Monday, December 31st, 2012

Falling Down

Monday, December 31st, 2012 11:00 pm
my_lost_mind: (FML)
 I've been thinking about the whole notion of falling in love with someone, and how falling in love can at times, feel like falling down a flight of stairs.

Sometimes, it's those stairs on the front porch of your house, it's not a bad fall but you do end up with a bruise on your ass, or a skinned knee.     
 
Other times, it's like taking a tumble sideways, down a metal fire escape on an icy winter morning.
 
You're not quite sure how you managed to survive without breaking your neck, but you know that you've just donated some flesh to the iron gods and might need a few stitches to close the bloody gash in your shin.   
 
Ow!!  That fucking hurt!

I should have a wall of trophies for all the times I've fallen and bruised my ego so badly that she threatened to call the cops and file charges of abuse.
 
The real problem is that I always let my heart top my head, and my brain is a very bad sub because she never seems to remember the safe word until that moment just before she blacks out.    The words never make it past her lips, and when she wakes up, heart has already gone and ruined things by falling for someone who is either crazy, cold as a freezer-burned roast, or has no interest in having a relationship with someone who seems boring compared to their last girlfriend.
 
...but my heart knows what she wants
 
I've already droned on about this particular subject in another post so I'm not going to bore readers with it again.
 
yawn.. yeah.. get on with it already...
 
I guess the real problem is that I'm a total head case.   I always seem to pick the guys who fall into the category of "he's just not that into you", but instead of running in the other direction I just twist myself into some impossible pretzel shape that should qualify me as lead acrobat in the Cirque du Fruitcake.
 
I've also been known to get involved with men who seem one crisis away from taking a leap off some tall building or running off to join a cult. The last long-term relationship I had (explained in gory details via previous posts here) was with a guy who had to get drunk the first time we had sex.   Why on earth would any sane woman choose someone like this?  He was my physical type,  appealed to my geekier interests, and I needed to get laid.   What should have been a short-term fling turned into a four year codependent nightmare.
 
You must remember this... a kiss is just a kiss
fucking  does not equal love
the fundamental rules apply
that there are no fucking rules...
 
Ten years ago I dated a guy eight years my junior who I fell for after dating him for only a couple months.   I don't think I gave the poor bastard time to realize what hit him before I attached myself to him like a barnacle and started showing up at his apartment several times a week.   He wasn't very good at telling me what was on his mind, I just automatically assumed that if he wasn't telling me to get lost  that I must be his girlfriend.  Most men appreciate free sex provided the woman is at least moderately attractive, fun, and doesn't place too many demands on them.
 
After 5 months he did tell me to get lost, but only after I had gone off and purchased a condominium in the same housing community where he just purchased a condo.   I had some deranged notion that  it would be fun to be his neighbor.    Oh yeah, it was great fun after we split up and he started dating other women.  The fun turned into dysfunction when we would continue to hang out as "friends", getting drunk together and watching old Star Trek TNG episodes, sharing tales of our latest romantic mishaps.
 
My girlfriends should have had me committed at that point - I had gone round the bend and couldn't figure out where I had left my big girl pants (let alone my self-worth).
 
This was indeed, an amazing feat of stupidity - a fall down the most rickety of fire escapes.
 
Did I learn anything from this particular fall?
 
Only that I continued to suffer from some weakness for musicians and that some mysterious virus they transmit infects my brain with a dangerous form of amnesia.
 
I only seriously dated one musician after that disaster.   He was a strange impish fellow who was a mediocre painter obsessed with his own importance, working as a trolley driver for a local tour bus company.  He was a fairly decent singer / saxophone player who would also practice the didgeridoo on weekends at some inhumane hour of the morning. 
 
He and I didn't have much in the way of chemistry, nor did we share a ton of common interests aside from art, politics, and some of the same music.     What we did share was boredom, lack of money, and a shared interest in not being bored and broke.  The dude was sufficiently weird to hold my interest, and I think my presence fed his ego and need for someone to tell him how cool he was.  He and I lived together for a handful of months before he started disappearing for longer hours into the evening.  Eventually he just announced he was leaving and that, was that.
 
I was more rattled by the loss of the second income than I was at losing him.
 
Come on, surely you must have ended a few relationships in your lifetime!  Otherwise you're just bullshitting us!!
 
Of course!   There were a few:   One physically abusive guy, two alcoholics, one guy that lived 250 miles away, one guy who was not only a hoarder, but did not own a bar of soap (truth!), and a couple of guys I dumped because "something more interesting" came along.    No, I'm not proud of this track record.
 
So here's where I get to my point in this whole sordid mess and try to make a very long and convoluted story a bit shorter.
 
“I've been thinking with my guts since I was fourteen years old, and frankly speaking, between you and me, I have come to the conclusion that my guts have shit for brains.” 
― Nick Hornby, High Fidelity
 
When I am lucky enough to meet someone who rings my chimes for any number of reasons, especially if there's chemistry and common interests shared, I tend to get emotionally attached to these folks at a fairly early stage in the relationship.   I suddenly find myself feeling like a giddy teenager, ignoring the fact that the whole teenager thing was over more than 30 years ago, and I should really be more grownup about the way I manage my emotions.
 
It's a strange manifestation of some addictive personality traits.  A feeling that is a bit like standing in line for hours at the all-you-can-eat buffet of life only to find that what's left is some cold roast beef, some stale rolls,  sushi that smells like the beach at low tide, and one perfect slice of chocolate cheesecake.
 
Do you wait for the buffet to be refilled?  Or do you take the cheesecake knowing that it will cure your hunger temporarily, give you a great sugar rush, but make you feel guilty and nauseous after you've eaten it.
 
Too often I've wandered off with the cheesecake, gobbled it down, felt the sugar rush and then promptly passed out face down on the empty plate.
 
I need to engage my brain in more of these decisions and learn to sit with my hunger a bit longer.
 
One-sided relationships, booty calls, and other forms of ambiguity have only resulted in spectacular falls down those mystical fire escapes.
 
I'm bloody tired of scraping my brains off the pavement and tucking them back into my skull.  

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