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Archive for the ‘Argh This Man is DRIVING Me Crazy!!’ Category

I’ve never been as lonely as I have in those moments when I am missing him.
When I am seeking his voice on a day when 5 seconds on the telephone would make weeks of grey clouds clear.
When I hear people, celebrating, or just gathering together as friends on their decks on hot summer nights, and I can’t reach him, this is when I feel alone.

I’m in a moment of questioning. I have big answers now, but they don’t seem to make the questions fewer. I want the answer from the universe. Why? Why did you put us together, Type Geek and I? Am I supposed to teach him something, or visa versa? Give me the lesson plan already! Let me skip to the last chapter and see what the outcome is. I don’t even know what chapter I am in. I feel like I am living a slow French film, without the gratuitous sex. Like a French film, it will probably end abruptly, with no explanation and everyone in the audience will be left scratching their heads and looking to each other for understanding.

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So, I am wondering about all of your dates that could have been potentially dangerous. Scenarios in which the men, or women, weren’t what they said. Either they were married, had criminal records, didn’t want to take no for an answer, etc. You can all answer anonymously, but I am curious because Type Geek is intent on calling me nuts and psychotic for running background checks.  Not financial histories mind you, just basic name, age and criminal record. The more friends and colleagues I run this by, the more women tell me horror stories and men are on the fence. The men say that they would feel violated, however, if you are telling the truth, where is the violation? If you aren’t, shouldn’t the woman feel violated? Type Geek’s response stinks of the old “blame the victim” game. 

So, please readers, I’m interested in your horror stories. By sharing, you may enlighten many people’s eyes out there.

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It’s Valentine’s Day and I went to sleep at 4 am. I drove to Type Geek’s home last night, dropped off his things, tried to pick up my own and it didn’t happen. He didn’t answer the door, he didn’t answer his phone. I stood, on his porch, in full regalia. Tight charcoal grey dress, fishnets, vintage inspired cream and black t-strap heels, and a push up bra that rivals plastic surgery. Why? Multiple reasons. 1) I was aiming for reaction. I wanted him to see what he was fucking up. 2)I hoped I was wrong. I hoped there was any other explanation for everything and that possibly I would find myself in his arms.

An hour after I left, after picking up Haagen Daaz and sitting down to an ice cream sundae with magic shell,  I received a text. 15 minutes of back and forth texting, I said he owed me at least a 5 minute phone conversation. 40 minutes into that conversation I realized that, in many ways, I was wrong. It truly WASN’T about me, it was all about him and how deeply he is hiding away in his fear. What is he afraid of, I don’t think he even knows. He’s overwhelmed by life, by family, by career and by responsibility, and crippled by it all. This isn’t just about me and my pain. This is also about him and his pain. He apologized for it all, he realized he had no explanations, no excuses that were worth expounding on, in the end, he just chose to put his head down and not see me, rather than look up and at me.

My friends keep chanting, “down with the douche bag.” , but it isn’t that easy, is it? Not when you love someone, not when you find that one person who fits into your puzzle and who you can accept for all his or her scars, faults, fears and baggage and in the end, you can actually see yourself with this person, regardless of all of that. You can see yourself old with them, a lifetime of experiences behind you both, years of joy that reduce the emphasis of the painful moments we all experience as human beings. When you are in love with someone whose broken pieces fit into your missing pieces. Something deep and unexplainable, unreachable, tells me that this man is worth fighting for. I just don’t know what to fight when he doesn’t know why he’s hiding.

In the end, we are final. It is final. Unless another solution to this issue presents itself, my ten months with Type Geek have come to an end. I end this message, on Valentine’s Day, with tears. Tears over what I found, a truly open and aware love that I was unaware I was capable of, and tears over what he and I are losing, collectively.

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