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Archive for the ‘Endings’ Category

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Weeks. We haven’t talked. Emails not returned. Texts ignored. The silent treatment again. I get too close… Type Geek pushes back with greater force. My gut tells me it’s done. I have done all I could, said all I could, presented my best arguments for why YES, rather than why NO. Fear and shame are tricky things, and he has mountains of both.

I love that head of his though, the nose that twitches as he thinks of something, the pigeon sounds he makes when I kiss his back in the early morning hours and his tush, which is perfectly delectable and causes me to want to bite it every time I see it. In the marrow of my bones, I could grow old with him, but he can’t see me standing in front of him. How many more ways can you ask someone to try, when they can’t even hear you? We are supposed to “talk” soon. This week. We shall see how delightfully he words his Dear Jane speech.

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Illustration by Michael Hacker

Life doesn’t stop occurring because one person has died. You can’t expect for a giant hand to pick up a giant remote control and hit pause. Things don’t go back to normal because normal changes, it becomes something different, a new variation on normal. When an integral part of you is taken away, life becomes like traveling in a foreign land in which you don’t speak the language or recognize the shapes of the signs.

On Saturday evening, Type Geek’s brother was pulled from the machines, and he passed away Sunday evening, surrounded by family. They are now gathered at the family compound, silent and processing and mourning. I wish I could do more, do something, relieve the pain somehow, but this is my job, to wait and be available when he comes home. To not say anything and just listen. To hold him. Or, to give him space and allow him time to mourn the loss of his only big brother.

On Monday, life continued on, without any dramatic pause. All of the messy complications of living, the wrong drink at Starbucks, the long line of traffic, the irritation of not being able to hear your friend at lunch because the parties on either side don’t understand the concept of inside voices, and of course, hysterical mishaps that result in comedic injuries. The comedy of life doesn’t stop because death has happened. After an early lunch on Monday I stepped on wet concrete with a pair of Tom’s Shoes and one leg hydroplaned while one remained on a dry patch and resulted in my successful execution of an almost full split, without the flexibility required to do such a thing. My friend Poppy was with me as my right knee slammed to the ground in a quiet thud and my left leg extended out in an angle better left for Mary Lou Retten or Jenna Jameson. Left with a severe hobble I spent the rest of the day with an elevated leg wrapped in gauze and a stomach full of ibuprofen.

The comedy of errors doesn’t stop there. After Poppy left, I decided to finish this post and send it over to my syndicators, only my computer wouldn’t hold a charge and the thing wasn’t reading the ac power supply hook up. So, I frantically tried to finish it before the system shut down, only I didn’t make it. I tried writing my post via my not so smart phone but that didn’t work, and so I sighed and threw in the towel. I found an available Zipcar at 1 pm today and drove over to MicroCenter and bought a new power cord. The staff there is less than gentlemanly, seeing me hobble and obviously in discomfort, the fat older sales guy made me hobble down the aisles so he could sit his lazy ass down while we plugged in the adapter to see if it worked. Of course there was a plug exactly where we were, but having me walk the entire distance of the store, one hop at a time, seemed to be his particular style of customer service.

Now I am back home, and this post is late, but it is finished. At the end of my day, it’s just a post, a power cord, a comedic slip and fall resulting in a humbling bruise and dedication to becoming a bit more flexible so I am not so prone to overextension in the future (and yes, avoiding wet spots on concrete floors) because this is all just the filler for the space between the moments. Life isn’t about what we achieve, what we possess, what we are… it is about who we are and who we love and how we do that. Life is about the connections we make. Today, Type Geek is with his family and they are saying goodbye to his big brother and planning his services. Today, I am remembering that nothing else but that simple act of love and respect is what truly matters.

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Sometimes we all need perspective. We complain about our bad day, the traffic, the wait at the Starbucks… we curse our life. Our luck. Tonight they pulled Type Geek’s brother off of the machines. The constant transfusions that were keeping him alive, stopped. An IV drip kept him sedated and pain-free.

Meanwhile, I waited on impatient people. A Saturday night of delays, refires, wait times, and people who cursed their luck to get the table below the speaker or the beer 8 tickets deep behind 16 multi ingredient cocktails. They should thank the universe that they had the chance to wait for a table, to drink a beer or have their food refired. Someone somewhere isn’t so lucky. Someone is having their hand held as they slowly pass. Some painfully, some quietly, some alone, with no one to hold their hand and say good-bye, thank them for their friendship, their love, their existence.

We are all guilty of the complaints. Maybe for a few days, a week or even a month, we can consider that we have so much more than someone else and that getting the wrong drink from Starbucks is a small miniscule thing.

Hug the people you love. Tell them that they matter. Live your days because someone else can’t.

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Break ups are like an emotional Cha Cha or Fox Trot, lots of dancing around and sometimes you end up with something beautifully unexpected and sometimes you end up twisting an ankle and landing on your ass in front of a thousand people. Not sure which of these I am headed to yet.

Saturday was spent moving things from my condo, and receiving surprising texts from Type Geek. He suggested “I stop by if I wanted, you know, to grab stuff.” Well, did I really want to? No, but I knew that it was for the best. Although it was strange timing, his text. We spoke earlier in the week and he was surprised when I said that my offer to get together was one of friendship, that while I had feelings for him and missed him, I got it. He doesn’t want to be with me and I wasn’t trying to figure out how to seduce him, I was just trying to be his friend. 4 days later he texted me wanting me to swing by. 2 hours after I awoke from a dream in which my arms were wrapped around him in an auditorium of his peers, seated on a ledge, my arms and a shawl wrapped around him because he was exhausted and feeling ill. He leaned against me and exhaled, a slight smile on his face. Then, I awoke feeling saddened by the vivid memory of his face so close to mine. The warm skin against my cheek.

I missed him by 20 minutes. He had gone for a run, and I had stopped for iced coffee. Sitting there, on his porch, I realized he might have fallen asleep on his couch, so I tried to glance in and rouse him. he was not there, which I hadn’t realized at that time, but I saw that he had kept all of the flowers I had ever sent him, dead, but beautifully arranged, in his living room. This sight made me sad, as if my memory was on display. I don’t quite understand.

The rest of the evening was spent with a friend who is being sent on a year-long deployment to Afghanistan this Thursday. After a wicked margarita and a spicy chicken mole , a 20 minute drive that took 14 minutes on barren highway, and a quiet subway ride home with the dog, I  found myself laying in an empty bed, fighting restlessness, as the hours jumped forward and robbed me of sleep.

Today, the day was 15 degrees colder, and grey. I slept late, woke later and sat, feeling sorry for myself, writing words of nostalgia as the sun suddenly appeared through the blinds. Just then, I considered his face, sleeping, the morning sun warming his skin with golden light. I closed my eyes and breathed in his scent, felt his body against mine in the bed, nothing between us but those layers of skin. With my eyes closed, the text came in. “The sun came out.” I told him that his timing was impeccable and peculiar and then he told me that he was feeling depressed. I was headed to work, I wasn’t sure how to respond. I told him that I was headed to work and could offer an ear later, if he needed to call. He didn’t.

So, what now? I made a date with an English Prof who just got back from living in Europe for the last year and ate too much Nutella. Exhausted, I sit here, restless, and painfully in love with someone I can’t have and can’t lose.  A dance of forwards and backwards. Backwards and forwards.

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Starting to date again after falling in love with someone and then breaking up, well it just sucks. I am trying to get out there, trying to meet people, flirt, find some inkling of excitement in the prospect of new people and experiences, at a time when all I want some nights is to curl up into the warm soft space of Type Geek’s shoulder or chest or belly and find myself falling asleep. Big dramatic sigh.

Now, I went out with the Daddy WireFramer whose self-esteem issues had me completely turned off, I had sex with my Internet Skype guy, and I have been chatting with a few others on-line. It’s an interesting array of men, but all have a similar thread, appreciation for food. There is the Pac NW/NYC Foodie, the Real Estate Foodie, the Media Tech Getaway guy, and the Doggie Dad who just seems sweet. He’s older than I usually go, but I’m not expecting to fall in love here, I am trying to give my heart some room so that it can heal itself. This includes distracting myself in moments when I am finding myself reminiscing woefully. Last night I did this by playing a game with two different men, the foodies. The game was a little… Would you…Either/Or?  

The men would ask me 2 questions and I would need to answer 1, then I would ask 2 questions and they would answer 1. The questions ran from mild to naughty, from topical to highly inquisitive. Did it drive me closer to any of them? Not really. It did however bring me closer to sleep, closer to a sheer exhaustion that had me less restless, less consumed by the loss I feel without Type Geek. I miss his voice, his touch, his laugh. I know, he hasn’t been that for a very long time, yet I miss him, and those moments regardless. 

So, at 3:33 am, I find myself gamed out, and ready for sleep. 2 miles from Type Geek but worlds apart. I miss him and getting out there and trying to date only makes me more aware of what I have lost. The games with the other men, they are just that, meaningless games. Maybe someday the games will become more serious and I will find a worthy opponent, even if he isn’t that 5’8″ bald workaholic with an adorable tush and a palate worth creating culinary masterpieces for whom I fell in love with in 2010.

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It’s funny, meeting someone in person whom you have been virtual friends with for over a year. Nearly 13 months of sexual tension and in person, we are comfortable pals, yet beyond that, perhaps not much else. Internet Skype boy was having a weekend of bad reactions to some new migraine meds which ironically were causing low drive issues. The irony does not sneak past me here. I wanted a weekend of unbridled carefree fucking after 11 months of loving someone who had low sex drive issues and low interest issues. Nonetheless, we did have sex on Friday night, but the first time you fuck anyone is odd, grooves not found, rhythms not synced, and so I extended my trip one more night, to see whether things could line up more.

In between my first and last night… Parisian Macarons from BisousCiao. in flavors like Sour Cherry, Champagne Cocktails from Bubble Lounge and strolls through the Bowery. Apple Cider from The Union Square Greenmarket, naps on $7,000 couches at The Conran Shop, viewings of Time Bandits, and jokes about how I have lost my NYC street cred after ten years away.

So, how was the sex, second go around? It’s different. It’s not Type Geek. I was detached, yet forced to be present because of the sensation of fucking someone much larger than your previous partner. We fucked, it was fine. It was the punctuation, the ending to my one-sided relationship with a man I loved who couldn’t give anything except the occasional dinner, concert or overnight snuggle. Until there was sex with someone else, there was always just going to be Type Geek in my rearview mirror. After Skype boy and I fucked, after he washed up and went to bed, I laid there. The only night I was unable to relax and sleep. I missed Type Geek, even the small amount that I had him, the small amount that snuck through without him seeing it cozy up to me. I couldn’t help but wonder, has he thought of me at all since he saw me last. Did he ever miss me or was I unable to imprint myself even that much on him. I know it isn’t a reflection on me, it is merely a reflection on him and his bigger deeper issues, but nonetheless, I feel the loss and miss the him that I knew in those dark quiet hours between dusk and dawn.

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