To be authentic to ones self

 It is first imperative to revert back to published what had been reverted back to draft. I can not erase my year. It is inauthentic to attempt to pretend so in my Blog. It is simply not who I am. It is not who I wish to be.

A

Anthony

 Since we're talking in song...

A

Belly to Belly

I won't do this through satellites, fiber optics and binary. 

You know where to find me.

A

Can We Just Talk?

6 Month Man

 I have dated 4 men in 24 months. 

This is an interesting fact in the world in which I reside. A world where we do not date for "recreation" only for preparation of marriage. Most women I know marry the first man that they date and consider themselves lucky to be chosen. I date all the hot men I know and consider myself lucky to walk away single. 

I date a lot. 

Run it back:

Calvin- Official boyfriend, 35ish (??), Mechanical Engineer, MS. Liked all the things I liked and had the unique ability to get me drunk over the phone. Lots of fun. Willing to go dancing. 

I broke up with him because- he lived with is mom, he wanted roots and I wanted wings, he was cheap, he didn't like to work. And he slept a lot. But mostly because he lived with his mom.

The residual impact- moved to PR. Mostly forgot about him. 

Christian- Technically an ex that stayed a friend and a possible, 40, Chemical Engineer, no spiritual title, makes gobs of money, highly intelligent, never needed anything from me, met my fam, 10 years of history.

I broke up with him because- he's kinda a dick, he was married to work, he was always complaining, he threw his phone and broke it in a fit- I didn't like his tantrum, he owes me money. But mostly because he's a dick.

Residual impact- None really. He's dating now, theoretically. I am happy for him. 

Spencer - We were technically dating, My age, Nurse, Bethel, intuitive, healer, makes connections, listener, makes great cookies, green eyes.

I called it because- Emotionally retarded, poor, poor decision making, didn't make me feel good, has issues with black women (resentment), doesn't read, questionable association, gossip, big mouth but poor communicator. But mostly because he is emotionally unstable and I don't want to live at Bethel. 

Residual impact- I see him all the time so sometimes I think I still like him. He got pissed off and ruined my chances for other theocratic activities. It annoys me to watch him with other girls. He annoys me in general because he was in denial the he liked me but that was a lie. I'm still angry at him over the whole stupid thing. 

Page- Officially "dating". My God I love Page. 30's, funny, emotionally intelligent, loves me for me, chef, smart, sexy af, into sci-fi, into all the things I am into, hot hot hot, thoughtful, articulate, healthy communicator, great with his parents, awesome sounding board, family guy, loves kids, has a lot of love to give.

I called it because- Page didn't go to meetings. But really because I liked him SO Much More than he liked me. It felt one-sided and I loved him too much for that. If he would have liked me just a little more there is nothing anyone could have said at all that would have dissuaded me from being down all day, everyday. 

Residual impact- I planted bombs and ruined it at every turn, He, in turn, cut me out. I still dream about him. I miss him a lot. I am hopeful that over isn't over. But I am working on accepting that it is.

Of all of them I probably would have married Spencer or Page. Spencer would have been the smart choice. But I would have loved Page every day with everything that I have. "No matter how hard I try I run away from love at the end of the night."

The Lesson? I don't know. I wish I did. All I have is the story. 

A

Write It

I dreamt you two yesterdays ago. It was an ordinary dream that was no less than perfect. You were standing, leaving, asking me what else I wanted from the store. I was sitting, talking, with a nameless faceless woman. A relation of yours- mother, grandmother. I am unsure. It was an informal interaction. You going to the store, asking if I wanted anything else. The three of us laughing over the patient tolerance in your voice, as if I kept adding to the list. We both had wedding rings on. You kissed me goodbye, cheek kiss. One that bespoke familiarity and future and past and permanence. I smiled. Then I woke up. I hated waking up. The moment where disorientation becomes reality effecting stabbing pains, heart side, every time.

I dream you often. It always sucks. The dreams so real, so good. The wakefulness too abrupt, so painful. I absolutely hate it.

In my mind I have the perfect reconciliation scene. My daughter tells me it's unrealistic because you just "aren't that guy". I am sure she is right. I am also a hopeless romantic who unfortunately will love you for the foreseeable future. So If I Can't Have it In Real Life- I will do what I have always done. I will write it. At least then I can read it and pretend it's true. 

Cue Words-

"Amen"

I pause and take a stabilizing breath, head bowed for a moment longer to compose myself.  After meetings are always hard. I know that I have to talk to people. I know that I have to put on a show. I know that I have to be entertaining and gracious. And I know that all I really want to do is go home and drink expensive Scotch and listen to Etta James. Going home to think about you and cry has become my Thursday night ritual. 

Head up, deep breath, go. I acknowledge the couple in front of me, saying the customary greetings. Asking the appropriate questions. Smile. Nod. Being gracious. The humm of after meeting conversation drops momentarily and curious, I turn around. My heart stops.

You have just walked in the door. Are being greeted by Max, who interrogates every male visitor he deems as a threat. You pause, smile and apply the charm you hold with precision. Recognizing the name. Listening, laughing but eyes sweeping the crowd.

I wait. Wait for the moment when your eyes find mine. In the meantime I am unable to breathe. None of it makes sense to me. I get you're here. I get why you must be here. But why are you here? I wait. You see me. 

Relief, fear, appreciation, affection- they all collide across your face. I am moving, without conscience thought and before I know it I am in front of you. I unapologetically interrupt Max mid sentence.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, annoyed. 

You smile and your dimples flash. 

"You mean Hi."

"That's not what I mean at all." I am at capacity for words and my eyes begin to burn with tears. In moments I will lose it. Eyebrow lifted, palms up, shoulder raised, I silently repeat the question using body language. 

You, understanding my meltdown loading, enfold me in a hug. 

And for the first time in months, I can breathe. Everything will be ok.

And cut.

Life's Sound Track

 Run it again...

Dewberry

3 am

I find myself coming awake in stages. Aware that I should be asleep but a persistent nagging feeling that something is off. My conscience mind trying to remember what mattered enough to wake me, what dream I was having that caused me to wake. And then I remember it's over. And then I start to cry.

I have cried consistently every night since that morning. At 3am. Clockwork. My circadian rhythm waking me to grieve you. There is no shame in my tears. Just a pragmatic leaking of pain. Sadness is a function of loss. All you can really do is sit with sad and hold it's hand and wait. As blood eventually clots tears eventually stop.   

I don't know what I thought was going to happen. I did not think that you would choose to walk away. Maybe because I thought you cared more than that. Maybe because no one ever has. I dreamt it before it happened. In my dream you text me to tell me that you didn't want to just be friends. As I was calling you to ask you what you wanted, because I was willing to give you the world, I woke up. In my wakefulness you said goodbye. 

It hurts. One part of me is really proud of you for being willing to pick a side. For not putting up with nonsense. For holding me accountable. 

Another part of me is really disappointed in you for being a quitter. For not seeing your part in the whole thing. For treating me like a game. For not apologizing. 

I went by your job on Monday, in fact. I discovered that you had the holiday off. It occurred to me that if you wanted to spend time with me you could have done so any time that weekend. And swiftly behind that realization was the idea that you didn't like me the way that I liked you. I was to you a pleasant distraction, a diversion, nothing material. Meanwhile I was naming our future children. A dichotomy of epic proportions. 

I knew I had to blow it up. I knew it was going to hurt eventually anyway so why not now. And so the rest ensued. 

I do not regret my extreme behavior. I do regret the need for it. I do regret the precipice of love from which I was jerked back. I do regret coming to see you at all. The past would have been better left in the past. I had already dealt with the loss of you once. The resurrection of the feelings that I had for you picked up where they left off, no rebuilding needed. So the loss of you, again, was magnified exponentially. Which is to say it mattered more and hurt more.

The worst part is the idea that while I am up at 3am taking a part an putting together the whole situation in one million ways; I am sure you are peacefully slumbering. Not even giving me a second thought. Toy broken, discarded, replaced. 

this hurts. 

and not even writing is making it better. 

A