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Reminiscing
Aside from the fact that I'm all angsty right now, it has not escaped my attention that my life has been incredibly drama free for almost 2 years now. Incidentally, it has also been almost 2 years since I was involved in any kind of pseudo-monogamous "it is that way because I MAKE it that way" type of serious relationship. Also, it was the last time I felt anything for anyone--past a superficial level anyway. The whirlwind romance a little over a year ago doesn't count. It had serious potential. I mean there was excessive tequila, there was a kissy-fest in a deserted church parking lot, there was a METEOR SHOWER for Christ sake. There was a dozen pretty pretty red roses and a reasonably nummy home-cooked spaghetti dinner. And wine. There was also WAYYYYYYY too much. WAYYYYYYY too fast. I just kept thinking about how sketchy it was. How fucked up is that? Mr. Could be wonderful rides in and sweeps me off my feet all random-like and I'm all "what the fuck dude?" Except, clearly there was reason to be sketched out. After the pretty pretty red roses and reasonably nummy home-cooked spaghetti dinner- there was a not-so-casually approached make-out session that began before I could even pat my belly and let out a belch and moved so fast, my shirt was off before I even knew what was going on. So then I stopped it. Cuz. The FUCK, dude? You made me SPAGHETTI. It wasn't even that GOOD of spaghetti. I don't even know HOW spaghetti can be not that good. But I assure you, not good spaghetti on the THIRD date does not seal the deal. And also? Don't just--brush my dog off the couch like that. He was here first. It's his fucking couch. Fucking pat him on the rump and give him kisses! Jesus. I can't figure out how a guy doesn't know that the quickest way into my pants is to get all googly about my dog. Whatever though, that's beside the point. The courtship was entirely too whirlwind to have left any permanent scars. I was more angry than anything when he didn't call me again - in a very mature "Just so we're clear? *I* dumped *YOU*--asswipe." kind of way. Anyway, there wasn't much drama in the few dates I went on outside of Mr. (Not very good) spaghettipants either. Indeed, the drama seemed to disappear with "the one" who was, it seems, not, actually, the one. I've been thinking about him a lot lately. Obviously, it's because I'm angsty. Or maybe it's the thinking about him that makes me angsty. Although, I think G started me in with the whole angsty thing the other day. It matters. Shut up. I wonder where he is now. I wonder why he hasn't gotten in touch with me. He was supposed to have been the one to make me believe in men. He was the one who swore he'd never leave me - and not in the way that makes me roll my eyes and shove him automatically in the "reality shoved so far up his ass he can't even remember what it looks like anymore" closet; it was more a "I love you, but we can't be together now and we may not ever be able to be together, and I can't guarantee you you'll ever see my face again, I'll pop into your life from time to time to prove to you that I mean what I'm saying here..." type way that actually made it believable. Especially because he then proceeded to pop in and out of my life at random, sometimes lengthy intervals for the year after he said it. Then he moved away - all the way across the country - back to his "home." And then, a year later, I moved away - halfway across the country - back to my home. And now I'm not sure we'll ever be able to find each other again. And it feels empty. I don't want to marry him anymore. I don't want to date him or kiss him or sleep with him or live with him. I just want to hug him. I want to hug him and to know him, again. Or maybe I want to know that I don't want to know him anymore, because the person he was then wouldn't appeal to me as I am now. At all. He was a part of my life when everything he stood for was also a part of my life - sex & drugs & rock and roll. He was all of that. He was supposed to have moved home to clean up his life. I would like to know how his plans panned out. I would like to know that he thinks about me. Ever. Mostly. I would like to hug him. He had the best hugs. HUGE bear hugs with his long monkey arms. He hugged like he meant it, no half-assed "guy hug". When he was hugging you, you knew that he was right there with you, smelling your hair, closing his eyes. And they lasted as long as you wanted them to. He never pulled away too quickly, never held on too long. Didn't even matter if you were crying, mascara staining his new hippie shirt, snot oozing down his chest. Yeah. I think I mostly would just like to hug him again. Regardless of where our lives have taken us. Regardless of who we are now. I think I got waylaid here. This was supposed to be about drama. It turned angsty. Figures. Ah well...there will be plenty time later for drama. |
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