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

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.  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. 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.

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.  I had no idea they did that.  Of course, Karen didn’t get the ticket.  It turned out that she already had 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

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 for the last few years is 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

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.

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

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 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 Lea at a Sci-Fi convention. Lea, 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. The friend of Bunny’s; we found a hayloft and pounded that hay into straw. 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 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 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. 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.   High school 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 would absolutely create a better society.  Always wanted to try out her silk sheets.  She wrote poetry, and I still have one of her poems: “…tripping lightly through fields of asphodel, lotus….”  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.

Lust, insanity, and, help me!

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. 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.

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 over a year ago, putting down my secret life, this unrequited love/limerence/obsession with a woman I know from work.  For three years I was obsessed with her, and I finally got over it.  Clinical records  actually show that three years is the typical period of limerence. So, 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

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.

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?

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; 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.

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 boyfirend, 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.

Fruit Wines and Blue Plate Specials

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 ( 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. 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.