ve no history of heart trouble, so I suspect I still reel from being cast aside by a bitter old drunk, whom I loved dearly, but fell out of favor with. She is the one who said we should go our separate ways, found a way to keep our house for herself, and left me with nothing but a job I was due to retire from soon. No retirement for me now, of course, although when I do, at least I get to keep all of it and don’t have to support her in her house. I doubt she’ll stay there anyway. Even now she is probably planning to sell it, only waiting until I could have no legal claim to any part of that. 434536233.jpg It was her that wanted the addition I built, 434536335.jpgand the addition inprogess2.jpg precipitated redoing the entire roof finished2a.jpg as well as the new section. All my work, but labor is community property, and that’s the way it goes. She hates the weather here, the windy season, the short, anemic rainy season, the cold of winter and the heat of summer. She thinks the weather in LA where she grew up is normal, and everything else sucks. She’ll probably move back to California some day. She never turned her college education into a career, has stopped painting, and doesn’t have much disposable income any more without my paying the mortgage. Her job pays little, and will never change substantially. To maintain the house now she has to pay someone, but I left it in pretty good shape. She can’t really prosper, and will probably bail out, and head off to California to be with relatives, relatives who will tire of her on a permanent basis, not the fun visits full of parties and drinking she thinks of as California. Maybe she’ll get one of her sisters to move here. Who knows? It hardly matters what she does anymore.

    I set my hopes for a better new life, one of love and sex and laughter, on a young woman I met at work, but that was a mistake, as she had no interest in me, and cannot possibly be my friend, my lover, my confidant, or partner. I set myself up for failure, and knew it all along, but it gave me something to look forward to, to fantasize about, to live for. I know who the bells of melancholia toll for, and it is me. I have so much that the world envies in material goods, desks.jpg and security, but so? Given all that, it is the privilege of such comfort and (relative) security that I can even have thoughts of romance and love and happiness. So, I should be happy, yes? Why am I not? Depression, of course, strikes anyone, and certainly it haunts me from time to time, but the ennui I speak of in other writings still permeates me. I feel better, in a generally upward-sloping plot of happiness versus time, with ups and downs along the way. I suppose this is just another downward spike.

    albuquerquerain.jpg It’s still raining. It is just as well that the motorcycle won’t start, and I’ve no money to fix it, and haven’t had time anyway. It can be miserable getting caught in this weather, sopping wet and cold. I still have a car I can use, so I have little worry there, except now the price of gasoline is a concern. I’ve got to get the motorcycle fixed soon, or spend a disproportionate amount of money on commuting.

    I thought I was finally caught up this month, financially, from all the expenses of moving, renting, deposit, one last mortgage payment, utility start-ups, and setting up a household. Still had to give the dragon money last month for the refinance so she could get my name off the house, and she made it sound like she was doing me a favor. As soon as I signed the papers and they were notarized, she said I could go. Dismissed me. So it goes. The Notary asked if this was for a refinance, and the dragon said no, even though that’s what she had told me. That’s why I think she could be preparing to sell it. Hard to believe. All that work for nothing. She didn’t do the work, so it doesn’t matter to her. I told her I should be compensated for that, but she doesn’t care, and I have no real legal standing, aside from a long, drawn-out court battle that just didn’t seem worth what would be left over from legal fees.

    Got paid $690 less this month. I applied for a staff program for my step-daughter at the University that allows children of staff to have their tuition paid, but the IRS considers that income, and I was happy to have it increase my taxes, but not all at once. I can’t believe it is necessary to consider such a benefit as paid in one pay period! At least I had enough to pay the rent and utilities and buy food. But, already, with weeks to go before I get paid again, I’m broke and overdrawn again. Is it any wonder I experience melancholy?

    thecircus-2.jpg Even the political circus of candidates wanting the power of the US Presidency is failing to excite me. Can I believe any of them? One Party has parlayed fear into political power at the expense of democracy and freedom, and the other Party has been entirely complicit in the whole thing. Some choice.

    I’m Free

    December 03, 2007

    It’s over.

    I’m free!

    i_m_free.jpg

    Karen has no more hold over me. When you’re in love with someone you give them tremendous power over you. My ex never wanted to give anyone that power. I gave her such power over me, but she abused it. Karen is not interested now, nor ever will be. Of course, I wouldn’t have minded being abused by her. Ha ha, I’m such a dork.

    Life sucks, then you die.

    11/30/07

    Well, that just sucks. Karen didn’t e-mail me about lunch today, and I thought it might be because she didn’t want to have lunch with me anymore. I did write to her that I could meet her to share a Bento some evening or weekend afternoon; that way it wouldn’t be so much like a date. I confessed that I was always thinking about some way to spend time with someone I like so much. I was afraid that might have annoyed her. I think it did. I went to the cafeteria at the regular time, and she was just getting there. She didn’t say anything. I said hello, and that was that. I asked if she had been busy today, and she sighed “Yes,” she had. She got her food and sat down while I was still waiting on a  grilled cheese with green chile.  I was afraid she might leave – she had a huge book with her, and that usually means she would prefer to be reading. However, I took my plate and asked her if I could join her, and she said, “Yes,” after a short pause, so I sat down. I don’t eat the pickle that comes with sandwiches, and usually give it to Karen, but I didn’t offer it to her this time.

    She cut her hair really short. It looks nice. She said it helped elongate her round face. I said she looked great, but that it didn’t really matter when someone is so beautiful anyway. That pissed her off. She said she really didn’t like it when I said stuff like that, that it overstepped the boundaries, or something to that effect. The look on her face and the tone of her voice made me feel like I’d been slapped! slap.jpg How do women do that? I said I didn’t understand, that I thought that had just been when I had been married. She wouldn’t say anymore. It made me angry briefly. It shouldn’t have. I know that I’m not that attractive to her, by either looks or age. Still, I would think it would be OK to compliment her?

    I can see now, after reflecting on it awhile, and considering how defensive she became when I said it, that she’s talking about sexual harassment. Now I understand better. It was never about having been married, and not directly about my age either. She’s just not attracted to me, and probably wouldn’t be even if we were the same age or closer in age, where I didn’t look so fucking old. It must just be my overinflated male ego that dared to presume such a pretty young woman could ever be attracted to me. loveshattered.jpg

    Who knows? Maybe she was at one time, but not any more. It’s not her fault that I assumed a woman that made special trips from home in to where I worked just to have lunch with me had more than a passing interest in me as just a work buddy. We used to take a bus to the other side of campus together to eat at an off-campus restaurant, but then we started walking together. (Got a thing between us)

    It was so nice. I enjoyed those walks sooo much. Talking with her, or just enjoying the company. Sometimes we got sandwiches and walked to the big pond on main campus. So beautiful there with the pond, fountain, waterfalls, and grass, in the middle of a desert on a large campus in a big city. We had to stop doing all that when she started working full time. I miss those times, and while I appreciate the joy those times gave me, I see it will never happen again.

    So now, anything I say or do is potentially bad. I was going to write ‘love’ in my Xmas card sad-man.jpg to her this year, but I can see now that would be a baaaaad idea. I gave her some $ for her birthday last month, to help with her savings towards a new tattoo and for getting her own apartment. (Odd that a 27-year-old woman would still be living with her parents, but she had been trying for a long time to get through college until it just became too expensive, even living at home.) She told me that she told her family not to give her any things anymore; that what she really needed was money. She looked shocked at my gift, and I thought she might refuse it, but she just looked at it, said, “It’s a lot,” and put it away. It’s not a lot really; it’s about what dinner out costs these days. I had previously offered to take her to lunch on her birthday, but she said she was already leaving early to meet her parents for that very reason, and wouldn’t be eating lunch that day at all. She did, however, thank me for offering.

    >>> 11/6/2007 7:14 AM >>>
    Good morning Karen!and a very Happy Birthday to you! May I treat you to lunch? Cafeteria? or I could run over to Frontier? or if you can take a longer lunch we could go somewhere? Up to you – it’s your day! If not, I hope someone has plans to treat you special today.  – T.<<<

    Hi Terry,
    I am leaving early today to go to a late lunch/early dinner with my parents. So I probably won’t be eating lunch today. Thanks though.
    Karen.

    She looks damn good to me, and I’m still in love with her. Well, I’ve had plenty of time to anticipate this. I’ve even said it before, but it is an absolute certainty now. I must kill this fantasy. I’m driving myself crazy thinking about her. I will eventually say the wrong thing again, or touch her hair or hand. I was almost going to openly confess my love for her. Ha, ha! I can see the restraining order now! She wouldn’t even need that though. The University is a state institution, and both the state and the University have a zero tolerance for harassment, which includes the idea of making anyone uncomfortable in the workplace. I could not only make Karen mad at me, but lose my job, and damage the union’s reputation. I don’t really care about the job, and I could quit the union before any great damage to its reputation, but being treated like that by Karen would really, really, suck. sad_snowman.jpg

    I’ve decided. Next week, and from now on, I am not going to the cafeteria at that time. If Karen doesn’t send me any more e-mails about lunch, she won’t ever see me again, except in passing. Since she never says much when I run into her, or stops to chat, it won’t be all that different. She can be so eloquent and happy talking about things at lunch, but if I run into her and say hi, she might say, “Oh. Hello,” without even pausing her stride. It sounds like she’s saying “Hi” to an old acquaintance that she’s a little surprised to see, but not interested in talking to. I thought it might come to that, to us not having lunch anymore, and then she’ll be like that anyway. Man! the graphic I used before that shows a female carny backing away from a guy, saying “No, get away!” boy_loves_girl.jpg was actually a very accurate depiction of the actual dynamic between us. Fuck it all. fukitol.jpg

    Post-Thanksgiving musings

    Nov. 24, 2007

    Thanksgiving: a time to be with family and friends, a time for me to be by myself. Oddly enough, I was looking forward to it. I wasn’t worried about being alone, and felt no need to be with anyone. I knew my step-kids would be at their mom’s house. I remembered all those times they had to be at their dad’s house for every other holiday, and then at their mom’s house, and then it became a game of trying to be in both places for a little while on the same day. I wasn’t going to add to that, even though their dad was probably still overseas. Anyway, no need for me to create a big dinner either. I bought myself some crabcakes crab-cakes.jpg the night before and some frozen raw shrimp. shrimp.jpg I figured I’d have those on Thanksgiving, but ate all the crabcakes.

    I dreamt on Thanksgiving morning: I was sharing a house or apartment with Karen. She wasn’t there. Some people came to the door looking for her. I either took them to her room, or went there after they left. Karen had cats in her room, and I did need to check on them, and verify Karen wasn’t there. When I opened the door, I could see all these cats, adults and kittens, staring at me. All of them were identical: white cats with identical red, yellow and green markings. lucky_cat.gif (Not this rude Japanese Lucky Cat). The curvature of the colorful line markings somehow gave the cats the appearance of dragons. Perhaps a memory of manga and anime? (And no, it wasn’t a fruit-helmet cat lime-helmet-cat.jpg either.) Karen is very fond of anime, manga, and dragons too. One of her cats is named Anime. I was so impressed by the dream that I wrote it down in an email, and sent it to Karen. No reply, of course.

    Later on, I went for a walk along the ditch. This time I jumped into the empty ditch to see what I would see from that perspective. I found what looked like a blue crab claw. crayfish-claw.jpg From the size, it had to be a crayfish claw. I was amazed – had no idea those lived in there. I put it in my pocket and walked on, but saw someone walking along the ditch. She had a dog with her. From a distance, I wasn’t sure, but it looked like it could be my old girl friend, from 25 years ago, girlfriend.gif and that’s who it turned out to be. She lives in the same condo complex I live in. I’ve spoken with her a few times. No attraction there for me, but she is friendly. I’ve run into her going to the coffee house on Sunday, but she just goes for a bagel, and takes it back to her place. In the summer, I saw her in shorts, and noticed faint scarring all over her legs. I thought it might be evidence of some sort of protein deficiency like kwashiorkor, marasmus, or even cirrhosis. I remember something about liver function being disrupted in alcoholics, and there being visible signs of protein deficiency, like scarring on the extremities. I don’t know for sure. She could be protein deficient for some other reason. Her problem with alcohol vodka2.gif was very acute a long time ago; she used to keep a water bottle full of Vodka by her bed. Often, in the middle of the night, after she’d called me to come over, and we’d had sex, I’d hear her gulping, gulping, gulping and assumed she was very thirsty. One day I helped her clean out a nest of Vodka bottles under her sink, but it never occurred to me she had a problem with alcohol. She seemed fine. Years later she admitted a problem, got help, and said she stopped drinking any alcohol whatsoever. The condition of her legs made me wonder if she had continued drinking after all. I haven’t pursued a renewal of that old relationship since moving in here. However, we stopped to talk. She asked me what I was doing later, and when I told her “nothing” she invited me to a mutual friend’s house for a Thanksgiving dinner later. I said I might, after I got back from my walk. She wanted to go early in case it snowed, so I hadn’t time for a leisurely stroll as is my usual practice. She confirmed that people around here do catch and eat the crayfish in the ditches. craw33.jpg

    I took a few pictures of the dry ditch dw112207-1.jpg and eventually came to a point where I needed to climb out, and found myself hurrying along. Funny how these crayfish get swept into the ditches, but get left high and dry when winter comes. I decided to suffer human company after all. I would get back in time to go with her, or go about the same time if we went separately, since we hadn’t made a clear plan, and she’d given me the address. As it was, I got back in time, steamed up the shrimp and added it to some strange grain/rice dish she’d picked up at the food coop. She drove. We enjoyed the dinner a lot. Instead of eating sensibly like I thought, at home by myself, I ended up eating turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, gravy, corn, the grain/rice dish, and pumpkin pie. Sigh. My stomach bulged, but I thought I’d taken only small portions. Good political discussions, and there were kids there too, courtesy of another mutual friend. Very cute kids. It was as much of a family gathering as one could possibly hope for. We said goodnight when we got back, and she asked if I wanted to go to a similar such gathering Xmas Eve. I just might.

    In the meantime, I picked up some firewood today, pinion_400.jpg maybe enough for two or three fires. I met a guy a month ago who said he’d sell me a cord for $180, but I don’t have that right now. As soon as I get paid, I’ll call him. Right now, there’s a fire going, and there’s no TV on! It’s wonderful. My chair faces the fireplace, not the TV set. I can warm my aching feet when I get home. I can heat this place up now, since the hot-water-blower system isn’t doing much, and it’s not even all that cold yet. I don’t want to use electric heaters – have no idea how much that’ll cost! If a cord of wood will get me through the winter, I’m all for it. Good hot fires with dry wood don’t create that much smoke.

    I wonder what Karen is like in winter. Is she comfortable at regular temps, or does she need it toasty? I sure would like to warm her up. pict0165.jpg

    Unidentified Poem I Wish I’d Written

    Nov. 14, 2007

    If I could ever figure out who wrote this, I’d send it to Karen:

    By day mine eyes, by night my soul desires thee

    Weary, I lie alone.

    Once, in a dream it seemed thou were beside me,

    Oh far beyond all dreams if thou woulds’t come.

    weightoftheworld-ericdrooker.jpg

    Can anyone attribute this poem? It has language similar to Shakespeare’s but I have been unable to find it in his writings or anywhere online.

    I found it written in pencil on an index card on the floor; it had to have fallen out of a book I was reading. On the other side was a message from a Sarah thanking someone for lunch (!) and their undivided attention; it said also, “This poem says so much of my feelings towards you. This person was better with words than I.”

    It drives me crazy not to be able to find its source. I’m assuming an old poem, probably from a schoolbook of poetry. Perhaps it is by Shakespeare? I wish I knew.

    Happy Samhain, the Gaelic New Year!

    October 31, 2007

    halloween-11.jpg
    Dyed my hair green for Hallowe’en.

    I like carving pumpkins and giving out candy on Hallowe’en. The jack ‘o lanterns came out looking good: pumpkins-5.jpg pumpkins-10.jpg

    The first represents my silly, happy eagerness for Hallowe’en – my joy at handing out candy, and, oh, yes, I was going to see Karen. Well, no date, of course, but she always puts on a huge Hallowe’en display in her yard and everyone is welcome to come see it. That’s the real reason I dyed my hair. I knew I’d see Karen. I was hoping she’d be outside, because I wasn’t sure if she’d want me to come to the door. Well, I did run into her; she was already taking a few things in. The fog machines were already off, and some of the lights on the tombstones and such were off. I shouldn’t have waited so long to go over there. Karen was pleasant to me, but didn’t even notice my green hair – it was pretty dark, so I pointed it out to her. I don’t think she got a good look at it. She was eager to go back inside, it appeared. I asked her how it went, and she said she had a lot of kids come by. I told her I didn’t get even one kid all night. I guess they don’t trick or treat in this condominium complex. Anyway, Karen dismissed me right away, said she’d see me next week, and goodnight. That’s pretty much what I expected, but I was of course hopeful to get invited in just for a few minutes at least to talk and maybe have a drink. The second pumpkin represents my hopes dashed. Such fantastic wishful thinking on my part. Karen was smiling so nicely when I ran into her at work the other day. It must have just been her happiness at the approach of Hallowe’en, not for having seen me. I get so much pleasure out of seeing her. Well, I took some pictures of the hair – might as well get some use out of the experience. Hope you enjoy them.

    halloween-10.jpg halloween-17.jpg halloween-14.jpg halloween-19.jpg halloween-20.jpg halloween-16.jpg halloween-18.jpg

    Stardust and Sake

    Oct. 20, 2007

    And how are you tonight, Karen, my beautiful sexy limerent object? Still an object of limerence to me. I don’t know why I persist in this fantasy that we can ever be together. Saw the movie Stardust tonight. stardustgaimanbookcover.jpg There’s another fool in love with a woman whom he cannot have, but at least he meets up with someone whom he can, and she loves him too. I know, romantic, huh? I suppose you are not alone in not being all that romantic. I find myself disbelieving in it from time to time. But then there’s you. I have convinced myself that I’m in love with you. That would be romantic, but how can unrequited love be real? Feels real, but it’s all in my head. I guess romance is too. ‘Tis nice when two people share the romantic fantasy – certainly makes life seem joyous and fantastic. But, of course, it wouldn’t bother me if you didn’t feel romantic. As long as we could be together a bit more, I’d be very happy. My romantic fantasy would be satisfied, and I’d do whatever it took to make you happy. Just rambling along tonight. Sent you a short email, but since you never respond, I don’t even look for replies anymore. It’s a nice night; the moon is only half, but it is bright and clear, There’s a smell of woodsmoke in the neighborhood. I stopped at a Japanese restaurant on the way home from the movie and had some warm sake. sake.jpg I suppose that could be having this effect on my mood. I feel good. I wish I could have shared that bento you said you wanted to have this weekend. I love Japanese food as well, and I offered to share when you said you needed someone to share. I wish I knew what was so wrong with that. We could see movies together, share meals, share fun. I find myself wishing for a miracle, something like in a novel or a movie where time is suspended, or someone gets their impossible wish granted through some magic. I find myself hoping for magic like that. I’d start my life over for you. Take a youth potion. Go forward in time to when you were older. It’s amazing to feel this way. I don’t want to stop, even in the face of your indifference. You have every right to turn a deaf ear to my pleas. Certainly you deserve better. And, given your loveliness and sex appeal, it won’t take too very long for you to find someone. Well, I’m becoming maudlin, bringing myself down a bit from my sake high. Better leave this as it is.

    Lunch with Karen, a Sequel

    Oct. 19, 2007

    persistence.jpg As anyone who has followed this little drama knows, I didn’t end this blog when I found out that a closer relationship with Karen was impossible. I have continued on. Perhaps my obsession is not as intense anymore, but Karen is here. We still have lunch together. I still enjoy her company. Her emails are certainly short and simple; today’s email subject, as always, was, “Lunch,” and as usual lately, the message was simply, “I am leaving now.” Did I go? You bet. Was she expecting me? Yes. She brought back a book I lent her. Hell, I bought the book for her, thinking she would like it. I read it when I flew to San Francisco a month ago; saw it on an airport newsstand shelf. The manga-like cover drew me in. Not a bad story, and Karen thought so too. moongazer_mariannemancusi.jpg

    Karen talked about her niece today and Halloween, of course. Her niece enjoyed scaring people with one of Karen’s skeleton decorations. Karen will be putting up more stuff this weekend. The weather is warm here, with the occasional fall breezes. It gives Karen a chance to get a lot done this weekend. Her Halloween yard display is quite a project. I offered to help before, but she said it only takes one person, and it’s really something she enjoys doing.

    Wonder of wonders! Karen said she wants to order a large Bento box bento_6.jpg (a Japanese creation – Bento actually means box, and it usually consists of a variety of small tasty food items), but at $20, it’s more than she wants to pay for herself alone. She even said she needed to share with someone, and she even glanced at me. With anyone else, it would have been a strong hint. I spoke right up, offering to share. She was quiet at first, so I repeated my offer. She said she would probably go with her sister-in-law. We were in line getting our after-lunch coffee at the time, so once that was out of the way, I offered once again, said I could meet her there, but she said, no, she’ll go with her sister-in-law and niece. Karen helps keep her niece quiet, so it’s a good deal for her sister-in-law. Afterwards they’ll go shopping a bit. Well, I tried. I’d have asked her out, but she already said that even going to a movie is too much like a date, so I was hoping perhaps casually meeting her, and sharing, like a friend might, would be acceptable, but not so. Ah, well. Got my hopes up for brief moment in time. Given my sad social life currently, even a casual meal like that would have been an exceptional event for me. What do I talk about? you may well be wondering. I often talk about what I’ve read lately – that’s about the only thing I can interest Karen in. Since I like to read, and she reads a lot, we always have something to share. I have read a lot of manga lately, but it’s of a type that we’ve discussed before, written mostly for adolescents Japanese boys with extremely poor social skills. The graphics are good though, and there were many titles I’d heard about but had never read. However, I did read the final Harry Potter recently, n220417.jpg speaking of adolescent boys with poor social skills. I enjoyed the whole series. It is a good story. Karen said she stopped after the 4th book. She’ll wait until the books are easily available in the library. I sold mine off already, except for the last.

    Today, I did talk about something more. I told Karen that it is strange being alone. That’s not unusual of course. As I said, many of us, including myself, have lived alone before, and gotten used to it, made a comfortable life for ourselves. It’s different however, when you’ve been with someone for a long time. The loneliness is more acute, and it’s difficult to get back into a regular sort of life. I mentioned perhaps going to the flea market this weekend, 7.jpg and Karen said she hasn’t done that in a year. Didn’t seem to be any interest there in going together, although she said it’s better to go with someone. I agreed, but there was no sense offering to pick her up or meet her there. One rejection a day is enough.

    How does this end?

    Oct. 17, 2007

    It’s funny how often Karen ends up in bed with me in my dreams. I always see her coming by, and staying the night, or at least a few hours. Last night I imagined her spending time with me, spending some nights, and we were enjoying each other’s company, and everything was fine. Her parents didn’t have to meet me, and we got to be together, and it would all work out just fine. Maybe she’d move in, maybe not. Maybe she’d get her own place and we could hang out there. Maybe we’d take that imaginary trip to vegas-night.jpg Vegas and get married, and still not tell her parents or anyone she didn’t want to know. I am crazy sick, you know? You all realize that by now? There’s no way this fantasy can occur – that’s why it’s a fantasy after all. Crazy for me to keep thinking about it. I seem to have become a character in a bad romantic novel or a dumb TV crime show. What’s next for me? Will I just lose all control one day? I’ve already lost most interest in my job, dna26.gif my union duties, union-cat-is-on-a-break.jpg or going out. I prefer to think about Karen, to imagine her in my life, just like the articles on limerence say. I see my life with her as my greatest happiness. No one is perfect, I realize, and neither are relationships. I don’t care. I want Karen. Nothing could make me happier, and yet I know it’s not going to happen, so I have to get my life together. But, what for? What DO I need to get my life together for? Another marriage like the last one? Hardly. I don’t need to get married again; I don’t need to have any kind of serious relationship at all. Except. Except there’s Karen. And Karen, she excites me. I think of life with Karen: getting to know each other more, setting up house together, sex, and romance and children and love. longing.jpg I think about all this and I want that to happen. I want that life. Everything else seems bland, boring and empty. I think about getting involved with someone else, and I probably can, but I don’t want it. I’ve read about people who carry a torch like this for much of their lives. Am I destined to be one of them? Or am I destined to simply go off the deep end? Do people do that anymore? Or does medication keep everyone in check? If I lose all interest in the world around me, what happens to me? Do I just go around on the street looking for the least uncomfortable place to sleep, eating whatever I find or beg for? Or will I even be able to function at that independent a level at all? Are people institutionalized anymore? Is that what I’m seeking: to be taken care of?  To withdraw from humanity? Why focus on seeking something that is impossible? that I can’t ever have? will never experience? What does that mean for me that I set up an unattainable goal? How does this end?

    gravely?

    Table-runner and Vegas

    Oct. 12, 2007

    painting_bear_hearts_big.jpg 1:15. No email from Karen. My worst fear is that she doesn’t want to see me. I went anyway; got some lunch. Just as I was picking up some ketchup and napkins, there she was! And smiling. She had been taking notes in a meeting, and couldn’t let me know. So, I was correct that she knows I will be there. And fortunately, my fear was unfounded.

    She brought a table-runner with her that she is sewing. It’s for Halloween, one of her passions. It’s quite nice, with a multicolored and textured moon, and bats. She has to sew each bat on individually. It will also have some wooden stars sewn on like buttons. She’s a very creative person. She said she brought it to work on it at lunch. But she took it out just to show me, which made me very happy. She enjoyed talking about it, and I enjoyed seeing it and hearing about it.

    I wish I knew why I couldn’t just accept this relationship as it is. Why do I want more? Because I’m male? or just human? I don’t know. I do know I wanted to brush my fingers along the bare strip of her stomach that showed. I’d love to have her in my arms, or kiss her, or hold hands, or strip every last piece of clothing off her to see and feel all of her. Sigh.

    Still in love. painting_bearheart_big.jpg

    She says she will be her niece’s godmother, just to make her family happy. Her brother had to have clergy perform his marriage, even though he only wanted a judge. So I asked Karen if she will also go along with family pressure for herself. “Oh, no!” she was quick to reply. She’d go to Vegas. Have a nice wedding there, maybe with an Elvis impersonator. I love it!

    Now if I can only talk her into going to Vegas with me. elvis_poster-lg.jpg

    OMG! Maa nante koto nanda.

    Oct. 10, 2007

    blurrykaren.jpg Saw Karen running through the parking lot this morning to get to work. Snapped a quick shot of her with the telephoto. She looks so hot in those high black boots! Then I saw her in the cafeteria later. omg.jpg: OMG! That purple dress is back! With the deep cleavage lines, short hemline, and those black boots, she is one of the hottest women I have ever known, or even seen! Damn, damn, damn, damn damn. And off limits. Taboo. I have to respect her boundaries. Holy batshit! What I wouldn’t give for just one night with that woman, or for a year with her. To spend the rest of my life with her, I would do absolutely anything. And it’s impossible! Popular wisdom is that nothing is impossible, but the look she gave me because I disturbed her reading to say Hi – that was bad enough. I made the mistake of complimenting her on her looks too. You would have thought I gave her the worst possible insult. I have to be insane. I want to fly a balloon as as high as I can and jump out. She drives me wild with desire. My heart is pumping hard. I feel like I could fly. Or die.

    Bring out the nets! I’ve totally lost it.

    pink_elephant.jpg

    photo by me, O’Maolchathaigh 2007.

    Karen and me

    October 06, 2007

    songbird_for_a_sad_day_by_vermelho.jpg

    Songbird for a Sad Day by Vermelho (deviantart.com)

    Having lunch with me, talking to me when I’m out of words, bringing me a book to read or movies to watch: those are the songbirds Karen gives me. I get sad because I cannot be with her more, but that one hour a week is still something, and she is often in my thoughts and dreams the rest of the week. Lately she writes her typically terse emails just stating the time she is “…going to lunch at….” The question mark is gone from the message subject “lunch?”, and I’m not sure what it means. My negative side says it means she isn’t really enjoying hanging out with me anymore, and is moving away. My little positive upbeat side says: maybe all it means it that she knows, without question, that I will be there. If that is true, then perhaps I have gotten that much across to her. That is my gift to her. I will always be there, always.

    Purple Haze Spell

    October 05, 2007

    Re: Karen -

    purple-haze.jpg

    Purple haze all in my brain
    Lately things just don’t seem the same
    Actin’ funny, but I don’t know why
    ‘scuse me while I kiss the sky
    Purple haze all around
    Don’t know if I’m comin’ up or down
    Am I happy or in misery?
    What ever it is, that girl put a spell on me

    Help me
    Help me
    Oh, no, no
    purple-haze2.jpg
    Purple haze all in my eyes, uhh
    Don’t know if its day or night
    You got me blowin’, blowin’ my mind
    Is it tomorrow, or just the end of time?

    (Lyrics by Jimi Hendrix)

    Carrots are real:

    ‘Purple Haze’ is the only imperator-shaped purple carrot. Purple is a very trendy color and gourmet chefs are always looking for a new vegetable color. ‘Purple Haze’ has a purple exterior and orange interior. When cooked in water, the purple color will fade. When carrots are cooked quickly, as in a stir-fry, the purple color will remain.

    Restlessness, rust, sheep, roadrunners and Karen

    October 01, 2007

    092307-3s.jpg So restless. I work on one puzzle after another; now it’s an Enron puzzle given to it’s (former) executives. History-of-the-world type of thing: great thinkers, inventions, other hallmarks of ancient civilizations through to present time. I think of Karen, who always drifts into my thoughts. I wonder if she’d help me assemble this thing.enronpuzzlesmall.jpg But I move on. Read a graphic novel, ghost1.jpg started another, samediffsm.jpg hit the puzzle again for awhile. Made some rice and ate that as an after-dinner side dish to the crabcakes from the coop deli. Raining. It’s been raining all evening. No desire to go out. Haven’t gotten the heater rewired back to the thermostat yet. The electrician who looked at it took it partly apart, thinking it was unsafe. He hasn’t returned my call; I need it back exactly the way it was. He was going to do that, then changed his mind. I tried putting it back together. It’s like a puzzle, but the results of putting a piece in the wrong place can be disastrous. Can’t afford to blow the thermostat or the cooling wiring that’s on the same circuit. I still owe him $30, but he never came back for that, or with the estimate he was going to bring for work I no longer need.the_electrician.jpg Having a thermostat control an outlet that the heater plugs into is unusual, but not so unsafe that it should be hardwired directly from the breaker box. This morning the toilet water feed decided it was going to keep running. It’s fairly new, and has adjustments I can make, but even bending the float has no effect – I had to shut the water off. Keep putting off dealing with things. When I first moved in here I never stopped. Had a plumber fix the leaking disposal – it had been assembled badly when last installed or repaired. I fixed the door lock. I replaced bulbs and cleaned things that hadn’t been cleaned. Kept myself busy. Scrubbed the brick floor. images.jpg Hung pictures. Got all the books out of boxes onto shelves. Shopped for things. Tired of all that. Went for a nice long, really long, walk yesterday along the ditch. Took pictures of a rusting Model A Ford, 093007-10.JPG two sheep, rose bushes in full flower just down from a flowering cholla, lots of cottonwoods, 093007-5small.jpg and even a roadrunner. 093007-4small.jpg They’re all over this place. I guess they like the water too. Protected species around here – state bird.

    Invited Karen (by email) for coffee espresso_maker.jpg on Sunday; no response of course, but I wasn’t expecting one. Had to ask. Love to have her over – show her the place. Walk along the ditch with her. Make her coffee, breakfast, lunch, dinner, something. I keep trying to figure out what this boundary is she mentioned. If she has a friend at work, the friendship begins and ends with lunch? Am I too scary in my obsession, my loneliness, my lust for her? Am I scary? Boring? Just too fucking old to even consider? Does she see me like an uncle? My old friend Mark thought that was likely. He’s the only one to come by. Had to remind him he said he’d be over. My stepdaughter was going to come by, but she made other plans too. Both she and Mark rescheduled for the same day. Two and half months without visitors, but I ended up meeting her for pizza pizza.jpg for her birthday so I could give her a present, then meeting Mark at my house afterwards. It’s a nice place he said. I like it too. There’s just something about living alone here. I like being alone some times. I like doing what I want. But I had too many years of living with other people. I like that too. Karen wouldn’t know about that. Being alone in your head in one thing; living alone is another. It’s another thing altogether to live alone after not living alone for a long time. More lonely than she can imagine, I’ll bet. Perhaps she understands. She tolerates my attempts to intrude on her other non-work life so far, but Karen is the only reason I even go to work some days.

    Odd that I don’t feel the need to date, to go out looking for someone, or even to attach myself to some group, cause, or activity that would put me in more contact with other people. I’d rather spend time with Karen. Neurotic of me to obsess about her; to think maybe there is some way, some level of interaction that would be acceptable to her as well as to me. I give this a lot of thought. Sometimes I break the silence and write an email to her. There is never a response, never an acknowledgment. She has on-line friends, online journals to read, TV to watch, books to read, things to do. Family around her. She doesn’t know how much more life actually offers, how much more exciting and interesting it can be. Come on Karen, there’s things we could do together, even if you’re not much of a romantic, as you said the other day. supesdatingdetect.jpg Do you know that I spend more time, more time regularly, with you than anyone else? One hour a week, on only one day, and it’s still the most time I spend with anyone else than my cats. There’s the people I work with, but the interactions are casual. I suppose that’s how Karen sees me: as this casual relationship with a coworker. Of course, we don’t work together. We were in the same department once, but she wasn’t always at work (she worked part-time).  Once we had lunch together, and then it was unusual not to have lunch together, every Friday. I didn’t expect it to be regular. She even came in to meet me for lunch when she wasn’t working that day.  Now she works full-time somewhere else. Different department, different building. It took an effort on both our parts to maintain these lunches.There was something going on. She seemed so happy to have this regular lunch date, although it’s a date that’s not a date. Perhaps she needed that then, but not so much now. I need her more than ever I did then. Perhaps that’s why she is pulling away now. I feel she is. I wish we could talk about this, but I guess we have. Boundaries. Don’t cross them. I don’t care; I wish there was some way to cross this particular boundary. Funny how we wish for things we can’t have, thinking that would make us happy, but we can’t always just be happy with things the way they are. Don’t see why I should – I want more. Maybe wishing for Karen is wrong, but it sure would make me happy, wildly, ecstatically happy, beyond measure.boundaries.gif

    Yellow rose on my bike

    Sept. 28, 2007 (part 2)

    spiral-yellow-300.jpg Yesterday I saw a yellow rose on my bike as I went to it after work. It was extremely fragrant, and Karen says that home-grown ones are like that, that the store ones are bred to be all the same, with little aroma. Anyway, I got my hopes up that Karen left it, but she says she’s not romantic like that. I even asked my 1st wife who works here, and she said it wasn’t her. I was so impressed by that rose – someone was thinking of me and it buoyed my spirits a lot. I took it home and put it in some water; I kept smelling it off and on all evening. What a wonderful gesture that was! Thanks to whomever!

    Friday is Karen-day for me

    Sept. 28, 2007

    No word yet. moving_apart.JPG My insecurity prompts me to think that Karen is moving away from having lunch with me every Friday. She seemed embarrassed that time we went for coffee. She was paying for her coffee and wanted to tell the barista that she was only paying for herself and not for both of us, and she said, “We’re not together, I mean, this is separate.” I said jokingly that I thought we were friends at least. She looked kind of embarrassed, and not just at misspeaking. I suspect she may now find it embarrassing that people might think we’re a couple. Usually she’ll write me if she can’t make it for lunch. It’s almost 1:15, and the latest she’ll usually go to lunch. I usually hear from her by 1:00 though. I sent her an email while writing this, asked if she was busy today. No response yet. But, there it is, she’s on her way. Guess I’ll meet her there.

    She was all smiles today. Lot’s of nervous energy too. 800px-halloween.JPG This is a happy time of year for her – almost Halloween. Some people are excited about x-mas, can’t wait for it to finally come. Karen’s that way about Halloween. She has witches and skulls and mummies and tombstones – the whole gamut in her front yard every year. She has fog rolling around the yard, and creepy lights and sounds. Already she has bloody hands on her door and a few other decorations. Even at work she has a few things to display, but it’s still too early for that here. She’d like to have this stuff up all year I think.

    How can anyone not want passion in their lives?

    Sept. 26, 2007

    Karen, I wonder how you get by without love, passion, and touching. Life without those things seems pointless to me. I know you have family members around to talk to and your niece to play with, so you have love. You have friends, so you have love. But, passion? How can anyone not want passion in their lives? I don’t know why, but I can imagine myself in a very mad, passionate relationship with you. You know that I’m in love with you, right? That kind of love knows no bounds. I want to be with you, kissing you, feeling the passion of your kiss, the ecstasy of your touch. I’m aroused by you any time I even think of you, the possibilities of erotic stimulation are endless when you’re in love. Despite the boundary you see that separates us, I tell you now, I don’t understand boundaries. I want you. I want your body wrapped around mine; I want to feel the intensity of uninhibited sex with you. I have said it before, but I tell you again: I want to taste your lips, your nipples, your belly, your thighs, your sex. I want to tickle your clit and taste you, excite you. I want you to lose control. I want to penetrate you as fully as possible, slowly sometimes, and also when I lose control. Do you know what it’s like to have your mind drift away and all you feel is pleasure? Sex can be a wonderful thing, and I can’t imagine how you live day to day without it. As much as I like sex, there is nothing like the pleasure of it when you’re in love. To have sex with someone you’re in love with is the most incredible feeling, indescribable really. Sex is an animal pleasure, to be sure. Life is so much more enjoyable with that included as part of it. It is not the be all and end of life, but, without it, life is duller. I offer you my experience in this area. Will you not enjoy what I have to offer? Must you follow rules that will not allow you to enjoy this aspect of life?

    I can understand your reluctance. I’ve mentioned my age before in these posts. I appreciate the fact that you may want to find the perfect person before you commit yourself. You don’t have to commit yourself to me. I know you’d rather have a loving shared life with someone younger. In the meantime, I’m here. I’m healthy, strong, virile, and not all that ugly. We can have a lot of fun in the meantime. Wouldn’t you like to have someone share your bed? to feel that warm body next to you? to feel the pleasure of someone who loves you? I offer you love with no strings attached. When you’re ready to move on, you just go. Of course I would be saddened by that. Hell, I’m sad when I don’t see you all week, or for two or even the rare three weeks at a time. But, I will survive.

    inuyasha-and-kagomes-wedding.jpg Karen, I really want more of you in my life. I would do anything to have more of you. I offer you love, friendship, and commitment if you want it. You want marriage? Gladly. You want to adopt kids? Gladly. I’m ready, willing and able to give you whatever you need. I want my arm around you. I want to feel your hands touch mine. How long has it been since you were cuddled?

    Just once in your life you should experience the exquisite pleasure of having someone who is in love with you, who accepts you 100% the way you are, and who finds you beautiful, sexy, fun, and intellectually stimulating. Then, if you find you want to move on, at least you know what to look for. Wouldn’t that make a union between us worthwhile?

    I do not expect and would not demand anything of you. You’re a free woman today, and I would not presume to restrict your freedoms in any way. Am I asking you to trust me? Sure. I’d like that more than anything else in the world.

    Good Morning

    Sept. 23, 2007

    Nothing wakes you up better than eight shots of espresso, I suppose. Actually, it’s two Americano coffees with four shots in each. Every Sunday morning I walk through the compound, and cross the street to the Flying Star cafe. It’s always busy, and, although I used to to hate that, now I embrace it. Some people are regulars, like the bicyclists in their skintight uniforms and racing helmets as if they are competing in the tour de France today. Usually there’s a motorcycle or two, but cars predominate. There are families with kids, couples, and old farts, even older than me. The giant windows let in plenty of sunlight to read the Sunday paper. Today I broke down and ordered breakfast too, a $6 croissant with eggs, green chile and cheese. An anti-histamine combined with espresso is doing a lot for my spirits, lifting my sadness at being alone, and pushing back the cold I picked up on my trip to San Jose. The family reunion/birthday party for my Uncle was a joyous occasion, but we probably should not have all sucked on the giant jeroboam of Merlot. A 2003, if I recall correctly. Of course, my cousin Margaret (Peggy) was living with my aunt and uncle and she had been sick too, and she kissed me. And then there are the four planes I used going and returning, with their closed-in musty odor. But, I digress. It rained last night, and remained cloudy this morning, but just as my mood began to chemically brighten, the sun peaked through and lit up my table. Nice.

    I think about my 1st wife and the recent conversations I’ve had with her, and look around to see if she has come in. She said she sometimes does. I told my 1st stepdaughter, who lives a few miles down the same road, that I come here very Sunday morning. She is not here either. I think about my recent ex-wife, the Dragon. I should call and see if I can pick up my picture albums from our China trip, but I have all those pictures on disk, so I can’t decide if it would be worth it. I remember the last time I was there, getting the computer finally configured with its own peripherals instead of mine. Her son found the computer for her, but did not set it up. She needed it to look for and apply for jobs. I still don’t know if she ever found one, but she is paying the mortgage. I signed the quitclaim to the house, so it’s entirely her responsibility now. I remember her bare legs next to me as she fed cables down behind the desk for me to connect to the computer. I wanted to run my hand along and up them, under her diaphanous wrap, wondering if, not expecting company right then, she had panties on. She seemed nicer, and perhaps she wouldn’t have minded. Perhaps it would have led to sex. Perhaps it would have been nice. I decided not to try for it. I was still mad at her anyway, and I want to concentrate on Karen instead. Karen could not care less, but still, it’s Karen I really want. (Is that insane, or what?)

    An email showed up late Friday afternoon; Karen said she was going to lunch right then, late, but after all. No invitation, but that’s usually implied anyway. So I went. I’d already eaten, and by the time I saw her email and went over there, she was done eating too, and reading her book. Not to be put off, I sat down and talked to her anyway. She put her book down with a little bit of impatience, but I didn’t care, not now. I wanted to talk, to see her, to give her a book I’d read on the plane, and gifts from the Muir Forest in San Fran. She didn’t say much at first, and I kept on talking until she opened up and told me a little about her day and her job. She finally smiled as she talked. When she moved to go, I gave her the gift, these tiny redwood cones made into earrings, in a little redwood snap-shut box. The box had her name on it and it’s derivation and meaning (pure). She smiled when she saw that, and seemed happy to have real redwood pine cones. She likes gifts, but I suspect she hates to give me such encouragement. I’d buy her diamonds if I thought she’d have them. Can’t do that. Can’t push those boundaries too much, or I may not ever see her again, and I surely want to see her, every day if I could.

    No Lunch Today, My Karen’s Gone Away

    Sept. 21, 2007

    No lunch today, my love is gone away
    I sit here all forlorn, dejected and alone
    No lunch today, says she’ll see me next week
    Feel so empty I do I know now the reason why
    No lunch today, my Karen’s gone away.

    (with apologies to Herman’s Hermits)

    Two weeks now without seeing her. I don’t like it, but what can I do?

    The Corrs – What Can I Do lyrics

    I haven’t slept at all in days
    It’s been so long since we’ve talked
    And I have been here many times
    I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong

    What can I do to make you love me
    What can I do to make you care
    What can I say to make you feel this
    What can I do to get you there

    There’s only so much I can take
    And I just got to let it go
    And who knows I might feel better
    If I don’t try and I don’t hope

    What can I do to make you love me
    What can I do to make you care
    What can I say to make you feel this
    What can I do to get you there

    No more waiting, No more aching
    No more fighting, No more trying

    Maybe there’s nothing more to say
    And in a funny way I’m calm
    Because the power is not mine
    I’m just gonna let it fly

    What can I do to make you love me
    What can I do to make you care
    What can I say to make you feel this
    What can I do to get you there

    Love me..

    Dedicated to Karen.

    Play with me Karen?

    Sept. 12, 2007

    Karen, I’ll be your plaything.

    i-am-your-plaything.jpg

    Poem Just For Karen

    Sept. 07, 2007

    water2.jpg

    DRIFTING

    Put me out there

    away from shore

    no insects there

    in moonlight’s glare.

    .

    Let me float and dream

    let me think and scheme

    join me tenderly

    drifting eternally.

    © 2007, ’10  O’Maolchathaigh

    WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN

    Sept. 06, 2007

    csbee.gif used to ‘bee’ and could have been what_i_could_have_been_1.gif

    - nevermore!

    compared to what could be or what you are!

    © O’Maolchathaigh 2007-10

    Divorce is anti-climactic

    Sept. 05, 2007

    MARRIAGE

    Calling me a cheap, stingy bastard wounded it cheep-stingy-bastard.png
    telling me I was planning to leave cut deeper
    calling me a liar was nearly fatal bloodyrose.jpg
    saying we should go our separate ways stopped its heart

    heart1.jpg

    I was willing to try resuscitation through counseling
    your refusal staked it through its heart heartcake.jpg
    asking for a quit-claim to the house put it in a coffin
    solid-wood-coffins.jpg telling me I had to leave nailed the coffin shut
    threatening to call the police if I didn’t move out -
    buried the marriage deep in the ground.buried.jpg

    Divorce is anti-climactic.

    - © tm August 2007

    husband-wife.jpg

    Divorce, Wines, a Party and Politics

    Sept. 04, 2007

    It was a long weekend. I heard back from the dragon, in response to an email, that the final divorce decree divorce-decree.jpg is signed, but she just hadn’t let me know or sent me a copy yet. She said she would, so I emailed back, “Thanks!” That’s the extent of our conversations now, after 14 years. Oh, well.

    I emailed Karen; let her know about a party I was going to on Sunday. No response. I told her I could pick her up except that it would be like a date, even though a ‘date’ doesn’t have to be more than two people doing something together. I’m such a dork. Well, I didn’t expect a response. I would have been shocked if she’d responded.

    Saturday was the annual Bernalillo Wine Festival. poster_2007b.jpg I knew better than to even ask Karen, since she doesn’t enjoy wine. It’s still a fun thing to do. There’s always music, (blues, jazz, salsa) and dancing. I ran into friends, actually friends of the dragon, and we hung around all day. They are a threesome of women that live together; and the dragon and I run into them at the Wine Festival every year. One of them is related to the dragon’s first husband. I told them about the divorce being final and they took me under their wing. They have a wonderful tradition of going together to a booth after they’re done tasting and pouring all the tastes into one glass, so they did that for me. wine-tasting.jpg I never had to buy a glass of wine all day! Finally had to get something to eat, and drank a small $3 cup of coke before I ended up too high to ride the bike home. Even water was $3 for a small bottle! Picked up a couple of locally-grown giant peaches on the way out. Everyone got some – they were juicy and sweet. summer-peaches.jpg

    The party Sunday was OK. Lots to eat; I brought a six-pack with me, but there were still two bottles left over at the end of the night. Good people – my union crowd. Saw Val, who had to drop out to deal with cancer; she’s in remission two years now. Most of the executive board showed up, and plenty of people I didn’t know. The party was at Harry’s. He was the 1st President of our local, and was celebrating his retirement from work. He’s still a volunteer with a music program he hosts on public radio, so a lot of people know him. I had a great conversation with his wife about politics, as she is originally from Checkoslavia, formerly part of Czechoslovakia. prague.jpg Politics in the U.S. is so strange now, but she had great stories about politics there. I worry about the decline of the U.S. and our reputation as defenders of democracy and freedom, but she said those things won’t disappear when the U.S. is no longer a major power, that those ideals still exist in Europe. Of course, the rest of the world has different ideals; not everyone wants or cares about Western ideals. I feel like the decline of the U.S. will result in a decline in appreciation of democratic ideals like habeas corpus, free elections, or separation of religion and government. Of course, many around the world don’t believe those are good goals, and we are in the middle of a fight to decide such things, things that can’t be decided by war. And yet, our own government gives lip service to those ideals while suspending habeas corpus, permitting torture, and increasing wire-tapping and other domestic spying on citizens. Seems like neither the Republicans or Democrats care much about that. The Democrats who control Congress are continuing the policies of the Republicans who controlled Congress before. Ah well, who wants to discuss politics anymore?

    Lunch with Karen today!

    August 31, 2007

    Woo hoo! Only 3 hours 6 minutes to go!

    slhlunchroomwide.jpg

    And, oh yeah! did she ever look good! Saw that purple bra peeking out from her cleavage. I know that seems crass, but that bra seems to be one of those lift-n-separate ones, because boy, were they ever pointy! Hard not to notice that. Of course, I notice everything, like her acne breakout too. That’s one reason I know I’m in love with her – I want to kiss her face all over, reassure her that such things are trivial and don’t matter. She’s such a vibrant, pretty and sexy woman. Lunch was great. Without Karen, I don’t ever enjoy it. Sometimes she talks about her niece; she seems to enjoy that little girl as much as if she were her own child. Karen delights in the things that very precocious 3-year old does and says. Karen spoke of not doing much over this Labor Day weekend; cleaning, and hanging around the house. I still just can’t understand that. I’d take her places. There are plenty of things to do. She mentioned the music fest Fall Crawl fallcrawl.jpg that we have around here, and talked about nightclubs having entrance fees that never used to, but with Fall Crawl, there is only one fee to get into all the clubs for free, so I don’t know exactly what she meant. I so enjoy being with her, looking at her, listening to her, that I didn’t think of anything to say about that ’till later. Does she mean that if one goes to a club without a Fall Crawl pass, there is an entrance fee where there usually isn’t one? Of course, more importantly, why can’t I take her? I’d go with her.

    She just had to buy another car, fordfiesta.jpgand has some credit card debt to pay off, so she’s reluctant to spend money. I have time and money; why not let me take her? Sigh. No dating she has said. Boundaries. I don’t get it. Regardless of what these boundaries are she speaks of, or why they are there, why not enjoy a few things together? Has anything changed since she said that? If anyone else said such things I’d have thought they were hinting about being asked. Of course, she’s old and intelligent enough to say so right out, I would think.

    I just don’t get it. Why would she prefer staying home to spending a little time with me? Very selfish and egotistic of me to imagine I’d be such good companionship for her, but I’d sure enjoy her company. I’d call her, but she seemed upset that I’d used her resume to get her cell phone number. She’d left the resume with me to fax for her, back before she got this job. She said it was OK, but there was a note of surprise and apprehension about her reaction. She came by shortly after and asked for the resume back. I never did that again. Those boundaries again. And it never matters what I email to her, unless it’s about lunch on Friday, she never responds, even to questions, much less invitations to join me for a movie or just talk to me a bit by email. Nothing. I guess that’s why I get so excited when the one word question shows up in my email: “Lunch?” or the wordy “I can’t go until 1:15.” or extreme wordiness “I need to go early today, around 12?” I enjoy the lunches, as I’ve said, I enjoy them a lot. Can’t complain about that! But to limit our relationship so, why is that necessary? What am I missing? What else could I do or say?

    An unhappy Friday

    August 29, 2007

    unhappy.gif An unhappy Friday is a Friday without Karen of course, as I’ve mentioned here before. She was too busy with her job; she said they were in crisis mode. She didn’t know when or if she’d get a chance to eat, and told me I shouldn’t wait for her. At least she recognizes that I do wait for her, no matter how hungry I am.

    Eventually I did get hungry; grabbed a prepackaged plate of Sushi, but it left me unsatisfied. What’s lunch on a Friday without Karen? I ran over about 1:40 to see what else I could munch on, and decided I’d just get a yogurt. Of course, Karen was there with a coworker; she’d finally gotten a break. I stopped briefly and she said it was still crazy. I split in a hurry – I had already told her how busy I was! Well, it was nice to see her. It’s always so nice to see her, even just a glimpse of her at the coffee cart or in the stairways or hallways. I don’t know why.

    And, I did run into her Monday, reading a book in the cafeteria. I know better than to interrupt her reading, but I stopped just to say hi and ask about her work. Things are back to normal there, she said. She seemed happy about that. I got the feeling we’d be eating together next Friday without worry.

    She was having problems with her car so I asked about that too. She got rid of it and got another one – a Ford Fiesta. Not much I could say about that, but, hey, as long as it’s in good shape and runs reliably, why knock it? Told I’d see her later. It wasn’t Friday, and she had her book, so I’ve learned not to bother her. In my obsessive insanity, I wondered if I might have offended her by rushing off like that?

    Some days I think this relationship could end and I’d be OK with that.

    Some days I think it could end and my life would crumble.

    Anticipation

    August 17, 2007

    anticipation2.jpg As much as I look forward to Fridays, the anticipation can be nerve wracking! Karen is not sure when she can go to lunch. That leaves the possibility open she won’t be able to make it. There is nothing quite like anticipating seeing her, and then not. Her smile when she asked, “See you next week?” is still vividly in my head. I see her face, the slight turn of her head as she prepared to leave, and her genuine, happy smile. Love that smile. I can hardly wait to see it again. anticipation.jpg

    And there she was. We met a little earlier than usual. Instead of the burrito or Frito pie or such that Karen usually eats, she stopped and picked up a prepackaged salad. Perhaps she is worried about her weight? She usually eats more than me at a sitting without even slowing down, and it just doesn’t seem to affect her. She is a little more hyper than I am, so she burns calories better. Sometimes she talks so fast it’s hard for me to pick out all the words, or sometimes she’ll rush a long word out and I miss the syllabication. I wonder if it irritates her to have to repeat words to me? I recall feeling that, when I have to repeat something, but that’s mostly, I think, because I feel the other person wasn’t paying attention. Oh, I pay attention to Karen! I hate to miss anything. She’s acknowledged having the problem of talking too fast. When I first met her she seemed to rush everything out all at once. I didn’t know if she had been saving up things to say, or just talked that way, but over time, she seemed more relaxed. I thought perhaps she was nervous talking to me; thought that maybe that indicated an interest in me. I guess not, or we’d be dating by now. I still wonder why I can’t just accept the relationship as it is, why I want her? She’s the one person in my whole life I’ve ever met that I feel closest to in temperament, thought, and philosophy, but we can’t be more than casual friends? Sigh. It wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t so attracted to her. I find her beautiful. She has a sexy body. Her eyes fascinate me. Her lips are thin, but I sure would like to kiss them. She is neither skinny nor overweight. She seems perfect. Women seem to find all sorts of faults with themselves, so I’m not sure what she thinks of her own beauty and sexuality. She certainly excites me!

    anticipationrewarded.jpg

    Another Happy Friday

    August 13, 2007

    happiness.jpg Friday has been my favorite day for a long time, and not for the usual reason. Actually, my weekends have been full of hard work in sometimes brutal weather, and little joy or fun. However, meeting Karen for lunch on Friday is the highlight of my week. It’s only an hour, and we no longer walk to a different location each week, but seeing Karen is all I need to get through the weekend, and the following week. We’ve missed a few Fridays of late, and I wondered if that was going to be the new pattern, and if it signaled the coming end of these lunches together. It doesn’t! Karen is often busy on Fridays, and just as I’d given up this past Friday, after not having seen her or heard from her the week before, she suddenly sent me an email at the last possible moment. happiness_ahead1.jpg Such a feeling!

    Karen looked wonderful of course. We ate quickly and went off to find some good coffee. We talked, and I can’t remember much of it, but when we talked we smiled at each other, and there was such a feeling of camaraderie and connection. I just can’t understand why it has to be that we can’t date, can’t meet away from work, can’t be lovers. Sigh. She did ask me if we’d see each other next week, with a big smile on her face. I hope I said yes. I remember basking in her smile and floating a little. I called to her, as she turned to walk away, to repeat my invitation to stop by and check out the new place sometime. At least she didn’t say no, and she kept smiling.

    Of interest to me is having a child with Karen (in my wildest dreams!). She talks about her nieces a lot, so I asked her if she was wanting one of her own. Her answer shocked me. She doesn’t want to go through childbirth! She does not want to experience the process or pain at all. Not just the natural birth part, but, not even a c-section. Turns out, not only is she adopted, but so is her whole family! Karen wants to adopt! Interesting. She greatly admires her parents for doing that, so her rejection of pregnancy is buttressed by her desire to adopt. Hmm. Interestingly, when I was younger, my goal was never to have children, but to adopt only. I’d given that up, but the women I’ve met and married already had kids, and either wouldn’t have more, or couldn’t. Of course, it seems like a silly idea to raise children at my age, but meeting someone young like Karen has rekindled that desire, especially since I’m so in love with her. Well, Karen, tell you what: I’ll raise adopted kids with you. The happiness I’d have being with you would obliterate any need for our children to be my biological offspring. adopt.jpg

    Now, if only we could do something about this age difference! If only it didn’t matter!

    Message for Karen

    August 06, 2007

    Karen:

    notlocked.jpg

    and, ……………………..coulduseahug.gif

    Virtual tulips for Karen (可憐)

    August 05, 2007

    tuliptattoo.jpg Tulips, symbol of fame and of the perfect lover. The gift of a red tulip is a declaration of love. This originates from a story about a great Persian scholar and engineer named Ferhad, who fell in love with an Armenian Queen named Shirin. When Shirin, in love with another, could not accept Ferhad’s feelings for her, he went out into the desert, weeping. As he pined, legend has it, each tear that fell into the sand turned into a beautiful tulip.

    Tulips for Karen:

    tulips2.jpg

    No lunch last Friday; no message, but she was there. Perhaps my sad, desperate email last weekend for her to stop by and see the new place, or answer my email or just call and say hello finally did it – perhaps I have finally broken the boundary between us, but ended our ‘relationship’ or friendship or acquaintanceship – whatever it is. It’s hard to love other people. My love for the dragon was not reciprocated. My love for Karen is foolish. Such is life. boy_loves_girl.jpg

    Ferhad, in the story, returned from the desert,where he had been comforted by the wild beasts.  It was said that a lion was his pillow and the wolf sat at his feet. He was hired by Koshrow, the Persian king,  to build a road through a mountain. Khosrow, who was also in love with Shirin, and knowing of Ferhad’s love for Shirin, offered Ferhad great wealth, and tested his love for Shirin, but could not shake Ferhad’s devotion.  Ferhad refused to build Kosrow’s road unless he be given Shirin as a reward, to which, Koshrow, believing the task impossible, agreed.  However, upon seeing that Ferhad was about to complete the impossible task he had set him, and that he would lose Shirin, Koshrow sent a messenger to Bisutun, where Ferhad labored on the road.  He was told that Shirin had died of fever in the night. Ferhad threw away the axe he used in the construction of the road. Legend has it that he flung the axe so hard that it split and quivered in a rock.  Ferhad declared his love for Shirin for the last time, and then threw himself from Mount Bisutun to his death.  Legend has it that later the pomegranate wood of Ferhad’s axe handle took root and sprouted into a tree, a tree that still bears fruit.

    Koshrow and Shirin passed through many troubles but were one day finally married.  Although they were happy, Khosrow was jailed and then stabbed by his son, the rival for his throne, and died. Shirin, before being forced to marry Khosrow’s son, entered the vault that held the royal tombs as Koshrow was about to be buried, locked herself in, and then stabbed herself in the same place as he had been stabbed, and they were buried together.  This story was first written in poetic form in the 11th century by Qatran, the court poet of Tabriz and Ganjeh, but then reinvented and retold in masnavi poetic form about 1200 A.D.  by the Persian poet Nizami (Hakim Jamal al-din Abu Muhhammad Ilyas ibn Yusuf ibn Zaki Mu’ayyad).  It is widely believed that Nizami wrote  the work as a tribute to his beloved wife Afaq, drawing inspiration from her untimely death.  It is, however, based on the true events of the real Koshrow II (590-628 A.D) and the real Shirin, who poisoned herself after Khosrow’s murder.  Nizami’s extraordinary poetic interpretation predates Romeo and Juliet by several hundred years. The oldest known manuscript of Khosrow and Shirin still in existence dates from 1362, one hundred and fifty years after Nizami’s death, and about two hundred and thirty years before Romeo and Juliet was written. Earlier copies were destroyed during Mongol invasions.

    Shakespeare was just a hack, and me, I’m just an idiot.

    To see a dragon is ….

    July 27, 2007

    dragon1.jpg

    To see a Dragon is to behold a creature that is the most Wonderful of sights – and causes the most frightening feelings.

    Found in the signature of a forwarded email sent to me today by Karen ( 可憐 ) . Could she have read these posts? Does she know I had been living with a dragon? Probably not; she sent it to her other email contacts too. Sigh. I don’t know how to overcome these boundaries she speaks of. Why can’t I be in love with her? Why can’t we go out? Might as well ask why I wasn’t born as a hippopotamus. Here I am single again, available, but the only other woman I’d want to be with after the dragon is one I can’t be with either. Good thing I have pets. Stop by and see the new place Karen! Invite me to the party you’re going to! Something! Anything! k.jpg 可憐

    Life is what happens while you’re making other plans

    July 09, 2007

    cypressaloneagain.jpg

    Well, now I have my wish. Don’t you just hate it when you get what you wish for? I’m living alone. Got my own place, but it’s a rental. Signed a one-year lease. Don’t know what the future will bring, but at this point, I’m not planning anything. The dragon wants the keys back, but I told her I’m still paying the mortgage there so I couldn’t see why I’d want to give my keys up. I’m dangerously in the hole now; I’ve seriously overdrawn my checking account. All three things hit on the same days: deposit on rental unit, rent, and mortgage on the old house. Three weeks to go without real money. Sigh. I hate buying food on credit.

    Of course, my fantasy has always been that Karen (remember her? – she was the reason for this blog) would be able to date me now. Insurmountable obstacles insurmountable.gif and boundaries. boundaries.jpg The other day Karen’s brother said he’d like to set her up with a friend who is into all the same things as she is: anime, manga, sci fi, etc. The only problem is, that he’s much older! Like ten years older! Really, really old. ha ha ha. But Karen says she prefers guys a bit older; that guys her age are too weird. Immature, I think. So, now I have the full story: when Karen told me she had dated older guys, she meant slightly older, not my age! This entire fantasy developed from that conversation (and the lunches we share). She says that she doesn’t think 10 years is TOO much older. So, finally everything is clear. It never was about my being married; it was always my freaking age. I mean, who can blame her? Our age difference is much greater than 10 years. Well, hell. 02couple.jpg

    And the marriage is definitely over too: I now have proof of my suspicions all along: that the dragon only wanted the house, that she always thought of it as HER house, not ours. Hell, she even wants the keys back while I’m still paying the mortgage! No divorce yet, not even a legal separation, no agreement on the house at all, even after I paid the mortgage alone since I moved in, and she wants my keys. All those repairs to appliances, windows and doors; helping lay down new flooring, buying a new refrigerator and stove, installing a new toilet, installing crown molding, building raised garden beds, digging up and moving a railroad-tie fence, tearing off and replacing an entire roof by myself and nearly completing the addition, and it’s not even partly mine? Money down the drain. All that work for nothing. Spending, spending, spending to keep her happy, to buy expensive meals, lots of wine, and travel too. I should have known. And she thinks I’ve been holding out on her, that I have money stashed away, when the reality is that she kept me in constant debt! On top of which she was demanding we save money to travel to India while building the addition! How? She calls me a cheap bastard and a liar, but she is the self-centered, angry, selfish, heartless ass.

    yellowhead.jpg Why do people stay in such relationships so long? Sigh.

    Hope is not a strategy

    July 5, 2007

    hope.jpg

    Ah. What is it about the obsessive, the unrequited lover? Karen said her brother wanted her to meet someone. He’s into the same things as her, but he is “way older”: about 10 years. That really rules me out, as if I had a chance in the first place. Karen does like men to be a bit more mature than the ones her age seem to be. That was what I had picked up on, and magnified into a full-blown obsession with a much younger woman. Sigh. Somehow, even knowing all this, knowing how hopeless it is, how pointless and fruitless wanting Karen will ever be, I still would go for the relationship if I could. Is it hope never dieshope1.jpg, or some people never learn? fitness.jpg

    My Mind Goes Misty

    June 22, 2007

    LOST IN THE MIST

    lost_in_the_mist.jpg I heard a voice from within –
    heart_in_a_corner.jpgcrying-heart.gif Your heart is in the corner crying

    and your mind is lost in the mist.

    mist.jpg

    Poem © Dawn Sartz, used with permission.

    Waiting for Tsunami

    June 18, 2007

    costanoa01.jpg

    Waves of sadness wash over me today. Felt pretty good this weekend. Saw the Silver Surfer movie Friday night and enjoyed a complete escape. Home after that to the dragon. Her indifference has thawed and we speak more. Saturday we emptied and cleaned out the pond together. I asked her what would happen if I dumped a bucket of the pond water on her head while she was in there, and she looked at me a moment, then said, “I’d kill you.” We both stayed home, watched a movie: maria-full-of-grace.jpg .  I sent more emails about houses to rent, scheduled a viewing for Sunday.

    Sunday morning the dragon left for the flea market with her makeup done and dressed nicely. She looked good. I bought a few things I need to get the outside of the house addition sealed up, and rode all the way across town to look at a house. Got sunburned doing that. The dragon took a message for me about a house. Went to bed early, by myself, as usual.

    Monday, today, I felt OK, rode into work, read a couple messages about places to rent. Made an appointment to see one after work. This is a good house in a nice green area, roomy with everything I need and they take pets. Rent is a little high, but most utilities are included in the rent. dsc01081.jpg Should call about seeing another in the same area and kill two with one ride. It’s hot out there. Went to lunch, but could hardly walk. Felt this tsunami of sadness wash over me. Can hardly keep my head up. It takes an effort to make eye contact. Dropped off some books at the PO. Walked out of there into more sadness. Popped into a campus Starbucks for an Americano. Walked back to work drooping. Finding a place that is available, fits all my criteria and is a sort of affordable means this is it – time to go. That makes me happy at times, accompanied by a sense of great relief, of freedom. And then, inexplicably, sad.

    ona_l.jpg

    WAITING FOR TSUNAMI

    Waves of sadness wash over me

    unlike the seashore

    these waves are random

    better waves than nothing

    I could do without this

    this oppressive tsunami of sad

    no one to rescue me now

    no one to turn to

    just mechanical living

    work, eat, read

    rent house, pack

    unpack organize

    wait for the next tsunami. © 2007, 08, 09 , 10  O’Maolchathaigh

    It’s Important To Set Boundaries?

    June 15, 2007

    boundaries2001moser.jpg Is it? That’s what Karen told me today. I don’t know what to make of that. Sure, it’s never wise to date co-workers. Usually leads to trouble. We don’t work together though, not even in the same department or building anymore. It would be rare to run into each other, but I suppose the idea still holds. I think Karen just likes to have set relationships. I suppose if I hadn’t been married, and we hadn’t met each other at work, another relationship might have been possible? Ah, well.

    I’ve been looking for a place to live. In my mind I want it to be something Karen would like. nicehouse.jpg She needs a place too, so I’ve fantasized about having a place big enough to offer to share, but the reality, to her, would be ludicrous. Anyway, she already has a possible roommate for when she gets her own place, and like she said, “It’s important to have boundaries.” Maybe. Certainly made me happy to think about even just sharing a place with her.

    The Silver Surfer movie comes out tonight, silversurfer.jpg and Karen is looking forward to seeing it, but, unfortunately, not with me. I had to ask, even knowing the answer; that’s how I found out about boundaries. “It would be like a date,” she said. “What’s wrong with that?” I asked. Boundaries. It’s not clear to me why there have to be boundaries. However, that’s her choice.

    It doesn’t even make me sad anymore, just wistful.

    (The-Raven-and-the-Cat)

    The dragon causes pain and sadness enough. She keeps twisting the knife in deeper,  any chance she can.

    divorceknife.jpg

    She called me at work to make sure I was looking for a place to move to. She wants “her” house, and she wants it without me in it. It’s funny that her initial proposal was that we could stay married if I signed the quit claim, but she dropped the whole idea, and can’t wait to throw me out, and she makes it sound like it’s my idea to leave! I was willing to work on it, to try and stay together, but I find myself more at peace with the idea of being away from someone like that: so negative, so angry, so depressing to be around. I’ve already cut out drinking like she does, so I feel healthier and more alert these days. I probably hurt my liver, and who knows what else, by trying to match her drink for drink for so many years. Of course, she’s borderline diabetic, with high cholesterol and a family history of alcoholism, alcohol.jpg

    diabetes and liver problems, so perhaps I’m better off not having to deal with the pain of her early death.

    analgesia.jpg

    This way, I’ll be more removed, perhaps not even know when she dies.  I don’t know how people stop loving anyone; I never do. Perhaps the intensity varies, but when you love someone deeply, like I have: lovers, my brothers and sisters, my step daughter, friends, and spouses, I can never forget that love. Love, freely given without expectations, is for life, and knows no boundaries.

    THIS UNREQUITED LOVE OF MINE

    June 13, 2007

    This unrequited love of mine
    has no feelings for me
    pigeonholed.jpg pigeonholed as friend
    workplace acquaintance
    things in common
    yet separate as by a chasm
    by age and experience

    Beauty and the beast
    embarrassment
    inuyasha-demon-and-kagome1.jpg youth and demon
    impossible
    we can travel the same path
    but never touch never kiss
    never cuddle never love

    turmoil.jpg my thoughts dwell on you
    my heart cries for you
    my arms reach for you
    my lips hunger for you
    and my body burns
    my mind is in turmoil
    I live I die yet alive.

    © 2007,08, ’09 O’Maolchathaigh

    Here Be Dragons, and Succubi

    June 8, 2007 (part 4)

    I’m ready to face the weekend now, to face the dragon again. “Here be Dragons” the ancients used to write on their maps, indicating the unknown at the edge of the map. This, however, is a dragon I know, and loved, and kissed, and licked and fucked. She’s more like a succubus.  Wikipedia has this to say:

    “Succubi … are almost universally depicted as alluring women … often with demonic bat-like wings; occasionally, they will be given other demonic features (horns, a tail with a spaded tip, snakelike eyes, hooves, fangs, etc). Occasionally they appear simply as an attractive woman in dreams that the victim cannot seem to get off their mind. They lure males even out of the dream and will not leave his mind. A succubis will remain there slowly draining energy from a man.
    A Middle Eastern version of the succubus known as “um al duwayce” ( أٌم الدويس ) portrays this succubus as a beautiful, alluringly scented woman who wanders the desert on the hooves of a donkey. While other forms of the succubus participate in sexual intercourse to collect semen and become impregnated, this particular succubus is instead a judge of character and exacts revenge on those who commit adultery. She attempts to lure these men to have intercourse with her, at which time sharp razors within her vagina slice off the partner’s penis, leaving him in agonizing pain. Having rendered the man helpless, she turns into her true form and proceeds to eat him alive.”

    The dragon is prepared to eat me alive. She is insatiable in her appetite for the house, for money, for my soul. She’s taken, and taken, and taken. Her wish seems to be to destroy me utterly for even contemplating escape.  The funny thing is, I wasn’t ever going to leave.  In my dreams I’d leave to be with Karen, but Karen is not interested in me anyway, and never will be, so I’d likely never make the break.  This unrequited love stuff sure fucks with one’s head.

    My friend Karen

    June 08, 2007 (part 3)

    She’s beautiful and sexy, and I enjoy the little time we hang out at lunch. She seems like family to me now. I’m still in love with her, but that is nicely repressed now. She brought back a book I’d lent her, and thanked me for it, as she did enjoy it. The story of the dead grandmother who possesses her grandson in order to enjoy her favorite shows gave her pleasure. Karen is particularly fond of ghosts and demons and Halloween and the undead. She’s seems a bit goth, but she says she’s not, and “Why do people always assume I am?” We talked about InuYasha of course, as I’m still watching her CDs of the TV series, and she is currently reading the manga. She recently bought the English-subtitled DVD of Macross, the intergalactic war story. It is the same show whose music I was listening to yesterday that made me sad. Karen said she understood why, except she really doesn’t.  It is basically an animated Japanese soap opera, only that it takes place in space. It is full of love: unrequited love, love triangles, and true love. It made me sad because it made me think about Karen.  I told her about the deteriorating condition of my marriage but she always seems uncomfortable with that. I finally asked her if she is uncomfortable talking about personal issues, and she said she is. I always noticed it, but somehow I thought friends talked that way sometimes. She is really happiest talking about Macross, or InuYasha, or other anime and manga. Nothing personal or intimate. It’s an odd relationship, but I enjoy Karen’s company a lot. It’s odd how comfortable I am with her now. She seems like an old friend, and yet, at any moment I’m ready for anything. She has an active life now, out with friends or family most weekends, so much so that she loses time for working on her Halloween props; her mummy and skeletons, coffins, and tombstones, and all things creepy, dead and Halloweeny. I’ve never known anyone quite like her.

    See? What I’d say? From down to up!

    June 08, 2007 (part 2)

    Lunch is on!

    Anti-unrequited-love drug

    June 08, 2007 (part 1)

    No, there’s no such drug, but I found that someone wrote this, hoping for such a drug:

    If you’ve ever experienced unrequited love, you will know that it is not a pleasant condition. Obsession, anxiety attacks and distractedness are just some of the effects. It is impossible to reason your way out of it or get out by effort of will, and in some cases the effects can be crippling, as much so as neurochemical depression (or can, indeed, lead to depression). In fact, the phenomenon (known technically as limerence) is believed to be related to obsessive-compulsive disorder. Apart from being unpleasant to the sufferer, unrequited love undoubtedly is expensive to their co-workers, employers and society in general, through lost productivity and impaired social functioning. As such, were a drug developed that alleviated limerence, as antidepressants do with organic depression, it would have many positive effects.

    Given that limerence is a neurochemical phenomenon, a drug that alleviates it should be theoretically feasible. The drug could act by regulating the production of neurotransmitters, stimulating production of transmitters which alter the user’s state sufficiently to alleviate the symptoms of the condition and restore normal cognitive function, or blocking receptors overstimulated as a result of limerence. - (http://www.halfbakery.com/idea/Anti-unrequited-love_20drug)

    I’m not sure how I feel about such a thing. Would anyone really take it, if there was such a thing? There’s always that tiny spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, the unrequited love might reciprocate. I wonder what it would feel like to take such a drug? People on Prozac and other antidepressants often say they experience apathy, lack of motivation, emotional numbness, feelings of detachment, and indifference to surroundings. While that may seem preferable to feeling like crap, I don’t think I’d like it. I’ve come to enjoy the highs so much that the lows seem like an acceptable price to pay.

    DAMN IT – Kanashii!

    June 07, 2007 (part 4)

    sad.jpg

    I SAID im-sad.jpg I’M SAD GOD DAMN IT! IT HURTS! I’M SO TIRED OF FEELING THIS WAY

    (Graffiti art. Photo by Paul Armstrong, who says he took the photo in Minneapolis, Minnesota at an abandoned wheat grain elevator near the University of Minnesota, and he believes it has since been removed.)

    Do You Remember Love?

    June 07, 2007 (part 3)

    macrossmovie1.jpg

    I’m listening to the love songs from Macross, Karen’s songs.  I made her a CD of her favorites, and made myself a copy. I listen to them once in a awhile. I guess I shouldn’t. I feel overwhelming sadness. My chest has tightened. I’m sad and it hurts too. Ah! Damn.

    —————————————( Painting is “Sadness Ending, by Rick MacKai – www.goravani.com/art/Sadness.html )

    Why did I fall in love with Karen? What the hell is wrong with me?


    That’s Done It!

    June 07, 2007 (part 2)

    I think I finally managed to alienate Karen! I’m standing in line for coffee and didn’t notice her get in line behind me. She couldn’t have missed seeing me there, but said nothing. I was adding half ‘n’ half and raw sugar to my half-caf Americano, when I saw her in the line. She was facing forward and could clearly see me just ten feet away, but wouldn’t turn to look at me or wave or say hi, or anything I would expect from a friend. I stirred my coffee and went over anyway; I couldn’t see noticing someone I know, especially Karen, and not at least saying hello. She turned immediately as I walked her way; I think she knew I was there. No smile. Just a hello. I said hi and I hadn’t seen her behind me, and she just nodded, and looked embarrassed. Embarrassing silence. I didn’t mention the flowers, just asked her about work and if she started her Excel class yet. She said not until July. Looked down again, had nothing to say. I told her it’s a good job she has now, and left her alone. She still looks good in purple. I’m still an idiot.

    Well, what else could I expect?

    Should I Put It Back?

    June 07, 2007 (part 1)

    I found love under a rock
    took it out and dusted it off
    Wore it on my sleeve
    It’s faded and worn now
    I think I’ll put it back. – © 2007, 08 O’Maolchathaigh

    The Dragon Wants It All; Karen Gets Flowers

    June 06, 2007

    The dragon lindaonyangtze-crop2.jpg has changed her mind again. split-up.jpg First she said she really thought we should go our separate ways, even without counseling or any attempt at staying together. I felt counseling is called for. Then, she said she wanted a quit-claim signed to give her complete ownership of the house; we could stay married if she had that. turtle-divorce1.jpg If I wanted compensation, then that meant we would divorce; give her a figure. Some choice. I even offered to sign the quit claim, if she signed a statement giving me compensation should we “go our separate ways” in the future. She said, just a few days ago, that that would be fine. OK then. I needed to work on it. However, then she said she thought about it, and every man she ‘s ever been with has tried to get money from her, and she wasn’t going to do it anymore. No counseling, no nothing. She spoke with a lawyer who says, even in a community property state, she should get the house, I get to keep my pension fund, and we’re even. It’s not true, but she believes it. In addition, she wants me to move out, and continue to pay the bills until she finds a job. Sheesh. Sorry, I can’t afford to do that. She thinks I’m made of money. Now she’s accusing me of deliberately taking her name off of an (empty) savings account that was recently integrated into my checking account. Apparently I’ve been hiding money, was ready to leave her, and didn’t want her to have access to our savings? On top of this she’s accusing me of going behind her back to drive a wedge between her and her daughter! She even started to intimate that there was something improper about me talking to my step daughter at all! Especially about our marital problems, but perhaps I shouldn’t have been talking to someone that age anyway (23)! It all smacks of paranoia, paranoia.jpg -> (Paranoia by Maria Burd)

    perhaps worse. Do I need to get away from this woman? Yes! Can I afford to? No. Why the complete lack of trust, accusations of lying, and sneaking around behind her back? Is she crazy? I wonder now. Perhaps the booze has finally begun rotting her brain, or her liver has begun to fail, and it’s affecting her mental state? I don’t know. She refused counseling for us, or for herself, even when she was depressed for three years over her daughter’s brain tumor (tumor is gone, step daughter in perfect health).

    ———————————————————————————————————————————————-

    Karen: .  I need that fantasy more than ever, even though I know it’s hopeless. An organization was selling flowers today to benefit a malaria project that buys netting with the money. I thought about getting some for the dragon, but she already wants nothing more to do with me, so I bought two for Karen. I dropped ‘em off at her desk. She wasn’t around. I sent her an email, and marked it as needing a response, so that she would let me know she got them. Her response? ” I got them. Thanks.” Well, at least she acknowledged that she got them. And she actually said thanks. At this point, that’s way, way more than I could get from the dragon.

    LOVE IS A CHAIN HARD TO BREAK

    June 04, 2007

    loveunrequited.jpgchainsoflove.jpgmelancholy.jpg

    Love Is A Chain Hard To Break. (©2008, ’09, ’10 by O’Maolchathaigh)

    If I Stop I’ll Go Crazy

    June 3, 2007

    I had lunch with Karen last Friday. Damn that woman looked good! Sexy legs exposed by a short denim skirt and high heels setting off those tattoos on her ankles. She looked so hot, I nearly jumped out of my skin (in my head). I try to keep this stuff to myself now. She’s never liked it if I said she looks sexy, or beautiful. The skirt was new with a wavy, scalloped edge that I’d not seen before, and I did say it was very nice. I almost couldn’t take my eyes off of her legs! blurrylegs.jpg She is hot! If I could sell my soul for her I would. Perhaps I’ve already done that? We seem to talk so easily and comfortably now. I remember when she would talk so fast, it was like she was trying to get it all out at once. I remember doing that myself in the past. It endeared her to me. I felt it meant she really wanted to talk to me, and got a little nervous. Of course, that could be all in my imagination. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if the divorce goes through, and I have my own place. Would things change? I tried to think of this fantasy as over, but, well, I guess it’s not. I don’t know how to stop.

    I do still have feeling for the dragon after 14 years.

    InuYasha the demon has strong feelings for Kikyo, a woman dead 50 years (although reanimated), in the anime stories, and yet he hangs out with the younger Kagome and has feelings for her too. kikyo_kagome.jpg

    Karen likes the story a lot.

    The Wind Blows Through My Head; Make it Stop!

    June 02, 2007

    doubledoor.jpg The wind howls through double glass doors in this research building at night. The center posts of the doors between two of the buildings were removed, and somehow, in this environmentally controlled building, air is pushed through these narrow openings, howling like wind carving rock, titanscarvedbyhowlingwinds.jpg especially at night. It’s especially loud at night. The buildings are empty. No cleaning crews on a Saturday night. Most researchers are home, or on the town. There is no security guard around, just locked doors and windows that can’t be opened. It is peaceful here, peaceful like death must seem to those who quickly approach it. That sucks. This is quite a downer of a posting. So many things have happened. Horrific, and utterly unfounded accusations. Angry words and threats. Not much to go home to anymore. dragon1.jpg

    The dragon waits there, with teeth to bite my head off. A bitter, angry, aging dragon, committed to having her house over a home. Defensive, illogical, entrenched. An intractable ultimatum. I have done nothing wrong, but fail to be ‘in love’ for a few months. I still cared, and now, is the love I feel just regret? The unrequited love of a lover spurned? Refrigerators hum around me. Two of them maintain a temperature of negative 80 degrees centigrade, or 176 Fahrenheit degrees below zero. Multiple compressors keep them that cold, to keep enzymes and cells and tissue in relative stasis. ultra-low-freezer.jpg That would be an interesting way to die.

    I told my 23-year-old step-daughter about the problems between me and her mom, and true to her nature, she told her mom that I still loved her. I hadn’t wanted her to say anything. I had simply asked her to let me know that she and her mom, driving to California, arrived safely so I wouldn’t worry. Her mom, the dragon, was not speaking to me, and would have refused my call, I think, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to call me. My step-daughter’s cell phone is suddenly “no longer in service.” Years of watching her grow up, two years of hell while her brain tumor brain_adult.gif was removed, her body pumped full of chemicals, irradiated, gammaknifepatientsmall.jpeg and irradiated again. brstpic.jpg She’s alive and healthy, and the joy of that overwhelms everything else. I don’t know what her mom has said to her. It’s a very odd coincidence that her long-time cell phone number has been changed, cellphone.gif the very phone she used to tell me that they were safe and OK on the highway. I had offered to drive, but was angrily refused, and berated and dismissed by my wife of ten years. Somehow it is my fault that they did not take a better car. dsc00383th.jpg I’m told they could have died due to bad tires. I did and said nothing to prevent them from taking the other car, but it is my fault they did not. They survived the trip OK, but I am still at fault. Funny, the tires on the other car are not much better anyway.

    I said what I did to the dragon out of honesty, but she says I am a liar. I did not miss her for awhile, and when I did, I was told it no longer mattered, and I was a liar anyway. Damn, this post just keeps getting sadder and sadder. I took myself to a movie today; even pirates could not keep my mind off of all this. I have to say all this, even though I omit the details. Logic has no hold over certain events. Logic is good for sanity. I cannot argue with insanity.

    Final Post? – The fantasy ends?

    May 25, 2007

    It’s hopeless. (Mou oshimai da. itshopeless.jpg )

    It’s been interesting. I learned a lot about unrequited love and limerence. I learned that I could feel something outside of a quiet desperation. Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them. – Henry David Thoreau

    desperation.jpg

    I finally accepted that one does not need to continue a relationship that sucks. Divorce in is the works. Those agonizing details may show up in a different blog. This one was about Karen, and how happy it made me to fantasize loving her. That is over. We’ll still have lunch, but I imagine, as her relationships with other men, younger men, grow, she will grow away from me. I’ve already seen it happen. I can no longer buy her a lunch. That’s a minor thing. What is major, however, is that we will never date. Karen knows about the imminent death of my marriage. I asked her what she was doing this weekend. She may go to a Necromantix concert necromantix.jpg or a midnight movie. host.jpg She has someone to go with in either case. I made it clear I’d like to go someplace with her sometime. I told her I was available. She made it clear that going to a movie or concert “…would be too much like a date.”

    So, that’s that. No dating. No romance. The fantasy is over. I needed hope, some little bit of uncertainty to maintain this unrequited love. There is none. I like Karen. She gave me some more InuYasha sess027.jpg DVDs to watch, I lent her a Ranma 1/2 book.rumic.jpg It’s good to have friends.

    I’m planning on getting a daffs.jpg tattoo: a stylized daffodil as symbol of unrequited love. In the meantime, I need to see what I can do about this sadness that is overwhelming me.

    Thank you to those who read this, and especially those who commented, kowshik, and Anna. Thanks you to everyone who read parts or all of this. I’ll leave it up for awhile. Perhaps I’ll print it out and make it into a booklet and give it to Karen one of these days.

    aangelssadness.jpg

    The Dragon Roars

    May 24, 2007

    inuyasha-group.jpg This was supposed to be all about my fantasy of love with Karen, but my marriage has fallen apart. At first I thought it wouldn’t be too bad, and we would just have some trouble figuring out the finances, but hoo boy!

    I had a gut-wrenching conversation on the phone with The Dragon dragon.jpg last night. At fist she was mad because I had only given her half of the State tax refund; in her mind she had asked me for all of it. I tried to tell her that that was what I heard her ask me. We usually split it, but since we started the addition and roof replacement, it all goes to that. I told her I had it, and had already applied it to the addition, but I would give it to her. It was still a $140 check I had to give her, as my debit card was new and I didn’t have a PIN yet. I couldn’t get to the bank before they closed, so I asked her if she would be able to cash a check in California. I hadn’t known she was going, and she only told me that day, and I found out from her daughter she was leaving at 7am next morning! I even offered to drive when I found out she was thinking of going (her niece graduates in a few days). She said, “Why would I want to do that when you don’t like being around me?” I told her I’d drive her. She refused. I hadn’t even found out she was even going until she asked for the money, and she didn’t say when she was going even then. money9.gif She hadn’t even looked at the check when I handed it to her; if she had asked for the full $280, I’d have given it to her. I tried to tell her that on the phone, but all I got was a lot of screaming, about how cheap I was, and selfish, and a terrible husband, etc. I had to hang up as she was really screaming into my ear! She called back, and it turns out she was also mad because my step-daughter Maya told her I still loved her, and she said I shouldn’t have used her as a messenger, and how could I love her anyway when I was so cheap? I tried to tell her I had told Maya a couple days ago that I still cared for her, but she wasn’t buying it. I had asked Maya only to call me so I’d know they had arrived safe, and that if the dragon wanted to call me that would be OK. I had told Maya that the dragon had a couple phone messages, but that was all. She then told me, “You know that car you have?” cougar.jpg “Yeah? “You know that motorcycle you have?” magna.jpg “Yeah? “Well they’re half mine. Don’t you forget that, you cheap bastard!” She hung up this time; she had to, as she had to get me back for hanging up on her. She’s like that. I used to forgive and forget her behavior, but now it just makes me sad. Maya called me back to ask what that was all about, and I tried to tell her. She was listening to me and I wasn’t mad, just trying to figure out what it was all about. Maya told me that the dragon had been drinking after I asked her about that, so I told her that the dragon is like that sometimes when she’s drinking. I was trying to tell Maya that I could send money, but she suddenly had to hang up. I fear I inadvertently put Maya in the middle, and that’s going to be tough. Maya didn’t really want to go, but didn’t want her mom driving by herself any more than I did. The dragon told me how much she hated her ex’s manipulations!

    I couldn’t relax after that! I thought I was numb, but I’m not. All the accusations and name-calling gave me a pain in my gut! My stomach hurt like I’d been kicked in it! kick_monitor2_2.jpg

    I read a bit, and then closed my eyes and tried relaxing. It helped some. I put an Inuyasha DVD on and watched a few episodes. It really is an engaging story, so it took my mind off of the dragon for a while. Finally turned in around 2am, but woke up at 5:30am still tense and a little mad. I shouldn’t let her get to me, but it hurt anyway, which was her intention. She’s one of the meanest people I’ve ever known in my whole life. What made me think we could work something out? All I did was tell her that I enjoyed some time away from her. It is so peaceful when she’s gone. I feel more relaxed. I don’t think she liked that idea; those phone calls destroyed everything. I wonder if she’ll call again tonight to yell at me some more? This is going to be worse than I ever imagined.

    What is it about Karen?

    May 23, 2007 (part 2)

    I see things in Karen that remind me of myself. She has a depth of character, a love of animals and deep affection for children. She has the obsessive nature of an introvert and the shyness of someone without fake pride. Those are a few things I see, but I feel something else, something I can’t put into words. Perhaps I have only come to recognize that I am not alone in the world. Knowing Karen has made me feel as though I’ve found someone like me for the first time. Perhaps there are others. I know this sounds crazy. I’ve worked with people in carnivals, in science, in unions, neighborhood associations and dozens of groups with similar beliefs to mine. I loved them all. I have felt friendship and love. Still, as I get older, there is always something missing, and I feel it more and more.

    Karen is passionate about life, intelligent, hard-working, and fun. Her smile lights up my world.

    karenssmile.jpg

    What condition my condition is in

    May 23, 2007

    condition.jpg

    Just an aside; food for thought

    May 22, 2007

    jarsandrockscoffee.jpg The Mayonnaise Jar & 2 Cups of Coffee

    When things in your life seem almost too much to handle, when 24 Hours in a day is not enough, remember the mayonnaise jar and 2 cups of coffee. A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls.

    He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.

    The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls.

    He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.

    The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full.

    The students responded with an unanimous “yes.”

    The professor then produced two cups of coffee from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.

    “Now,” said the professor, as the laughter subsided, “I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things – family, children, health, friends, and favorite passions – things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full.

    “The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, house, and car. The sand is everything else – the small stuff.

    “If you put the sand into the jar first,” he continued, “there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you. So …

    “Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out to dinner. Play another 18. There will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal. Take care of the golf balls first – the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.”

    One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the coffee represented.

    The professor smiled. “I’m glad you asked. It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there’s always room for a couple of cups of coffee with a friend.” incanto-delux.jpg

    Being lonely is not the same as missing someone, is it?

    May 21, 2007

    It is apparently not a good idea to tell someone you didn’t call when they were away because you didn’t miss them, especially not if you further qualify that by saying that they could have stayed away for months, and I enjoyed the time alone. Hoo boy! is the dragon pissed! monster1.jpg She’s leaving town again, so she says I get my wish. Meanwhile….

    I’ve been watching InuYasha, and the idea of unrequited love has appeared, is even mentioned. Interesting. At its heart InuYasha is a love story between the half-demon InuYasha and the young woman Kagome. How appropriate! I wonder what Karen thinks of me? Perhaps I am an ogre to her, kindly, but not appealing in my old man disguise.   Beauty and the beast. This beast is certainly smitten with Karen, but that probably makes me more of an ogre to her. Well, if things are more in the open with me and the dragon, perhaps Karen and I could discuss this openly someday soon? Perhaps it is too late. When I don’t get a reply to an email, or the mail server indicates that is was deleted without being opened, I am terrified that she will give up on me. It has been so nice that our paths intersected. I enjoy life so much more since I met her.

    Mindlessness; self-destruct countdown.

    May 20, 2007

    lifesupport.jpg I am troubled by being out of my mind. Were this not an unrequited “love” I wouldn’t mind being madly in love.

    I emailed Karen Friday night, worried because she was going to meet online friends on Saturday that she hadn’t met before, and asked her if she felt she could trust them, making it clear that I was worried about her. I must have sounded like her father. I also let her know that the dragon doesn’t feel what she does anymore is any of my business, so my business must be of no concern to her either. I didn’t want to come out and say, “My marriage is over, let us rejoice and get together,” because that would certainly freak her out. And, it may not be entirely true. But, as always, Karen doesn’t reply to any message that isn’t about going to lunch.

    The guy who runs the coffee cart at work is like a bartender the way he has people confide in him, kart.jpg so I mentioned this strange falling out with my wife, and I mentioned that, “I’m in love with Karen” to him. He looked really surprised, as he knows her, is friends with her, (they trade books) and he knows the guy at the cafeteria she goes out with too, so this may well come back to bite me on the ass real soon.  I don’t know why I said that to him.  I think I wanted someone to know, and see their reaction.  This will probably make its way back to Karen.  I can almost feel the explosion that’ll bring.

    I seem to be in self-destruct.gif self-destruct mode. self-destruct-button.jpg

    Sooner than I thought

    May 18, 2007 (part 2)

    empty-house.jpg Aiee! I didn’t find the dragon at home when I got here, which is not unusual lately, as she has not been talking to me, and going to movies and such on her own. It’s happened before, but of course we’ve never seriously considered separation before. She asked me Sunday if I was happy, and by saying I could be happier, she took that to mean we’ve finished. I suppose that’s true, especially if you’ve read some of the things I’ve said here. However, we’ve haven’t discussed anything else since then. Can’t just move out overnight, as I can’t keep paying the mortgage and rent a place to live too. The dragon has moved out of the bedroom into one of the empty bedrooms. Actually she took over both of the kids bedrooms; she uses one for watching TV and exercising, and now she sleeps in the other. It’s odd that we really haven’t talked. At any rate, we love to Salsa dance, and there was a free concert tonight salsa.jpg – I thought she’d want to go, but she wasn’t home when I got off work. I waited a little bit, but it was only going to last until 9pm, so I headed down there, actually expecting to see her there – she had dog-eared the newspaper page with the ad for the concert, or at least it looked like she had. Anyway, I didn’t see her, so I called her cell. When she answered I asked what she was up to, casually, so I could see if she was coming or wanted to come. I didn’t see any reason why we couldn’t be civil, and make the best of things for now. No, she was angry that I even asked that: “It’s none of your business!” But, I asked her if she wanted to come by the concert anyway, and the answer was: “No, no I don’t.”   This is why I have such a hard time with her anymore; it’s been getting worse and worse, and with greater frequency, and I’ve been getting unhappier each time. I guess my tolerance has been exceeded, and she’s given up too. She’s become impossible to deal with anymore.  She doesn’t listen closely to anything I say, and remembers things I couldn’t possibly have said.  I think all the alcohol is affecting her judgment.  I drink much less now; it doesn’t appeal to me as much as it once did.  She likes to drink, so I tried keeping up with her.   It was too much for me.   I had to cut back.  Now she falls asleep quickly and I can hardly sleep.  We have split off in different directions.  So, I guess that’s that.

    Too bad I don’t actually have someone else.  freedom.jpg Freedom, but nothing to do with it.

    Separation

    May 18, 2007

    separation.jpg

    Coming soon.


    Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love – Charlie Brown

    May 17, 2007

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    Romantic love is an illusion. Most of us discover this truth at the end of a love affair or else when the sweet emotions of love lead us into marriage and then turn down their flames. Sir Thomas Moore, moore.jpg (1478-1535) Tudor writer, statesman, philosopher.

    That’s the nature of women: not to love when we love them, and to love when we love them not. -

    Miguel de Cervantes, Spanish novelist, playwright, and poet, the creator of Don Quixote quijoteilusion.jpg

    Night, night it is, night upon the palms. Night, night it is, the land wind has blown. Starry, starry night, over deep and height; Love, love in the valley, love all alone. – Robert Louis Stevenson, stevenson.jpgScottish novelist and poet

    hugh_elliott_2.jpg Just because you love someone doesn’t mean you have to be involved with them. Love is not a bandage to cover wounds. Hugh Elliott

    Love, unrequited, robs me of my rest. Love, hopeless love, my ardent soul encumbers. Love, nightmare-like, lies heavy on my chest, and weaves itself into my midnight slumbers. gilbert.jpg- William S. Gilbert (of Gilbert and Sullivan)

    May your service of love a beautiful thing want nothing else, fear nothing else and let love be free to become what love truly is. hadewijch.jpg13th Century poet Hadewijch of Antwerp

    In real love you want the other person’s good. In romantic love you want the other person. anderson.jpg- Margaret Anderson, writer and editor

    “A mighty pain to love it is,
    And ’tis a pain that pain to miss;
    cowley.jpg But of all pains, the greatest pain
    It is to love, but love in vain.”

    - Poet Abraham Cowley

    Intoxicated by the Wine of Love. attarfaridud.jpg
    From each a mystic silence Love demands.
    What do all seek so earnestly? ‘Tis Love.
    What do they whisper to each other? Love.
    Love is the subject of their inmost thoughts.
    In Love no longer ‘thou’ and ‘I’ exist,
    For Self has passed away in the Beloved.
    Now will I draw aside the veil from Love,
    And in the temple of mine inmost soul,

    Behold the Friend; Incomparable Love.
    He who would know the secret of both worlds,
    Will find the secret of them both, is Love
    .

    - Farid ud Din Attar, Sufi poet (1119 -1220)

    Still drifting

    May 16, 2007

    useless.jpg

    Drifting

    May 15, 2007

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    Improbability

    May 14, 2007

    Wow! Out of the blue, on the way home from a Mother’s Day dinner with her kids, the dragon asks me if I could live alone; I say yes. That seemed to surprise her, so she wanted to know if I was happy, and I said, “I could be happier.” 1-interior1.gif I simply cannot lie when asked a direct question. A lot of discussion followed that. She wanted to know if I hated her; I had to tell her, no, I didn’t hate her. She asked if this is why I didn’t call her when she was out of town, and I had to say it was. After all, I didn’t miss her, and I enjoyed the time alone. She could have spent months away. She wants to know when I want to split up, “… a day, a week, a month, three months?” and I just told her I hadn’t given it that much thought. I wasn’t planning to do anything soon. She had already told me she wouldn’t want us live together as roommates. I’ve still got to finish the house renovations, addition4.jpg and the dragon doesn’t have another job yet. In truth, I had thought about it, but not specifically when. There’s so much to do to separate our lives, chief among them the house. How much is mine, and hers? How do we determine that? I’m not going to walk out and leave all my work on that house behind. I also have put money into the house, sold my old house and used that money to not only pay off some of my debt, but some of hers as well. In a community property state, we each have a claim on half of everything acquired during our marriage. Were I younger and much further from retirement, I wouldn’t care too much. As it is, she will not be able to pony up half of the house’s value to buy me out, and she’s not going to leave that house either. I mentioned that to her before this, and she said, “Don’t worry about that.” I certainly don’t want to start all over again at my age. A new 30-year mortgage? Holy crap! I’ll never be able to retire, ever. man-machine-brotherhood.jpg Now I have to think about where to move to, especially finding a place with a protective fenced yard for the cats, if I could even move them without them running away in a new neighborhood. improbable.jpg The dragon hates cats, and I can’t leave them with her, even though they were born and raised in that yard. I don’t see how the dragon can borrow enough money to buy me out, and still pay the mortgage too. We still owe $37,600 on the house. She doesn’t even have the prospect of a job yet, and she doesn’t want a hard job, just one with minimal duties and responsibilities. She’ll need a good job now, but can she even get one?

    Life. t1011.jpg

    Well, this certainly opens up possibilities. I wish one of those possibilities was Karen, but that’s pretty well improbable. improbablehistory.jpg

    A Vision In Purple

    rabbitpurpledress.jpg

    May 10, 2007

    Karen looked so good today. Sleeveless purple dress, purple earring, purple bra peaking out from her cleavage. I try not to stare, but sometimes I look down and I can’t help myself. I love seeing her. Her arms and legs are beautiful. I want to touch, to run my hands along her shoulders and arms. I want to feel her in my arms. She is so sexy to me. I want to see, touch, taste every part of her. We talked about Inuyasha, inuyasha_e_kagome_016.jpg a manga and anime series that she’s been reading and watching: a Japanese schoolgirl is transported back in time to feudal Japan and meets a half human/half demon (like me). She watches it with her niece, who is only three, but enjoys it a lot. She brought me the DVDs with two seasons of the TV series. inuyasha_kagome_kiss.jpg There are movies too, and a series of books that inspired the movies and TV shows, which in turn inspired more books. Her plans this weekend are to finish watching the ones she just bought. What a pleasant dream I have that I am watching it with her. She’s still waiting on the latest book in the Dresden Files series, n204971.jpg book number 9, which is coming out in paperback. She’s on a waiting list for it. Karen did make it to the amusement park on Sunday; shocktower2.jpg her niece had a great time, and insisted that Karen ride most rides with her, sometimes over and over. I said that Karen was spoiling her, but she was quick to point out that her niece does listen to her, staying by her all day without wandering away. She told her to stay close, and she did. Too bad, of course, that I couldn’t have been with them. family1.jpg

    Karen’s also reading a manga called Ranma 1/2. Lot of romance in these stories, as she pointed out. ranma-1-2-0017.jpg I’ve seen it but hadn’t bought one yet; I look for deals, but she found it in the library. She finds a lot of manga there, usually in the children’s section, although the stories contain some nudity and usually lots of violence.

    The stories, I’ve noticed, often concern teenagers, especially boys who never quite understand what’s going on, and are laughingly immature. Karen says that boys under 25 are always like that. She can’t stand ‘em. Well, all I could say is that people do say that about men, that we never do grow up. Walked with her back to her office; no shoulder hug today. Maybe she’s afraid of me still?

    Karen returned my Le Guin stories; left a bookmark in the Lady of Moge, lady12ly.jpg but didn’t comment on it. I asked her what she thought of the stories, but she just said she liked ‘em. I mentioned the Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas. I’ve yet to read it, but I understand the parallel between that story and the comfortable life we all live in the US. Karen told me it could be read online, and I’ve seen that it’s there, but haven’t gotten back to it yet. I’ve just read portions. The story is fantastic, about a society that lives in peace, without want or greed, but at a cost. It’s the ones who walk away that are the heroes. Could we walk away from our comfortable lives and our DVDs and our books and movies? The connection that Le Guin was making is not obvious to most of us, and the problems caused by US greed are not obvious to its citizens. Well, we are what we are, and what will be, will be.

    Time to go to the airport; pick up The Dragon back from Florida. What will be, will be, but what will that be?

    My “limerent object”?

    May 08, 2007

    bak2bak.jpg

    ATTRACTION + HOPE + ROADBLOCKS = LIMERENCE *

    ATTRACTION: The limerent sees a person as a prospective mate. Physical, emotional, intellectual factors differ from person to person. It must be emphasized though that most people don’t see a potential mate based solely on sexual attraction or physical traits.

    HOPE: The LO has done something which has encouraged the limerent that a proper pairing could occur. This action could have been deliberately encouraging (a flirt, an invitation to dinner) or simply perceived as encouraging by the limerent (a smile, an innocent conversation).

    ROADBLOCKS: This can be anything that would prevent a proper pairing of the two. Examples are: shyness, class, poor self-esteem, prior relationship or marriage, external rules (e.g. co-workers can’t date), or simply not being paired (e.g. married) yet.

    Found this in another blog (survivinginfidelity.com/):

    (MY REACTIONS ARE BOLD, CAPITALIZED AND ITALICIZED) ->

    Limerence begins as a barely perceptible feeling of increased interest in a particular person, known as the limerent object, but one which, if nurtured by appropriate conditions, can grow to enormous intensity. UNDERSTATEMENT! understatement.jpg
    In most cases it also declines, eventually to zero or to a low level. At this low level, limerence is either transformed through reciprocation or it is transferred to another person who then becomes the new limerent object. Under the best of conditions the waning of limerence through mutuality is accompanied by the growth of the emotional response more suitably described as love. … I WISH

    Limerence has certain basic components:

    intrusive thinking about the limerent object YEP

    acute longing for reciprocation O, YES longing.jpg

    some fleeting & transient relief from unrequited limerence through vivid imagining of action by the limerent object that means reciprocation DEFINITELY
    fear of rejection & unsettling shyness in the limerent object’s presence
    NO, NOT SO MUCH

    acute sensitivity to any act, thought, or condition that can be interpreted favorably, & an extraordinary ability to devise or invent “reasonable” explanations for why neutral actions are a sign of hidden passion in the limerent object
    YES, 100%
    an aching in the chest when uncertainty is strong YES hidden_passion.jpg

    buoyancy (a feeling of walking on air) when reciprocation seems evident IF ONLY

    a general intensity of feeling that leaves other concerns in the background ABSOLUTELY

    a remarkable ability to emphasize what is truly admirable in the limerent object & to avoid dwelling on the negative or render it into another positive attribute. EXACTLY!

    Limerent object perception

    Crystallization (love)

    Crystallization, crystallization.jpg from Stendhal’s 1822 work On Love, is a process in which the limerent object’s attractive characteristics are emphasized & unattractive characteristics given little or no attention, or even seen as attractive. The attributes are not pure inventions, the existing features of the limerent object merely undergo enhancement. YES THEY DO!!!
    Objectively trivial aspects of the limerent object’s appearance or behavior may be seized on & the good qualities endlessly re-visualized in the limerent consciousness. Neutral aspects of the limerent object are perceived as charming & delightful. I’M IN A STATE OF LIMERENT CONSCIOUSNESS?

    No matter what the limerent object does it can be interpreted favorably, at least up to a point. There is an amazing capacity to react positively to deficiencies. The limerent reaction may miss by a wide mark the truly important features or ignore serious problems in the limerent object. AMAZING, LIKE THEY’RE TALKING ABOUT ME

    Intrusive thinking thinking.jpg

    During the height of limerence, thoughts of the limerent object are both persistent & intrusive. Limerence is first & foremost a condition of cognitive obsession. YEP All events, associations, stimuli, & experiences return thoughts to the limerent object with unnerving consistency.

    The constant thoughts about the limerent object define all other experiences. If a certain thought has no previous connection with the limerent object, immediately one is made. THAT’S ME! OBSESSIVE ALL THE WAY!

    Limerent fantasy is unsatisfactory unless rooted in reality. Sometimes it is retrospective; actual events are replayed from memory. This form predominates when what is viewed as evidence of possible reciprocation can be re-experienced. YOU GOT IT!

    Otherwise, the long fantasy is anticipatory; it begins in the everyday world & climaxes at the attainment of the limerent goal. The long fantasies form bridges between the limerent’s ordinary life lm-bliss-little-guy-large.jpg & that intensely desired ecstatic moment. The duration & complexity of a fantasy depend on the availability of time & freedom from distractions. NOT BUSY ENOUGH I GUESS
    The bliss of the imagined moment of consummation is greater when events imagined to precede it are possible. In fact they often represent grave departures from the probable. YES, INDEEDY.

    It is not entirely pleasant, & when rejection seems likely the thoughts focus on despair. YOU CAN SAY THAT AGAIN The pleasantness or unpleasantness of the state seems almost unrelated to the intensity of the reaction. Although the direction of feeling, i.e. happy versus unhappy, shifts rapidly, the intensity of intrusive thinking alters less rapidly, & alters only in response to an accumulation of experiences with the particular limerent object.

    Fear of rejection – Along with the emphasis on positive qualities perceived in the limerent object, & preoccupation with the hope for return of feelings, there is a fear that limerence will be met by the very opposite of reciprocation: rejection.

    absolute_uncertainty.jpg Considerable self-doubt & uncertainty is experienced & it causes pain, but also enhances desire. HOW ABOUT THAT!
    Limerence develops & is sustained when there is a certain balance of hope & uncertainty. UNCERTAINTY = HOPE

    The base for limerent hope is not in objective reality but reality as it is perceived. The inclination is to sift through nuances of speech & subtleties of behavior for evidence of limerent hope. GOT ME PEGGED

    “Little things” are noticed & endlessly analyzed for meaning. FOR THE TRULY OBSESSIVE AT HEART

    The belief that the limerent object does not & will not reciprocate can only come about with great difficulty. COMES AND GOES

    Limerence can be carried quite far before acceptance of rejection is genuine.  I CAN SEE THAT
    Excessive concern over trivia may not be entirely unfounded. Body language can indicate a return of feeling. What the limerent object said & did is recalled with vividness. VIVIDNESS IS THE WORD vividcolor.jpg

    Alternative meanings of those behaviors are searched out. OVER AND OVER
    Each word & gesture is permanently available for review, especially those which can be interpreted as evidence in favor of “return of feeling.” When objects, people, places or situations are encountered with the limerent object, they are vividly remembered. SEE THE REST OF THIS BLOG

    The physiological correlations of limerence are heart palpitations, trembling, pallor, flushing, pupil dilation & general weakness. Awkwardness, stammering, shyness, & confusion predominate at the behavioral level. There is apprehension, nervousness, & anxiety due to terrible worry that any action may bring about disaster. NAH! TOO OLD FOR THAT!
    The super-sensitivity that is heightened by fear of rejection can get in the way of interpreting the limerent object’s body language & lead to inaction & wasted opportunities. Bodily signals may be emitted that confuse & interfere with attaining the limerent object. MAYBE
    A condition of sustained alertness, a heightening of awareness & an enormous fund of energy to deploy in pursuit of the limerent aim develop. The sensation of limerence is felt in the midpoint of the chest. ‘TIS

    This is ecstasy at times of mutuality & despair munchdespair.jpg at times of rejection. AGAIN, DEAD ON!

    The Game

    No matter how intensely reciprocation is desired it cannot simply be asked for. To ask is to risk premature self-disclosure. The interplay is delicate, with the reactions of each person inextricably bound to the behavior of the other. I’VE ASKED.
    Progression toward ecstatic mutuality may not involve externally created difficulties but feinting & parrying, minor deceptions, & falsehoods. The uncertainty required by the limerent reaction may often be merely a matter of perception. PROBABLY
    Despite ideals & philosophy, a process begins that bears unquestionable similarity to a game. The prize is not trifling: reciprocation produces ecstasy. HOO BOY WOULD IT! ecstasy.jpg Whether it will be won, whether it will be shared, & what the final outcome may be depend on the effectiveness of actions & those of the limerent object; indeed on skill.

    Reason to hope combined with reason to doubt keeps passion at fever pitch & too-ready limerent availability cools. Open declaration of true feelings may stop the process. NOT IF THEY’RE TOTALLY IGNORED
    Because one of the invariant characteristics of limerence is extreme emotional dependency on the limerent object’s behavior, the actual course of limerence must depend on the actions & reactions of both people. I CAN SEE THAT
    Sexuality

    Awareness of physical attraction plays a key role in the development of limerence, runningto-shira.jpgbut is not enough to satisfy the limerent desire, & is seldom the main focus. The limerent object, in order to become the limerent object, must be a potential sex partner. ONE WOULD CERTAINLY HOPE
    Limerence can be intensified after a sexual relationship has begun, & with more intense limerence there is greater desire for sexual intercourse. PURE FANTASY NOW However, while sexual surrender once indicated for the most part the end of uncertainty in the limerent object, in modern times this is much less frequent.
    Sexual fantasies are distinct from limerent ones. Limerent fantasy is rooted in reality & is intrusive rather than voluntary.  INTRUSIVE IS DA WORD Sexual fantasies are under more or less voluntary control NO THEY’RE NOT & may also involve strangers, imaginary individuals, & situations that could not take place.chocolate-kamasutra2.jpg

    People can become aroused by the thought of sexual partners, acts, & situations that are not truly desired, whereas every detail of the limerent fantasy is passionately desired to actually take place. YESIREE BOB!

    Limerence sometimes increases sexual interest in other partners when the limerent object is unreceptive or unavailable, such as married people finding sex with their spouses more pleasurable when they become limerent over someone else. THAT HAS HAPPENED
    Limerent reaction

    The course of limerence is a rise to a more intrusive thinking pattern.  THERE’S THAT WORD AGAIN This is invariably an expectant & often joyous period with the initial focusing on the limerent object’s admirable qualities: crystallization. happyhappyjoyjoy.jpg Then, under appropriate conditions of hope & uncertainty, the limerence intensifies further. At peak crystallization almost all waking thoughts revolve around the limerent object. Subsequently the “reaction” may peak for days or weeks, or it may begin to undergo a final decline, or it may drop & then rise again one or more times before the decline that almost always follows sooner or later. THEY GOT THIS RIGHT

    This reactionary process actuates according to following six steps:

    The limerent reaction begins at a point discernible at the time & later recalled. YES

    Sexual attraction need not be experienced, although (a) the person is a potential sexual partner, & (b) the initial “admiration” may be, or seem to be, primarily physical attraction. YES TO THAT TOO
    Once limerence begins, thinking about the limerent object increases & considerable pleasure is received from the process. BOY HOWDY

    There is an initial phase in which buoyancy, elation, elation.jpg & freedom are felt, which is ironic for this appears to be the beginning of an essentially involuntary process. HMM

    Attraction may be to more than one potential limerent object. NOPE, ONLY ONE The reaction is believed to be because of the limerent object’s fine qualities. AND FINE THEY ARE, I THINK
    With evidence of reciprocation from the limerent object a state of extreme pleasure, even euphoria, is enjoyed. IF ONLY

    Thoughts are mainly occupied with considering & reconsidering what is attractive in the limerent object, replaying whatever events may have thus far transpired with the limerent object, & appreciating personal qualities which are perceived as possibly having sparked interest in the limerent object. mban1034l.jpg THE OBSESSIVE STRIKES AGAIN!
    Involvement increases if the limerent object’s feelings are doubted. Only if the limerent object were to be revealed as highly undesirable might limerence subside. COULD BE ALMOST THERE Usually with some degree of doubt its intensity rises further, & the stage is reached at which the reaction is virtually impossible to dislodge. This is called crystallization. UH OH.
    The doubt & increased intensity of limerence undermine former self-satisfaction. There is inordinate fear of rejection. REJECTION IS EXPECTED, WITH SOME DREAD

    With an increase in doubt coupled with reason to hope that reciprocation may indeed occur everything becomes intensified, especially intrusive thinking. INTRUSIVE AGAIN Either in a joyful or a despairing state, fantasies are preferred to virtually any other activity unless it is (a) acting in a way that seems to help obtain the limerent object, or (b) actually being in the presence of the limerent object. The motivation to attain a “relationship” (mating, or pair bonding) continues to intensify so long as a proper mix of hope & uncertainty exist. THESE PEOPLE KNOW THIS PROCESS COLD!
    At any point in the process, if reciprocation is perceived, the degree of involvement ceases to rise, until uncertainty returns. Usually what might be an obvious sign of interest to a neutral observer is not so obvious. Gamesalice34a.gif in which the timid partners attempt to conceal from each other the full nature of the reaction that has seized them, the inevitable differences between their lifestyles, or “lover’s spats” prevent full reciprocation in each other’s eyes & allow the intensity to continue to increase. INTERESTING
    Tennov estimates, based on both questionnaire & interview data, that the average limerent reaction duration, from the moment of initiation until a feeling of neutrality is reached, is approximately 3 years. The extremes may be as brief as a few weeks or as long as a lifetime. When limerence is brief, maximum intensity may not have been attained. FEELS MAXIMUM TO ME!
    Limerence generally lasts between 18 months & 3 years, but further studies on unrequited limerence have suggested longer durations, with lengths lasting no less than three years. YEP, ABOUT 3 YEARS NOW.

    If I ignore you, will you love me?

    May 05, 2007

    cat.jpg There was something Karen said. We were talking about cats, how they ignore you, but when you ignore them they come over and rub against you. True enough that cats are contrary. Their behavior can be transparent. It does, however, sometimes apply to humans. I was thinking about the dragon, and how, all these years, she has been acting like one of those standoffish cats. Pushing me away; not responding to my kisses, to sex, to embraces. Being a cold fish. And me? I kept trying to please her, and trying harder and harder, and still feeling like I loved her, even if she couldn’t love me. And she just gets worse and worse. I found out that I was able to find other women attractive again; that I was sexually interested in other women. That would be dishonest. I finally decide I can do it anyway. But I don’t. I become interested in a woman I can’t have. pygmalion_and_galatea_ca_1890_.jpg Karen has made it clear I’m barking up the wrong tree there. I latch onto every thing she says, looking for clues, hoping she could feel the same way. Classic unrequited love. It’s harder and harder to maintain the fantasy. The dragon’s out of town. I’m looking for my cat for some physical contact. In my false bravado, I said I would rather live alone. I am beginning to believe it’s not true. No Karen. No Dragon. No cats. I don’t like it much. This is all fascinating. I have no idea where this will go. Further into lunacy? Divorce and living alone? Dating again? I don’t need anyone, but living alone gets old after awhile. I could, of course, maintain an active social life, but I’m too antisocial for that. I prefer a nice quiet life in a dependable relationship. Could be with anyone. That’s what the dragon always says. I tell her I love her; she says I love everyone. I tell her she turns me on, and she replies that any woman turns me on. I could never get her to believe anything I said and now I find myself feeling the way she always told me I was. I don’t care for her anymore. Karen doesn’t care for me. The dragon is acting like she cares about me all of a sudden. She’s not mad, not ignoring me. She makes one of my favorite foods,  spaghetti carbonara, then bakes a cake too, icingoncakelight.jpg just before leaving town for Florida. She’s like the cats when you ignore them, but it’s too late. I ignore her now because I don’t care that much anymore. It’s feels too late, just too fucking late. But my step-daughter says she wouldn’t like to see me and her mom break up, and I do care about my step-daughter dearly. This has become a no-win situation.paragliding.jpg

    Lunch

    May 04, 2007 (Part 2)

    11:30 AM Lunch is on! in one hour!

    imnotthatbusy.png

    1:40 PM And it was nice. Karen was, as she always is, beautiful. She said she told her niece she would take her to the amusement park on Sunday, but the weather people predict rain. She really doesn’t want to disappoint her niece. Karen is exactly the kind of person I like to know, hang around with, etc. Sigh. I left her near her office, gave her a shoulder hug. As I walked back to my office, sipping my coffee, I wondered if she had finally forgiven me, would trust me now. I don’t know how she puts up with me. Later on, I decided to tell her that I’m free on Sunday if they’d like company, and emailed that thought to her. Ah, well, bad idea. She deleted it as soon as she opened it. No response. I’m such an idiot. I would really like to go though. It was such a pleasant fantasy in my head for awhile: walking through the park with Karen and her niece, riding the rides, enjoying her niece’s reactions, maybe sharing a smile. Innocent fun.

    I guess, considering the state of my mind, it wouldn’t be so innocent. pity.jpg

    I’ve got to learn to keep this stuff to myself.

    Another unplanned sighting

    May 04, 2007

    skirt-02.jpg Saw her this morning on the way in to work. She had taken a shuttle from the parking lot, and was just passing the farthest point east that it takes people. That left her with at least another 5 minute walk, and it was already 8:00, so I offered her a ride on the bike, but she declined. Sigh. She was wearing a beautiful skirt, and she said it wouldn’t be a good idea. She has such a wonderful smile. I know I’ve said that before. She is so beautiful. She also thanked me for asking. Coupling that with her smile is all an infatuated lover like me needs to stay in love with her.

    It’s Friday. The tension mounts. Will Karen and I have lunch today? Will I tell her I’m in love with her? Will she ever go out with me? Will I crash and burn? Will I ever fall out of love with her? Will I get divorced sooner or later? Would it make any difference to Karen if I was divorced? Or is my fantasy just the wildest fiction I could ever imagine?

    Love that is not returned is?

    April 30, 2007

    sangel.gif Now, this is an interesting take on unrequited love. I’m going to do a poll and report the results as to whether people believe this.

    “The love that lasts longest is the love that is never returned.”

    –W. Somerset Maugham (1874-1965)

    love-chart.png According to my small-sampling, unscientific poll, 77.78% believe it! (At the time). Now it has flopped: 22.22% believe it!

    However, one respondent described unrequited love as “an infatuation, totally irrational love.” Another person pointed out that “…a love relationship between two people is one that is mutually shared; one could go on ‘loving’ someone who was unattainable forever because there is no real work to be done to maintain the relationship; that being in an active, two-sided love relationship takes some effort.”

    Well, duh!

    I still dream about Karen.

    MOONLIGHT TOUCHES ME

    April 25, 2007

    KAREN!

    full_moon_large.jpg
    You are like the moon on a cloudy night

    Shyly peeking through the gloom

    When I look for you

    You’re not always there

    I know you’re there

    I know I’ll see you again

    But I miss your luminosity

    Your smile and laughter

    Each appearance brightens me

    I can see clearer

    Moonlight is not warm

    the sun sends physical heat

    when it touches

    I cannot touch you

    but you warm me

    like moonlight

    shining through my clouds.

    © 2007, 08, 09, 10  O’Maolchathaigh

    Telepathy and fantasy

    April 24, 2007 (part 2)

    jeanscottemma.png Karen told me about the break-up of X-men characters Cyclops and Jean Grey; how Cyclops was having a telepathic affair with someone, and that’s what helped break up his marriage! She, being a telepath herself, found out! Holy crap! I asked her how that could be an affair when there’s no physical contact involved? Karen assured me it was.  I mean, it was all in their minds, right? I wonder if Karen noticed how shocked I was? I even said that people often fantasize, and that hardly seems like cheating. She said it was. cyclops_jean_grey.jpg My suspicions that she is reading this blog are redoubled now. Maybe not. Karen thought the X-Men character was a jerk when he took up with his psychic lover after his wife died, and since she sees fantasy the same way, then she wouldn’t have wanted to have lunch with me today, would she? Probably not. I get the feeling Karen is very moralistic in her own way. There’s no religion involved here, but I think she is a big believer in marriage, or monogamous relationships, with no exceptions. I suspected that’s why we had to be just friends. She has to know I want to think about her as more than that, doesn’t she? I am careful what I say, but I’ve never been any good at keeping my emotions out of my face. Perhaps, as I suspected, she is going to tell me one day that she can’t be my friend anymore, because it’s not right to be friends with a married man who thinks about her the way I do. Yesterday, I thought that I’d be fine with that. Right now, I dread it. dread.jpg I see her hand on the table in front of me and I want to touch it, feel her fingers in mine, walk with her hand in hand. Sigh! I’m just getting crazier and crazier. Her hands move about so much. She gestures when she’s talking, and fiddles with whatever is at hand when she’s not gesturing. A piece of papers gets crumpled and opened, a bottle label gets torn off; the salt & pepper shakers walk around, balancing on top of each other. I want to grab her hand, feel her touch my hand, play with my fingers. All that nervous energy she exhibits! What should I make of it? Is that just the way she is? or just the way she is around me? Is it a form of repressed sexual energy, as some would have it? I do wonder what she is like as a lover, if she has ever been a lover? She has never mentioned anything along those lines, but she is very protective about her personal life, perhaps more so with me than a closer friend. O, that those hands would explore my body!
    hands1.jpg hands2.jpg hands3.jpg

    What Is Love?

    April 24, 2007

    Who knew there was so much research on and definition of love? I have copied this from another site (meaning of life):

    According to Rubin (1970), love has three components: (1) an affiliative and dependent need, (2) a predisposition to help, and (3) exclusiveness and absorption. Liking is more closely akin to friendship.

    In his research, Wong has found that liking can be negatively related to passionate love ; in other words, you may be madly in love with someone you dislike, because your mind tells you that he or she is “bad news”, but your heart is still lovesick.

    According to Tennov (1979), love is different from limerence. Love is mutual, and is characterized as a great affection and concern for the welfare of the beloved. Limerence, on the other hand, is passionate love gone wild. It begins with a spark of interest, and under appropriate conditions, can grow into enormous intensity. Limerence is a state of cognitive obsession, an unrealistic hope of reciprocation. A tiny bit of reciprocation, whether motivated by pity or vanity, will result in feelings of euphoria, which inevitably turn to despair and misery. However, limerence can grow into love, when it is completed fulfilled.  to_love.jpg

    Peele and Brodsky (1975) also differentiate between addictive love and genuine love. Addictive love occurs when a person is totally absorbed in the love object in order to escape from an otherwise meaningless and unhappy existence. Such obsession distracts from a person’s ability to pay attention to important aspects of his or her life. Prolonged separation or termination of the relationship can cause “withdrawal symptoms” similar to those of a drug addict.

    Lee (1973) has developed a typology consisting of six types of love: (1) Eros, where the lovers search for someone with specific physical characteristics; (2) pragma, where potential love-objects are rationally considered; (3) agape, where the person loves without expectation of reciprocation; (4) ludus, where love is treated as agape; (5) storage, which is similar to compassionate love, and (6) mania, which is similar to addiction love, characterized by cognitive obsession as well as emotional peaks and valleys.

    triangularlove.gif Sternberg (1986) views love as a triangular structure, consisting of three components: intimacy, passion and decision/commitment. Various combinations of these components result in eight kinds of love: (1) non-love (absence of the three components),(2) liking (intimacy in isolation), (3) infatuation (passion), (4) empty love (decision/commitment), (5) romantic love (passion and intimacy), (6) compassionate love (intimacy and decision/commitment), (7) fatuous love (passion and decision/commitment), and (8) consummate love (which includes all three components.)

    Literature, music and films are replete with themes of forlorn love.

    Judging from newspaper advice columns, magazine articles and self-help books (i.e., Halpern, 1983; Phillips & Judd, 1978), the problem of unrequited love seems both serious and widespread. widespread18hi.jpg It is not surprising that popular interest in unrequited love has remained unabated, because more often than not people are not able to win the affection of the man or woman of their dream and suffer much as a result. When one’s love is not reciprocated, a host of negative reactions might follow. In extreme cases, a person may be driven to attempt suicide in order to escape the pain. However, even in milder cases unrequited love causes pain and may interfere with a person’s daily functioning. Unrequited love, as it is commonly known, involves situations in which one person passionately loves an unresponsive object.  love-forlorn.jpg

    Tennov (1979) has provided numerous examples of forlorn love. Lee’s (1973) manic lover and Hazan & Shaver’s (1987) anxious ambivalent lover also fall into this category. Each of these describes an intense craving for intimacy, an irresistible cognitive obsession with the love object, and prolonged sufferings caused by rejection and jealousy. The driving force is not sexual gratification, but reciprocation of romantic interest and devotion. We refer to this type of obsessive love as the Classic unrequited love.

    Co-dependency is a term used to describe those people whose lives are completely intertwined with a drug/alcohol addict, such as a spouse or lover. The co-dependent identifies with their love object to the extent of losing his/her own identity. The needs and problems of the addict are taken on by the co-dependents as their own. The co-dependents choose to get stuck in a painful relationship, because of their neurotic need to be needed and their own insecurity. Thus, unlike classic unrequited love where the ultimate goal is union, the goal of the co-dependent is the fulfillment of a need to be needed, no matter how unloving and painful the relationship is. 1-interior.gif Another kind of unrequited love is less intense, and more common-hence the term minor unrequited love. This type is characterized by one’s perception that one’s partner does not reciprocate one’s love to a similar degree. Minor unrequited love may be only a distorted perception or it may be an accurate portrayal of the situation. In either case, it may result in feelings of dissatisfaction and upset. Because it is a negative and potentially destructive experience, psychopathology may develop. Even minor unrequited love may cause marital breakdown and may adversely affect other areas of the person’s life. “

    No shit.

    Limerence & Starvation

    April 23, 2007

    documentphp.jpg

    “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love… and be loved in return.” – from the film Moulin Rouge.

    Liza Misra, a psychotherapist, says, “Those who dwell on feelings of unrequited love are generally those who assume that true love is necessary for ultimate happiness and this need to love before one can feel happy is called dependency. Interestingly, unrequited love can actually last a very long time, for many years or even decades – paradoxically the lover’s feelings usually reach a breaking point as they continue to deepen. Unrequited love may end when the lover receives reciprocation from the loved (consummation), develops less intense feelings for the loved (starvation), or channels his / her feelings towards another, more reciprocating person (transformation).”

    Every breeze that blows

    brings your scent to me;

    Every bird that sings

    calls out your name to me;

    Every dream that appears

    brings your face to me;

    Every glance at your face

    has left its trace with me.

    I am yours, I am yours,

    whether near or far;

    Your grief is mine, all mine,

    wherever you are. - Nizami Ganjavi (1141-1209)

    starvation.jpg

    When asked how a person can get over the bitterness and hurt of an episode of unrequited love, Delhi based writer on spirituality, Swati Chopra, says,”I think if one truly loves someone, one is not dependent on the other’s response, and even if one’s love is not returned in kind, one can wish the other person well with all of one’s heart and move on with one’s life. Freeing ourselves, and making our love a positive force in itself, will free us of the burden of unrequited love.”
    According to sociologist Madhuri Raijada, most cases of unrequited love are simply infatuation. “One-sided love according to me is a crush, though love is a very relative term. People who can’t get over unrequited love are usually those who have made love their be-all and end-all in life and have made the beloved an obsession.” Indeed, the state of being in unrequited love has often been described as
    limerence.jpg rather than love. Love (in most of its connotations) involves concern for the beloved’s welfare and feelings, with little or no expectation of gain in return. In contrast, limerence demands reciprocation and is characterized as ‘passionate love gone wild and a state of cognitive obsession’”.

    Even a trivial utterance or behavior on the part of the limerent object is misconstrued as a sign of love, which keeps the hope of reciprocation alive resulting in feelings of euphoria, which inevitably turn to despair and misery when facing neglect. The word limerence was coined by Dorothy Tennov, a professor of psychology at the University of Bridgeport, Connecticut, around 1977. Her book Love and Limerence: The Experience of Being in Love, published in 1979, became a best seller. The word ‘limerence.jpg‘ is not found in current dictionaries, but is nevertheless in use by psychologists while discussing romantic relationships.

    Something Changed

    April 20, 2007

    © ROY BONEY, JR.

    Something changed, I think. I was excited to hear from Karen, excited to meet her for lunch; early today. Went to the lobby to wait for her and ran into my 1st wife again. Talked for a minute or two until Karen showed up. Told the ex I’d just finished roofing my house. “Sounds dangerous,” she said. She told me about a bomb threat here today. Yesterday, there were threats against the main campus too, and we all got emails urging caution. Anyway, Irene always seems nervous or in a hurry, so she ran off before I could introduce her. Karen was there to return some books to Andre, the coffee guy at the cart. We went over to the med school cafeteria and got Frito Pies. fritopie1.jpg They make some real good ones here, not just with cheese and chili, but with beef or chicken, rice, beans, and red and/or green chili;- really nice! – better than the ones the hospital cafeteria makes. Karen finished her Proven Guilty, the PI/wizard book. She really likes the Dresden Files series, says it’s funny and unusual and I should read some of them. Maybe I will. She talks about the stories she reads, what she likes, and I never have much to say. I’ve mentioned the books and authors I’ve read, and I think the only ones we have in common are Straczynski and Le Guinn. I think she likes me to listen. She’s off to the comedy club again tonight. Never knew she went regularly. Anyway, we went and got some more coffee after lunch. Not that she needs it, she seems to have unlimited energy. Iced mochas for her.icedmocha.jpg Decaf or half-caf americanos for me. She is fun to be around. She is different though. Something is changed. I’ve a feeling we won’t be having lunch much anymore. Maybe she read this blog? Of course, my wife is acting strange too, so I thought the same thing. Looks like I’m paranoid. How strange it is that I feel the need to write this down in a public venue, but it makes me nervous to think that the people around me are reading it. Perhaps I’m losing it. I don’t think either of them thinks I’m much fun to be around. That’s what I liked about Karen – she had that introverted quality that struck a chord within me. I don’t know; I don’t know anything. Maybe it’s the penicillin and painkillers I’ve taken yesterday and this morning after yesterdays’ root canal and root amputation? I feel out of it, depressed, anti-social.

    I think Karen is having more fun, is much more extroverted that when I met her. We’re probably diverging. My life is crashing. I’ve been sucked into a pit, and it’s affecting me, or I’ve dug a pit for myself. Well, I’ve got a nice motorcycle ride with my stepdaughter on Sunday magna.jpg- that’s something to look forward to! Collected $140 for the Pediatric Brain Tumor Foundation.

    Lo! and I beheld: Karen!

    April 17, 2007 (part 2)

    lo-and-behold-front-cover.jpg Well, Lo! and Behold! I ran into Karen today.  I was in another cafeteria and she walked in with her lunch tray as I was just finishing up. She smiled, but I didn’t know if she’d want to join me, but she did. She asked what was up, but I just lamely replied, same old stuff. I could see she was dying to get to her food. She attacks food with gusto! I used to eat like that! Too old now. I take my time to allow my appetite to be satisfied, or I never get enough. I enjoy watching her eat. She has a healthy appetite.

    She had her book with her, Proven Guilty, by Jim Butcher. provenguilty.jpg The main character is Harry Dresden, P.I. and wizard, who routinely fends off attacks by vampires, werewolves, demons, faeries, zombies, ghosts, and warlocks. According to a review of the series (The Dresden Files) that I read, “You might want to beat Harry for being a pig-headed, stubborn, noble idiot, but you’d never turn him away if he was on your side.” Well, maybe there’s hope for me, after all. That pretty much describes me. :-)

    At any rate we discussed the book a little and the chaos of grant time at her job, and her niece. I like her niece; she’s only three, but enjoys comics and graphic novels and animation. Karen has to read them to her, and has bought videos for her, and they get along fine. Her niece goes right to her every time she visits, which was Friday, Saturday and Sunday morning this time. A little much, but Karen enjoys her. Told Karen my roof’s not done yet, so I’ll probably take the day off tomorrow to finish it, unless it pours again today and tonight or in the morning. Between snow, rain, and high winds, this roof has turned into a never ending story. I left Karen to read her book. That’s something I know about: when you’ve got a good book, you want to read it, and as much as you like someone, you don’t want to chit chat when you could be reading.

    It is a very good day today. I was so elated walking back to work. I was humming, and snapping my fingers and jumped up to touch the ceiling. How does Karen affect me like this? I know, it’s all in my head; still, I sure am happy to see her, and talk with her. It’s something to have happy people in your life, even if minimally

    .peachy.jpg

    Today in the shower

    April 17, 2007

    message.jpg
    I was awake early today, around 4 AM. I have to get up between 6 and 6:30, so I tried to get back to sleep and couldn’t. My wife was snoring loudly, but I think it was the caffeine I’d consumed that had come back to bite me. Never got back to sleep. One of my cats came and got me to let it out after 6, so I decided to get up. I started thinking about Karen, of course, but usually when I’m in the shower I focus on washing. It’s a nice form of meditation, helps relax my mind for the day. However, Karen popped into my mind. I remember her talking about colors. She likes green and blue, as do I. Many of my clothes are either green, blue or black. She has black outfits herself, sometimes dressing all in black. She also said she would like to get a blue or green stone ring. She saw some nice rings like that in store 50 miles from here, but I don’t know which one. I immediately thought that I’d love to buy her one of those rings. Too bad we don’t ever go someplace where she could show me a ring she liked and I could buy it for her. I did buy her a nice stained-glass dragon she admired. I thought about that conversation about the rings while I was standing under the cascade of hot steaming water. I went through the motions of cleaning, but I was thinking again about having a ring made for Karen. I have blue and green stones. cimg2910g.jpg I went into a daydream where I was giving a ring to Karen, putting it on her finger, and she presented me her ring finger. Suddenly I had an erection. I hadn’t been thinking of her beauty or sexuality or her physical appearance at all. Just the act of bonding with her, as one does with engagements, got me turned on! Amazing. I never would have thought I could come to such heights of feeling for someone. I love the idea of having love and sex and friendship and intellect and life and children and everything all combined into a relationship. Too bad I’ve come to feel this way late in life, concerning a woman I cannot have anyway. Such is life after all. Perhaps, as we enter old age, our entire enjoyment of life is in the mind. In that case, I love you Karen. I’m enjoying the life with you that I’ve created in my mind. It’s exciting and sensual and happy.

    Comments solicited

    April 16, 2007 (part 2)

    comments.jpg No one, in the two months I’ve been writing this blog, has ever left me a comment. It makes me wonder:

    1.) Is this just all too common, and therefore boring?

    2.) Am I just really boring period?

    3.) Do I seem to be a pervert?

    4.) Do I seem too passive in this affair of the heart?

    5.) Is there anything in this tale of love, such as it is, that appeals to anyone?

    I’ll happily keep plugging away at this, but I don’t know if I’ll have any epiphanies or other inspirations through it. Don’t know if anything will change. The marriage is certainly cracking up. I’m OK with that. Oddly enough, I’m OK with living on my own. There’s just something odd about my behavior, and I thought by now someone would have told me that, at least. Ah, well. No news about Karen to report. Going back in time, I remember her saying she’d been with or dated an older man before – that gave me hope initially that she found me attractive. Kind of a stretch perhaps, but why did she say it?

    Why walk with me to lunch every Friday, even waiting for me without contacting each other? Even when she was not working, she’d come in just to have lunch with me. Somehow, I took that to mean something, but perhaps I’m just too old to accept close friendships with women as normal, and not be turned on? I don’t know. The more I saw her, listened to her, the more I wanted to be with her. One hour a week is all I could have, no back and forth emails, phone calls, or lunch on another day. No desire on her part to meet over the Xmas break either. I don’t know why I should have let myself fall for her. Can’t figure it out. Sexual attractions can do that, but, is there more to it? or just a strange perverted need within me to care for someone that likes me, that cares for me?

    Sigh

    April 16, 2007

    lifessimplepleasures.jpg Friday came and went. Heard from Karen; she forwarded that funny cartoon to me. I wrote back, thanked her for it (it is damn funny), and asked her 1.) if she could meet for lunch, and 2.) if she got the email I sent to her hotmail account with a link to the Sci Fi blog.

    No response. Sigh. Then, the dragon calls, wants to meet me for lunch. I had to tell her I was busy, and indeed, I had plenty to do. I’ve already decided who is more important to me, and it’s Karen. So, I waited to eat until about 1:25. No word from Karen. Went to the cafeteria where we usually eat, and, yes! there she was, reading a book (it was cold outside). I walked by her and said Hi. She smiled when she saw me (that made my heart skip a beat) and I said I missed her, meaning I didn’t get an email or anything that she was going to lunch. She said she was really busy, due to the grant paperwork her office was in the middle of, that she had just gotten time for a break, and had eaten at her office. Well, that’s fine. I got my meal (to go) and stopped by on my way back. Asked her what she was reading. She showed me, but didn’t say anything about it, so I just said I’ll see her, (she was already turning back to her book) and waved bye.

    lame-award.gif

    I’m such a lame-assed fool. I guess I was cool enough. If all she wants is my friendship, she’s got it. I’m still in love with her, not in love with my wife; I like Karen, don’t like my wife.

    Still trying to finish work on the house. So much left to do. And I’ve got a union contract to negotiate starting tomorrow, and an economic analysis of the services I provide at work so I can present that to the bean counters before the end of the month. At least I got my taxes done. I’m so predictable, reliable, unimaginative. Hell, I sound like one of the guys they always talk about on the news or TV shows: “He was quiet, nice, never caused any trouble.” But he committed some major crime or crimes. All I want is a little happiness. I’m ready for some happiness, but I seem to pick the wrong women.

    I’m ready to live alone, but I’d rather be with Karen. I’d rather be happy really. Should I just trust that I am going to find someone like Karen some day? Or keep this fantasy of an unrequited love going?

    Thinking about Karen again

    k.jpg

    April 12, 2007

    Since this blog is all about obsession:

    Her name was ranked 164 in popularity for girls in the US in 2005.

    The meaning of her name is “pure.”

    I should wonder why I think about her so much, but I know. 1.) I’m obsessive anyway, and 2.) I actively feed my obsession with daydreams, fantasizing and this blog.

    Spaced Out Kisses

    April 11, 2007

    kissherkissher.jpg I’d like a long soulful kiss with Karen, with my arms around her. I’d like to run my hand through her hair, kiss her cheeks, her eyes, her neck, her nipples, and belly. Love to explore her body with my hands and lips. Sigh. What a fantasy! Unreal, unrealizable, untenable, undo-able, unacceptable. Instead, I sent Karen a link to the Show Me SciFi blog here. She loves most of the shows mentioned: Stargate Atlantis, Babylon 5, Battlestar Galactica. She ‘s seen the old shows and follows each series as much as possible. I don’t have the Sci Fi channel, or cable or dish even, so I can’t watch these shows anymore.

    Loved Babylon 5. And, it was the first thing we ever talked about when we were introduced to each other as havingb5ltdedjrnl.jpg something in common. The characters in that show were so fully explored, along with the concepts of war and peace, inter-species rivalries, inter-species love, prejudice and hope for humanity. J. Michael Straczynski is quite a writer, and Karen is certainly one of his biggest fans. It’s interesting to speculate on the closeness of my appearance and age to Straczynski. Karen reads and watches everything he puts out, every comic, graphic novel, movie or TV show. We both admire his politics and philosophy. Sometimes I think she has a crush on him. She certainly admires his work a great deal, follows his postings, reads the Straczynski Project Watch, and eagerly awaits every new book or show. I wonder what she would think if she knew I was just as fascinated with her?

    Le Guinn stories

    April 09, 2007

    orsiniantales.jpg I wonder if Karen will notice the story I marked for her? I dogeared the page, and then, just to make sure, I underlined the story in the table of contents. Ah, she might notice, but she’ll ignore the message. “Not appropriate,” she’ll think. The story is ‘The Lady of Moge’ : friendship, marriage not an option, gender role reversal, regrets that they did not connect when they were young. There’s much in it that connects my tale of happiness at meeting Karen, my unsatisfied love, my regret at never being able to consummate my love. A story with a powerful woman, and a man thrown off balance. Perhaps not directly parallel to myself and Karen, this story did remind me so much of this unrequited love affair I have in my head. We even have an element of role reversal. Usually, Karen would walk me back to my lab, instead of me walking her somewhere. I did walk her to her car a couple times, but she seemed to like walking me back. At first, I was a little nervous, since we had our little parting hug, and I thought people might take it as more than it was. Of course, I screwed that up, and now I could care less what people think anyway. (Too late). Quoting from the story: “He left her, full of exaltation; but when he got to his room he sat down, feeling suddenly very tired, and blinking often, as if on the point of tears.”

    Life is a joy with Karen in it.

    April 04, 2007

    happyhappyjoyjoy.jpgAnd what a joy it was to see Karen again after these few weeks.

    The weather is warm, so she had a short, deep purple dress on, and black heels. I could see her ankle tattoos once again. She wore a pewter rose on a chain around her neck. She also wore her black jacket in case the cafeteria was cold. She’s a sharp dresser. She is a thoroughly beautiful woman, but the most she will let me say is that she looks nice. Sigh. She looks fantastic. We had a nice lunch. Brought her a collection of early Le Guinn stories. She took it with her. I’m glad we have that in common. I also brought in a book I just got and read, a graphic novel from 1950 called, It Rhymes With Lust, which is not so much about lust as it is about power and corruption and the power of newspaper editors. It’s a great story, recently reprinted, but Karen passed on that one. Walked her back to her office. Not much going on in her life she says, but she manages to be busy with home, family. Hmm, family; if only, if only.

    Ah, Karen!

    onfire.jpg April 04, 2007

    Heard from Karen:

    I was wondering if you wanted to meet today for lunch instead of Friday? I don’t know what my schedule on Friday is going to look like, and they have Indian Tacos in the hospital cafeteria.

    Woo hoo! It’s been awhile. My mood is suddenly brighter; I feel like singing. That woman sets my heart on fire. hearts_on_fire.jpg

    More obsessions

    April 01, 2007

    forbidden2.jpg As nice as this fantasy is, warped as I am, my mind finds things to wonder about.

    Cats. I have two cats. They are outdoors cats, coming and going as they like. I can’t move into an apartment. In my fantasy I live with Karen, but what about the cats? We’d need a house with a yard, and her cats are strictly indoor cats. Couldn’t leave doors open. I think Karen would be pretty upset if her cats got loose and lost.

    Parents. Karen already said her parents would freak out to meet me. Understandable, considering the age difference. I could dye my hair and beard, make myself look younger for that meeting? Hah! My age would have to come up at some point if we were dating a lot or more. Kiss of death being this old, compared to her.

    Eating lunch with Karen and running into my ex wife from 15 years ago. Now Karen knows I have a track record. One marriage down; one rocky. Now in addition to age, I am a risk. Once, when Karen and I were talking about her moving out, and how she couldn’t afford it, I flippantly said she could move in with a boyfriend, then she’d be out. She laughed. Her parent’s wouldn’t allow that – living with someone outside of marriage. So that was when I first knew she wasn’t into shacking up; she wasn’t about to share a place with a man she wasn’t married to. Of course, I’d marry her. Of course, she doesn’t want to marry someone like me!

    I used to wonder about a sexual relationship. I have no idea what her views on sex are. Casual sex OK? but living together is not? Dating sex? But we can’t date unless I’m single, if, hah! if Karen wanted to trust me that much to date. It’s all so crazy. I still don’t know if I misunderstood everything from the beginning, or if something changed along the way.

    I must be a classic obsessive type.

    From 1st post: “being in unrequited love is a tortuous experience, however, it can simultaneously be a source of great joy, sometimes providing the lover a sense of fulfillment for having somebody to love, even though that love is not returned. The lover may feel this satisfaction is worth the emotional distress they must suffer.”

    Such a rush.

    March 31, 2007

    Well, Karen may be busy, but she did read the emails I’ve sent, even if she doesn’t feel the need to respond. I dreamed that I saw her and took her hand and she kissed me, whisky-kiss-web.jpg which is much more realistic than the dream of wild_abandon.jpg wild sexual abandon and fathering two kids. Of course, all my fantasies are doomed to be just that: fantasies. And that realization has slowed me down, but not stopped me. It is amazing to me how much I enjoy fantasizing about Karen.

    - Such a big age difference.

    - Her unwillingness to get involved with married men, which is, of course, very sensible.

    - But Omygod do I like to imagine my arms around her.

    What’s funny is that I think I am going to get divorced. Karen would not ask, would not encourage such a thing. If, if, if she was interested in the first place. Clearly I’ve reached a point where I am not in love with the dragon, not tied to her anymore, no longer feeling monogamous. I used to think that if the relationship with Karen started to go anywhere, then I’d get divorced in a second. I don’t think it matters anymore. I would prefer living alone to this relationship I’m in. It’s just not a very happy life. Karen told me once that no one should stay in a loveless marriage. Not entirely loveless, but: no affection, scheduled sex, passionless sex, passionless kisses, if at all. There’s love in there somewhere, but is it enough? I still have to finish building the addition – so much work to do: finish the roof, finish the outside, paint the outside and trim – not just the addition, but the entire house, finish the addition’s interior: electrical, drywall, painting. Then what? Just leave? With all that work and money invested? moneypit.gif On the subject of compensation should we split up, The Dragon says, yes, I’ve contributed. Contributed? I pay the entire house payment, and have for years. I’ve replaced windows, screens, a glass door, a toilet, two sinks, the refrigerator, a stove and the water heater. I’ve sunk a lot into the house, and she’s put a lot of years of living and some money into it. She is not going to leave. chained.jpg She already told me once that it would be easy for me to leave, to start over. After all, I can make more money. She’s out of work now; how would she get enough money to pay me back? She says, “Don’t worry about it.” All one of us has to say now is, “I want a divorce,” and it’s all over. Karen knows none of this; she doesn’t want to get into such personal discussions. I’d love to talk to Karen about this. That’s the typical story, isn’t it? Guy confides his marriage problems to another woman, leaves wife. Karen wouldn’t do it. She is amazingly strong and independent, even though she still lives with her parents. She is working a regular job now, and saving up to get her own place in the near future. She has even started buying things she’ll need. O, that I could be as young chronologically as I feel! Shopping for a place to live with her, shopping for furniture, appliances. Planning our life together. Wow! that is such a pleasant daydream. Gives me a rush_hi.jpg to think about. How is this going to end?

    Aug. 12 is Karen Martyrs Day

    March 30, 2007

    withdrawal_.gif

    I said I was going into Karen withdrawal, so I went looking for Karen on the internet. I find these tidbits:

    Statistically, Karen is the 36th most popular first name in the USA.
    More than 99.9 percent of people with the first name Karen are female.

    thekarens.gif Karen are an indigenous people to the southeast Asian countries of Thailand and Burma. The population numbers around 14 million in that region with the majority of living inside Burma. Traditionally, most are farmers who farm the nutrient rich soils of southern Burma and eastern Thailand. The religion of the majority is Animism and Buddhism although Christians constitute roughly 30% of the population. They are made-up of smaller subgroups who, in some cases, speak in their own dialects. There are, however, two main groups: the Sgaws(S’waw) and the Pwos. To most people who are familiar with them, they are known for their colorful traditional clothes and for their energetic and jubilant festival dances. Foremostly, they are known for their hospitality and friendliness which they readily extend to everyone. Aug. 12 is Karen Martyrs Day.

    And this:

    karens.jpg Karens, an evergreen azalea:
    R. ‘Hinodegiri’ x R. yedoense var. poukhanense

    Flower deep reddish-purple openly funnel-shaped, wavy lobes, 1-3/4″ across, slightly fragrant. Lax inflorescence with 3-4 flowers. Blooms early midseason. Leaves elliptic to narrowly obovate, apiculate apex, cuneate base, 1-1/4″ long, glossy, hairy, moderate olive green, wine-red in winter. Plant has a rounded growth habit. Grows to a height of 4 ft. in 10 yrs. Hardy to -25°F (-32°C).

    Going into withdrawal

    March 28, 2007

    love_sucks.jpg Going on three weeks now without seeing her. Got this today: “… Sorry it’s taken so long to respond, but I have been very busy lately…. About lunch, this Friday is the last day of work for one of the girls at the office and she has asked me and several others to meet her for a last get together. I am also meeting Jeannie for lunch tomorrow. We will definitely have to get together next week though. Talk to you later, Karen.”

    Should I be happy? I am. 

    If Words Could Hug

    March 27, 2007

    Photographer: Christopher Tovo, Sydney, Australia

    What is wrong with me? I know that Karen just wants to be friends, but I keep trying to find a way to have misunderstood her. I gave her a Xmas card for “a good friend”. Perhaps there is more to her feelings for me, but I put her off by acknowledging us only as friends? Ha! I know it’s not so; we can only be friends, and that will probably end soon enough. I have never had many friends; never wanted lots of friends. I call Mark my friend, although we don’t hang out much anymore. Other than that, I used to consider my ex-girlfriend from many long years ago a friend, but not anymore. Karen would be my best friend in that case. We’re not really all that close. The whole relationship exists in my head only. She has friends, male and female, and I’m lucky enough to be one. Hard to separate the boundaries of friendship from my feelings for her. People used to openly admit feelings for their friends. All that is forbidden me here, and rightfully so; I’m sure Karen doesn’t want to encourage me! If only I could accept just being her friend. The fantasy is so enjoyable! Perhaps all it means is that I’m ready to move on, to love someone other than my wife. Karen has so much to offer me, and I’ve little in the way of what she needs to offer her, like youth, for example. Oh man, the idea of having a child with her thrills me, sends me into an ecstasy of fantasy. Damn good thing I enjoy this fantasy, ’cause it ain’t ever gonna happen. Could happen with someone else, but I’d have to be single again, meeting lots of women. How would I ever meet such a woman as Karen? There are lots of pretty women, even smart ones like Karen. But young enough to still want to start a family? nataku-baby.jpg Who loves children as I do?  Someone fascinated by science fiction and anime? Someone who knows the difference between a comic book and a graphic novel? Who likes the X-men, Peter Parker, Marvel comics, dark otherworldly stories? Someone who may be as deep and introverted as me? Who is also politically astute? Karen is amazing. Give me three wishes and they would all have to do with Karen.

    Friends. We’re friends, she said.

    March 22, 2007 (part 2)

    Forbidden

    Sent Karen an interesting link to a blog today: http://sanityforsale.wordpress.com/2007/03/18/blackwater-bushs-shadow-army/ and sent her a picture of my bother with his new bride. She opened it quickly. A little bit later I got an email from her. No mention of the blog or picture; just that she won’t be able to meet me tomorrow; she has work obligations. Doom. I have been convincing myself for the last two weeks that I wasn’t in love with her, that I could live without her, that I wasn’t even attracted to her sexually anymore. Not true. My neurosis is that I feel rejected; feel like Karen is finally going to put me aside for her younger friends. Perhaps she’s interested in someone? Perhaps she has another lunch date? Ah, well. Sad. If only she knew. God, if she knew all this she’d file a restraining order. Hell, yes, I want to feel that woman’s body pressed against me. Hell, yes, I want to kiss her, taste her body, taste her cunt. I want to slide into her with my arms around her and make love until I explode in a mad burst of passion and mindlessness. Love that woman. Perhaps I should say ‘in love’? How can I love someone I see but one hour a week? We’ve never really dated, seen a movie, traveled anywhere together, kissed, held hands, discussed things in any deep and meaningful way. In lust? At first. But I miss her every day I don’t see her, want her every time I do see her. I enjoy being with her, thinking about her, dreaming about her. I see other women around and I think about how they look like Karen. Who was I kidding? I’m still in love with this woman Karen. She told me about Max and Miriya in the Japanese anime series; how Max thought he was in love with someone, but really there was someone else he really loved. Karen said she just wanted to slap him sometimes, because he was so dense. slap.jpg She mentioned someone else who was married in the series, but having an affair. His lover asked him to leave his wife, but he refused. In my imagination, Karen was telling me something. IF only she would ask me that! Could be a done deal. This marriage is so bad now; the dragon blows up at the slightest thing. I’ve lost my temper again. She is so irritating. I shouldn’t put up with her; shouldn’t stay with someone who doesn’t kiss me; hold me, or want me. I think she only has sex with me (on her schedule) so I won’t have an excuse to divorce her for loss of affection. God, she’s the most unaffectionate person I’ve ever known my whole life! That’s the thing – how do I even know Karen would be any different? She certainly knows I have some feeling for her. If she had any for me, she’d have shown it by now. Friends. We’re friends. The kiss of relationship death for lovers, marriages. We’ll always be friends people say, and it’s never true. I want to get my motorcycle up past 145mph and see how far I can fly. I need more out of life than this, or none at all.

    Reality bites.

    March 22, 2007

    To follow up on the last post, I did meet Karen for lunch. Happened to run into my former boss, who was unknowingly standing next to us while we waited for our lunches. When I suddenly noticed him, I apologized for ignoring him, saying that I was distracted by a pretty woman and didn’t notice him. He got his order and left, and I noticed Karen had a strange look on her face. I asked her if I shouldn’t have said that; she said: “No, we’re friends,” emphasis on friends. O man, there is nothing like being brought back to reality by the object of your fancied imagination! Friends. Wow. That gave me lots to think about, like maybe I can live with that. Certainly I would hate to not see her anymore. We could be friends, especially if that’s the only way she’d ever see me. Of course, it’s all I can expect. Why would a young and beautiful woman want to have any other kind of relationship with an old fart like me? oldfartxing

    Forbidden fruit

    March 14, 2007

    Karen. The forbidden fruit.

    She was telling me something, right?

    March 08, 2007

    lovecondition.jpg

    Yeah, Karen let me know she was dating. One time, several weeks ago, I met her for lunch and we walked the short distance to the cafeteria. We have to stay close because of her new job. We used to walk 15 or 20 minutes to lunch and choose something different every time, but now we don’t go far. Waiting in line to order, she speaks to the new guy working there. “I’ll see you later right?” she says. He confirms that. Sigh. What can I say? jealousy.jpg We talk about his blue hair. The guy who used to work the coffee cart had blue hair. She remembers him. After we eat, we head out the door back to her office, but he runs out and calls her; some detail about their plans. Karen runs the few yards back, excitedly, and drops her glove, so I walk back towards them to pick it up. I can hear their voices, but not what they’re saying and I try not to. I hand Karen her glove as she walks back to me. She hadn’t even noticed that it fell. Thanks, she says. Her face is flushed and happy. “We’re going to dinner,” she says. Almost under my breath, I say, “I wish I could take you to dinner.” She just glances at me. Her look says: it’s not something I’m supposed to say; after all, she shouldn’t need to remind me I’m married again.woodchains.jpg

    Next Friday I wait for her email. She does send the email with the time she can go. Sometimes it’s 12, sometimes it’s 1:15; she doesn’t know in advance. After we get our food, and the two of them say Hi, I internally debate whether to ask. I decide to see if it’s OK to ask a personal question, so I ask her about her date. She says, “Oh, we didn’t go. He was in the mountains and got stuck there (there had been some snow), and couldn’t drive back that night.” That’s very odd, and I want to say I don’t believe that, but I bite my tongue. None of my business. Now I’m worried about her. She is very trusting, but, then again, she also doesn’t let people take advantage of her, so I shouldn’t worry. The following week I don’t ask again, and she doesn’t volunteer any information. Valentine’s Day is coming, so I begin to worry about that. I want to get her something, but it can’t be romantic. Of course, Valentine’s Day IS the romantic day of all days, so I should do nothing. I can’t do that; I’m going to have to remind her, hint at my feelings without blowing our friendship. Of course, even the electronic Valentine card, and the long-stemmed rose had no effect on her. At least I didn’t offend her. Well, shifting back to present time, tomorrow is Friday. I don’t know if I will hear from her. I’m determined not to email first, but the closer it gets to 12 o’clock, the harder that becomes. I’m looking forward to seeing her, as I always do, every Friday. impatient.jpg

    Obsession

    #4 March 07, 2007

    whiterose.gif

    Unrequited love and obsession go hand in hand certainly. Being obsessive means I don’t always live in the present. Time flows forwards, backwards, or skips around like a bad time travel experiment. It should come as no surprise that I’m thinking about Valentine’s Day three weeks ago. I love Karen, as I’ve said, and I have been in love with her for almost two years. I didn’t do anything last year, but this year I was determined to do something. I already had reservations at the Rancher’s Club for myself and the dragon, although, of course, I’d rather have been taking Karen. Nevertheless, Karen wasn’t going to go out with me anyway. A friend of the dragon’s had sent her tulips. I knew I was committed to giving flowers as well, and tulips wouldn’t do now, even though a red tulip signifies romantic love. I knew the dragon wouldn’t settle for less than roses. Well, I could buy an extra one for Karen, but that didn’t feel right. Of course, I shouldn’t be in love with someone else, shouldn’t be thinking of two women on Valentine’s Day, but, hey I am. Can’t get flowers ahead of time – where would I keep ‘em? I finally decide on getting a rose for Karen the night before. First I send her an electronic greeting card with a non-romantic message: just that I enjoyed seeing her smile. I picked out a long-stemmed white yellow-tipped rose. Red is for passion, and white is for love, so I had to go with yellowish for friendship, if Karen is aware of the meanings. Didn’t want to freak her out too much. So I bring the long-stemmed yellow rose to work folded in my bike bag.white-rose-closeup.jpg I run it up the hill past the cafeteria where Karen’s date from the week before works. Karen smiles at me as I walk in, and I give it to her. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” is all I can say. I wanted to include a poem about the red rose and the white rose, but decided against it. She is smiling as she says, “And it’s long-stemmed too.” I scooted off back to work. Never heard another word about it. Picked up roses for the dragon on the way home. She liked them a lot.

    The saga continues

    #3 March 06, 2007 (part 3)

    Ah, the saga continues! all on the same day! As I was writing the previous entry, I paused to send Karen a short article that I found on Ursula K. LeGuinn’s story, The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas, which compares her story to Lois Lowry’s, The Giver. I thought it was interesting, and nice that we could have this in common. I was able to check the status of the email, and she deleted it without opening it! Either she got mad at me today for bothering her, or I’m out of the picture now. And I can only wait for Friday to see if she sends her email about lunch. Sigh.

    Sighting

    #2 March 06, 2007 (part 2)

    fishrock-large.png

    Tuesday. Went to lunch late. The cashier asked, “By yourself today?” Yes, “I only have a lunch date on Fridays,” I say. They know. They’ve seen me and Karen together often enough. Ate my turkey & green chile sandwich while reading the news. On the opinion page are two letters on marriage; one is titled, “Successful relationships transcend right to marry,” and the other is , “Right to marriage shouldn’t be determined by the state.” Both are responses to an earlier column about gay marriage, but have different takes on the importance of marriage itself. Both agree that marriage laws should not prohibit any two people from marrying legally, although one author says marriage is not for him. That used to be my point of view too, but I’m in my second marriage, third if you count the not-legal hand-fasting ceremony in ’76 performed by druids. That was for love, but she bailed out early, in love with someone new. Love is not always enough. As I’m leaving the cafeteria I notice how warm and sunny the day has become. My thoughts drift to Karen. We could eat lunch outside next time. As I make my way back to work I see her, reading, back against a rock in the warm sun. bluebelly.jpg I want to sit with her. Knowing she doesn’t like to be disturbed on a non-Friday, I nevertheless come up behind her and crouch hesitantly on the rock. “Hi. What are you up to?” I ask, and it is so nice to see her, oddly dressed goth-like all in black in the hot sun. “Oh, just reading my book,” she answers, thrusting it up a bit for emphasis, and fixing her eyes back on it. She clearly wants to read, not talk. “Ah, that one,” I say, knowing she had been reading it last week, had it with her when we had lunch. Good stories by Ursula K. LeGuinn, one of the authors we both enjoy. “When do you have to get back?” I ask. “Oh, real soon, ten minutes. She coughs a little into a handkerchief. “Are you better?” I ask, as she had been fighting a cold on Friday. “Yes, she says, but she clearly wants to get back to her book. “You look very warm all in black in the sun”, I say, unable to tear myself away just yet, and loving the look of her. She throws a distracted, “Yes,” at me, so I know I have to go. “I’ll let you get back to your reading,” I say, and she nods.

    Well, it’s always nice to see her, especially the same day I started a blog about her.

    I love to torture myself. Karen is such exquisite torture.

    Karen. The Blog Begins.

    March 06, 2007 – 1st post, it begins.karenbasrelief2.jpg
    I am in love with this woman Karen. It is not reciprocal. That doesn’t stop me from feeling high whenever I see her, a picture of her, or think about her. I think about her often. According to Wikipedia’s entry on unrequited love,

    “Falling in love produces a very different hormonal and psychological state than that of an established, mature love, even when such an older love is very happy and fulfilling. Many people crave this feeling so badly that they repeatedly look for new objects of infatuation and even break off old relations when this causes them great emotional trauma (often repressed). Many accidentally discover the much less traumatic ways of attaining the high they crave by flirting or by looking for an unattainable object of love. Especially poets and other artists often do this deliberately — in fact, many are not able to be productive otherwise — and they often know that this way of loving and living was much more common in past centuries. For probably most people, however, being in unrequited love is a tortuous experience. For them too, however, it can simultaneously be a source of great joy, sometimes providing the lover a sense of fulfillment for having somebody to love, even though that love is not returned. The lover may feel this satisfaction is worth the emotional distress they must suffer. They may prefer to stay in love rather than move on. However, for the majority it can be a very frustrating and upsetting situation to be in. Unrequited love has also been the inspiration for and topic of many great works of art. Such works have brought hope and inspiration to the lovelorn and romantically inclined for centuries. There has been some movement towards treating prolonged unrequited love as a kind of mental illness, an illness that has led some people to commit suicide.”

    I see Karen every Friday. We have lunch. lunch.jpg That’s all there is. We share a love of cats, children, liberal politics, and fiction, especially Sci Fi and Anime, and the works of a particular writer. She suspects my feelings for her. Once, when I was sitting as she was leaving, she bent over to hug me, as was her habit, and I pulled her to me, meaning to kiss her neck. She pulled away and the hugs are gone. She knows. I sure she doesn’t know that I dream of her, fantasize and desire her all the time. What started as a sexual attraction became a desire to be with her, to watch movies together, cuddling on a couch or bed. movie.jpg Touching, kissing, holding her body in my arms. I have imagined exploring her delicate body. She looks younger than she is because of her small size, but I am not bothered by that. I’m sure she is bothered by the difference in our ages, but she says she has dated older men before. I would have been bothered by our age difference before, but I do not care what anyone thinks anymore. What she has also said is, “You’re married,” which sums it all up for her. One does not go out with married men, one does not try to take one woman’s man away from her. “What if I were single,” I ask her. She does not reply. She does not reply to anything I say that I should not say. She does not answer my emails at all. We’re friends, and all else is taboo. Does she know, or care, that I would marry her, have children with her? I love hearing her speak of her baby niece. Her niece likes Karen, and Karen enjoys her company, enjoys making her smile, reading to her. I grew up with six brothers and sisters, reading to them, playing games with them, babysitting, changing, bathing and comforting them. I know about children, and I would give anything do anything sacrifice anything to have a child with Karen. I told her I was attracted to her, even though I had not been attracted sexually to any woman since I met The Dragon. It’s true, but I’m sure she doesn’t believe that; who would?
    I married the dragon because, for the first time ever, she was the only woman I wanted, the only woman who inspired passion in me, and that continued for many, many years. Not long before I met Karen, my wife had lost all desire for sex, and although never being a very affectionate person, she became even less so. Kisses are perfunctory, and I must initiate not only those but sex itself. Attempts to kiss her passionately are refused. She will cuddle in bed, her back to me. Touching her body is only OK if we are having or just had sex. relationships.jpg Oh, yes, we have sex. It is a thing of passion for me, the only time I can explore her body with hand and mouth and tongue, but she does not respond. She allows sex only on certain weekend days, and only once. She says she likes sex still, but would prefer perhaps monthly or less. What started as several times a week, and several times on those days, is now perhaps once a week, and moving to less and less. I don’t even know how I maintain my passion. She says dating sex is different. She didn’t know how long it would last, so sex then was part of our every night together. Sex is not everything. But the dragon’s voice is usually full of recrimination, anger, antipathy. She frequently drinks to be happy. She is nicest when she’s drinking, but sometimes, even then, loud and hostile. She rarely smiles, or rarely smiles when she is with me.
    How much I enjoy Karen’s smile! karenssmile.jpg Seeing her laugh is a great joy! But I am an older and foolish man. “And married,” I sure she would say, if she were to respond to things I say that are outside the boundaries. Why can’t a man have more than one love? At first I wanted to have both women in my life. It is difficult to stop loving someone. I will always love the dragon, but I crave passion and joy so much. If only I could choose! The choice would be easy now. I would choose Karen. She will not choose me. And yet, I persist in this love of her, and my fantasies do not abate. Perhaps it is the only way I can be happy.

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