All I'm asking for is universal justice, you know. Is that so fucking much?


Yeah.

Wallow

Before the break up, if you can even call it that, I put together a bit of a goodbye playlist and ran it over and over, occaisionally adding, deleting and refinsing, but playing it again and again.

Once things were said and done though, I stopped. I put on music that was more rockin' and I stepped up and out and decided it was time to move on. That my heart hasn't quite followed suit is no matter.

Tonight though, I'm going, in this empty hotel room, to put on some Ryan Adams, play it on my tinny laptop speakers and ask myself over and over.. "Oh, why do they leave..." and if she'd only just "be my winding wheel". Fucking music. Fucking love. Fuck.

Routine

Perhaps you know this one. Wake up early despite not wanting to get out of bed. My stomach twists itself into knots and I tell myself it's hunger, but I have no appetite. I get myself ready and I force myeslf to eat, though probably not enough. I will be distracted today and only the things I absolutely must get done will receive any focus. For these I will marshall my strength and plow through, and while they seem an annoyance at the time, I will be thankful to have them.

I will falter between wanting to be alone and needing to get out with friends to take my mind off things. In both situations I will decide that the other would be better. I will wait obsessively and quietly for a phone call, text or email that may or may not come. It probably won't. I will think that it would be best, should it come, to not take the bait and to let the email be unreturned or tell the caller that she should not call anymore, but whether or not this will be possible I do not know.

I will think about what I would like to say to her constantly, trying to phrase it in a way that is kind, but always coming back to my anger and hurt. I will wonder how much of why I hurt is artificial, of my creation, and how much of it really was her not treating me right. Much of me will hope that this isn't who she is, that it was temporary and won't happen again and maybe that's true, but it happened, I will tell myself, and once was enough. Would it be better for me to tell her off to make myself feel better, or is that wrong?

All this will happen and I will sit and watch it, partly detached from the knots in my stomach and the steady screech in the back of my head and wonder when the fuck it will go on and be over so I can move back into myself and carry on. I think, hopefully this time, not too long.

You. Especially you.

What I told you tonight, in my halting conversation that you made me bumble through on my own with little help and no emotional support, was that I felt you had withdrawn. I told you that I wasn't quite sure why, but that you had hinted it was about where I was with my career, and maybe about money. I told you about what I wanted and where I felt I was going, and you listened calmly and picked that apart before letting me know that you didn't even think that was the issue. What it was, in the end, was that you just didn't want me enough. You knew it, you guessed, but hadn't really admitted it, because you weren't sure why. I was polite, getting this answer out of you. I had to lead you to it and that was disappointing. I was not critical though, I was understanding and I said that I had fun and that I would miss you.

What I did not say and wanted to is that was shit. When you come on strong like you did, and keep up with the wanting and talking about the future and big things and allowing dreams and hopes to happen, you have a certain responsibility to the feelings that you breed. You don't just withdraw for ten days emotionally and physically and then make me draw it out of you. You don't tell me that I've ruined sex with anyone else for you. You don't keep acting ever so slightly jealous (in that new relationship way) of women and past loves when it's you who has one foot out the door. You don't omit. It is lying, it is crap and I expected better of you. What I liked in you in the start was the honest, up-front attitude you wore on your sleeve, and if you think being emotionally dead with me while you make me break up with you because *you* don't want *me* enough has any resemblance to being honest and upfront, then you are not the person I thought you were. I did not think that you would be one of the ones who broke up with me by making me suffer until I had to say the words myself, though even as I write this, I remember times that I had done the same and that mitigates my anger. Still, even when I made that mistake with another's heart, I didn't come on so strong. I tried to be clear about my intentions, rather then trying to hide them while someone else figured them out. You disappoint me, but at least I know you were not worth the years that I wondered.

I hate that you made me feel like shit, that you made me feel little right up to the end while you made yourself out to be the one who was strong and unshakeable, but as much as it may be difficult to believe in this moment, I know what true strength looks like, and I know what cowardice is. You are a coward, and that I didn't see this and allowed myself to fall for you nevertheless hurts me most of all.

Today Was...

Chivasana (sp?) is the hardest pose and as I lay in it, my mind kept tumbling back to the inevidable conversation to come. Got to stop hashing myself through that one. No call today, no text, not that I called or wrote either. You pull away from me, I give you space rather than go chasing after. It's just how I operate now. It's not a game, you just don't go through certain things and not come out the other side... well... different.

Anyway, the pose, yeah. Couldn't concentrate, and in the drive to the turf and the changing of clothes, all I wanted was a little whiskey and a little beer. That I got, sitting at the bar by myself with a book and my notepad, scrawling and reading and not speaking to anyone at all lest I could help it. The woman next to me got up, leaving no one between me and her hot friend, who suddenly started acting in a way to draw more attention to herself, exclaiming about things outloud, reaching her hands in the air and stretching her tight, lean body for me to see. I'm not often one to think that someone is interested in me when I'm out at a bar. It's usually the last thing I'd think to notice, but sometimes it happens and you just see it plain as day. I didn't bite, though I watched her stretch and looked her up and down unabashadly.

There may be little hope left for what I want, but little is still some, and I'm not about to fuck it up on a night out on the town. At least I've grown up that much. That's a comfort, if nothing else.

I'm not about to stick around for much longer and let the come on strong and pull back fast rollercoaster thing contiue either. It's not my first day at the rodeo, and I've picked up a few tricks. I've learned when to duck and cover and when to rush headlong in, and while the instinct is always for the latter, I've learned to save it up for when the time is right. I'm proud of myself for that one.

The Thrill Is Gone...

Man, but I was hungry when I got up this morning. The pangs even woke me at 4:30-- an hour and a half before my alarm, and then every so often until 6. I ate a full breakfast before catching the train and even had a snack on the way up, while I listed to my new playlist, did some work, stared out the window and ran the impending conversation, that it's really too early in this relationship to have, through my head. I needed to be honest, kind, but without couching anything, and resolute. There are certain realities of my life that are not going to change and if she doesn't like them, or can't accept them, then she can't accept me. You're in or your out and you can take some time to figure out the particulars, but while you're doing that, you can't flake out on me. Maybe that shit flies for some guys, that rules shit, but not here.

This is not, of course, the exact conversational tack I was planning, but you get the gist of it. Pretty much whether or not she wants me is up to her, and I can't and won't try to convince her one way or the other, but she needs to decide. If she can't it's over. No decision means the decision gets made for you. I felt prepared to do this. I hate when someone makes you break up with them by extreme passivity, and really hadn't pegged her for it. I still hold out hope that I'm wrong. I'll be very disappointed if I'm not, but I am prepared all the same.

I started thinking maybe it was all the ab work in yoga that was hurting me so bad. I'd had a lot to eat, but still felt twisted and empty. By lunch, when I'd run myself through my conversation plan for the umpteenth time, twisting it this way and that and tasting it in my head (of course it will be nothing like that when it actually comes out-- eloquence is much easier in a one sided conversation) and then pushing it out, only to feel it creeping back in again and again, by that time hunger was full on gnawing so I ate a really big lunch: rice, beans, plantain, fries, salsa and a grilled chicken breast. Good stuff, but it might as well have been sawdust to me. I slogged through it without any desire, none of it filling the hole in my belly, until it was cold and I felt to disgusted to it any more? What was wrong? Was this not hunger? Was I getting sick again? Was it gas?

I'm usually one of those pretty in touch with my body type of guys, but this one had me stumped. It wasn't until we went out for dinner before the drive home to LA that it hit me, ready for disappointment or no, just how damned much I missed her. That, my friend, I was not prepared for. Fuck. There was the explanation for the empty pit in my gut. The stomach is the most sensitive organ to human emotion, but it was my heart that hurt.

Now there's a surprise.

What A Fine Day For A Parade...

Is it so unreasonable to want to be wanted an unreasonable amount? I mean, I'm asking here. This isn't one of those posts where I try to tell you what is what and where it's at, 'cause we all know what those are about. I just really want to know what you think. At least in the beginning, is it unreasonable to want to be wanted a crazy, silly, stupid amount?

Let me know so I can ignore you, since I already know both that the answer is yes and that I'm going to keep on doing it anyway.

I Know A Girl Who Should Never Be Alone...

I'm cold. This isn't a Boston/New York get warm with your friends in a pub by the fire because, fuck, but it's freezing outside type of cold. This is a San Diego, place where it should be warm and probably you'd be wearing a thicker coat at this temperature anywhere else, but you're here and goddammit you're not about to, type of cold. That cold. This is a cold that sticks to the tip of my nose and clings around my ankles. It's a cold that worms its way in to a place where the San Diegan gas heater, or even that good, New York City pub fireplace can not warm. This is the cold of inquietude, of erosion of happiness.

I hate this cold. Hate. Search this blog and see how many times you find that word. Not many, I'd venture, but there you have it. I'm giving this cold a few more weeks and if it's still hanging around refusing to warm up, I'm going back to bed by myself, where it's warm and I know the lay of the land.

I promised to my wife and children...

Today was the first day back to work from the longest vacation and that's always a little bit strange. Tried to get back in the groove. Lots to do. Everyone was slow. I was slow.

About halfway through the day, I got a message from my friend that my favorite yoga instructor of 2 hour, gruelling Saturday morning classes had been killed in a car accident. I didn't know him very well, only as a teacher, and only for the past couple of months. I skipped the last few of his classes that I usually go to because I was too busy or tired and now I don't get to go to anymore. No one does. He was a very nice man. Picture all the stereotypical things that people don't like about yoga instructor types. He was the exact opposite.