Grazed Knees

They warn you not to go to bed angry,

but I've found it usually works:

time and sleep and silence cure my ailments.

But this morning I opened my eyes

with my fists still clenched and my heart still compressed

and ugly inside things

clawing at my rib cage

and climbing my throat,

trying to push themselves out of my mouth and,

finding my jaw unwilling to loosen,

they settle for second best and burn my tongue.

I sit boiling, rigid, and hell-bent on containment,

and finally see why you tell me

anger is a wasted emotion.

A Good Man is Hard to Find

      Friday during the day I was facebook chatted by a man almost a decade older than I, whom I have met a handful of times, who has always been overtly interested in me. If you've read carefully (which I'm certain you all have, right?) you will know that I am instantly put off by that. I hate it when people awkwardly stare and smile at me for extended periods of time. It actually makes me mildly disgusted. I'm sure there's something Freudian in there, but I'm not particularly interested in the psychological underpinnings of my sexual interests. I digress.
   So, he's facebook chatted me before, and asked for my number a month or so, which I begrudgingly gave him. I don't really know how to refuse my phone number to someone who isn't a stranger. I just feel like it's rude. Anyway.
   Our facebook convo went something like this:

Man Pushing 30: So, any plans for the weekend?

Self: Drinking. To excess.

Inappropriately Older Man: Want a partner?

Self does not reply.

Elderly Guy Who Lacks Subtlety: So, can I tell you something? It will sound weird in this context, but life's about taking risks, right?

Self: Uhh... maybe. I guess.

Senior Citizen: I think ur really cute :)

Self: Oh, thank you. That's nice of you to say. 

Social Security Recipient: So uh, can I ask you the same question?

Self: I'm not sure what you mean.

Retiree: What do you think of me?

Self: Oh, I think you seem very nice. But I'm... off the market, so to speak.

   He texted me that night asking where I was, and I told him I hadn't left yet but intended to go to a bar in our town. He replied that he was at a different bar, but would meet me there. I groaned in misery.

   Esther unsympathetically insisted that I agree to meet up with him, pointing out that he would pay my tab at the end of the night. I rolled my eyes and muttered something about not needing or wanting a man to do that.

  When he arrived, he proceeded to awkwardly smile nonstop at me and never break his gaze. He basically cornered me and rambled his life away for a couple of hours, told me he was going to marry me, repeatedly asked me "how crazy was it, what I said to you today?" and otherwise just generally creeped me out. I made excuses to leave every 10 minutes or so. 

   During these breaks from torture, I would take Esther into the bathroom and explain how much I hated what was happening. She drunkenly (and rather condescendingly, I might add) informed me that I needed to "deal with it" because "he was buying me drinks" and did I know how many guys stare at her and she deals with it? She insisted that I "learn to go with it." She then proceeded to bring up a few unfortunate looking fellows in the past month she has spent the night talking to at the bar in exchange for drinks. Frustrated, I insisted that I wasn't interested in leading men on in exchange for access to their wallets, and that I wanted to get the hell out of the situation immediately.

   "He's not that bad," she insisted. "He's not ugly."

   "I don't hook up with people because they're not ugly," I interjected, hotly.

   I realized pretty quickly that these trips to the bathroom were doing little, aside from enraging me further, and miserably stepped back into the bar where he would descend on me like a piranha.

   He gradually moved in closer and closer and awkwardly began rubbing my back and legs. I moved as far away as I could, but it was pretty crowded in there.

   I eventually found Esther outside and incomprehensible. Seizing the excuse, I told him we had to leave immediately and made an unceremonious departure.

   After we left, the night improved substantially. We went back to the apartment of two guy friends where she got something to eat and we all hung around laughing for a few hours, until Bobby picked me up and took me home.

   It was the first time we'd seen each other in weeks and, thrilled, I spent the car ride home basically just grabbing and squeezing him and shrieking about how happy I was to see him. He just laughed the whole time.

   When we pulled into my driveway, I took my seatbelt on, leaned over and grabbed him in an embrace.

   "I MISSED YOU I MISSED YOU I MISSSS YOUUUU!" I squealed.

   "You're squeezing my head," he replied.

   "I KNOW! I AM! I love you! Ahhhhhhh I love you so much I can't stand it! Oh, shit, I'm squeezing your head!" I released him, and he leaned back in, grinning.

   "No, no, I like it."

High and Low

   I guess it was inevitable; nothing stays perfect.  We preserved it remarkably well though, and I think we deserve credit for that.
   Oh, there were obstacles and there were certainly mistakes.  We've had confrontations, disagreements that have escalated into silence.  But so short-lived, so few and far between!  And so easily left behind when finished. Practically immediate returns to our sweet, mutual bliss!
   And somehow we completely disintegrated, my Bobby McGee and I, through unfortunate twists of fate and alternating stubbornness. It's effortlessly functional when it's right because of our compatibility. We are so alike in all the right ways. Our love of adventure, of salvaging other people's refuse for our own repurposing, finding excitement in the most mundane tasks, staying up all night talking as our souls fill the air surrounding us, connecting and growing. Our respect for each other was only matched by our affection for and appreciation of one another. And there was such an easiness, a comfort in looking at you and seeing a reflection of myself. A completeness. We laid on couches together and designed our futures like the insides of houses, details draping beautifully like custom made window dressings, every so often making slight adjustments to maintain balance and symmetry. We chose songs wedding songs, planned out children's schedules. Our dreams were the same, with our hopes and fears so frequently lined up. 
   I can't believe we've stayed so off-measure for so long. We'd been in perfect tune for so long, I never saw it coming. I'm not sure how to get our song back in key. I'm not sure where to begin, or if I'm capable of it. If we both decided it was worth it, we'd have a chance. But we can't get it right.
   As similar as we are in the right ways, we are too much the same in the wrong ways. Our stubbornness, insensitivity, coldness and defensive detachment are harsh and merciless. We collide bleakly. I don't see our future anymore. I lost sight of it. I don't know if I can get it back. I don't even know if I want to. Not because I don't want us to be us anymore, because I do. I just don't know if I can handle the work required to rebuild us. And will we ever be the same, anyway?
   I have a habit of letting go the instant things turn sour. That way, when the bad taste fades, all the memories are intact, are sweet, are perfect. And every time I convince myself it's worth it and work up the courage to make an effort, you disengage. I know this is a reaction to my detachment. I'm sorry. I'm trying to overcome it. 
   I just don't really know. I don't know a thing. I do not know a goddamn thing.

A Spoonful Weighs a Ton

   "You're a jerk."
   "Sorry, I always forget how sensitive you are. I was only joking."
   "Whatever."

   I'm doing my best not to feel bad, because you don't get to make me the bad one. You're not allowed to traipse back in at your leisure and suddenly be the victim. I'm leaving it there because it's already too far. What is with our mutual insistence on bludgeoning our relationship to death over and over and over and over again?  Can't we just let it die in peace?

Modern Romance

     How is it possible to have so many fucking contradictory thoughts that you mean wholly, 100% at the same time?  It's like I'm so many different people that I can barely keep my sentences straight.

      I want to be that normal, emotionally available girl who doesn't throw up in her mouth when her romantic daydreams come true. 


     I'm only interested in love if it comes with complete control.

Where I End and You Begin (The Sky is Falling In)

     Things have been different for a while now.  Six weeks perhaps?  Shorter?  Longer?  Who's to say?
     An eye roll here, a muttered aside there, a casual, caustic response.  And it's me, I know it's me.  Does it all trace back to a single afternoon?
     "It's totally your fault and I don't feel sorry for you."  "Did I ask you to?"
     And it grew, slowly, escalating quietly while we ignored it, wishing it would take care of itself.  Knowing it wouldn't, but wanting it to anyway.  Its manifestations were fewer and farther between in the beginning.   "You already asked me that."  The animosity was surprising, hurtful.  We buried it rapidly, only allowing a few tense syllables before the gentleness returned.  In its place was pleading, mostly from him, and from me ice. "I'm not saying that just to piss you off, it's true."  His attempts at sweetening the disagreements are rejected, heartlessly.   "Don't touch me."  Eventually the effort is wearing, and he gives in to my antics. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."  "It's not my personal opinion, it's common etiquette. It's not like I make this shit up."   Weariness turns to frustration as boredom and annoyance collide and spiral into bitterness. "After this drink, I'm leaving."  My apologies flood hurriedly, overwhelmingly, effectively.  Promises of love are issued and reissued softly, soothingly, as dissonance is assuaged into its more pleasant opposite.  And then it starts over.
     Apathy replaces heartbreak quickly, before I can even notice that it's painful.  This is my usual defense, the easiest and most effective.  And most destructive.  Neglect comes easily. Phone calls are ignored and not returned.  Texts left unopened, acknowledged only with a sigh.  Read days later and deleted as I roll my eyes.  Who are we and what happened to us?  It's mostly me, I know.  It's always mostly me.  I'm so uneasy in the face of conflict.  I roll my eyes and retreat, mumbling away my passive aggression.
     Until his masculinity builds, and all he has left to contend with is the overwhelming inadequacy of my half-sincere apologies for my constant absence.
     He begins hesitantly, nervously.
   "Don't say I didn't try!"  
   My reactions are so predictable, though maybe only to myself.
   "I never said that."
   He fumbles.
   "I mean in the future."
   I've stifled compassion.
   "Why would I say that?"  
   "Never mind."  
   Safe.  Conflict free.  Unscathed?  Alone.  Which is the only way to be safe.
     I've underestimated him.  I have that tendency.  With most everyone.  He regroups and confronts me, unwavering.  I barely acknowledge a syllable.  My self-control is rigid, inflexible.  I lock myself into  indifference and monosyllables.  This is how I ruin everything.  I know it's coming.  His frustration intensifies, I can feel him seethe in every word.  I actively disregard this.
   "I think you're taking this a little personally."  
  "I'm not.  We had all these plans..."  
   I focus on emptiness.
  "I really don't know what to say."
     Struggling to get comfortable, I twist and turn.  I breathe deeply, concentrating on the harsh intake of air and its controlled release.  Control.  Control.  Control.  I can't sleep.  Nothing ever keeps me awake.  I can sleep off anything.  Why am I still awake?  I lie, listening to the slow, automatic beating of my cold,  empty heart.  "I'm sorry," I almost whisper to the darkness, but I'm not willing to give that up yet.
     Am I about to lose the best friend I've ever had?

Fickle Cycle

     Aren't we getting too old for this?  Or will you never grow up?  I'm ready for something else.  You're exhausting.
     I'm frustrated with your half-assed, half-hearted attempts to meet me halfway.  I've filled years with frantic, fumbling formulations of feeble excuses and I'm finally finished.
     (This is so easy to decide when you're not paying attention to me.  I can declare it boldly to anyone who will listen, announce it for audiences abound.  The instant you come back my resolve evaporates.  I forget every single reason you're bad for me.  And there are so many reasons.  Forgetting those reasons is gradually becoming a struggle.  They used to vanish effortlessly and now I fight to stifle them, to hide them beneath the giddiness.  Burying my reservations is becoming a burden.)
     Are we going to figure this out while it's still worth it?