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 worked part-time in the department: Karen.

Karen and I hit it off right away, discovering that we had 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 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.  

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 a cast-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.

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?

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!

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?

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.