3 Men in 3 Days

It must have been something in the air. Maybe I was sending out the 'closure vibe' into the universe, but not being very good at that kind of thing I get it just slightly off and end up with something that wouldn't necessarily be considered 'closure' in most circles. Though I sure didn't intend to send out any such vibe I must have been doing something that weekend...

I'd had three relationship/flings/whatevers in a row, each beginning stepping over the corpse of another's ending.
*I think this only works if each one is more spectacular than the last, so that even if you are on any level mourning the old, you are even more excited about the new. Then you can tell yourself that the last ending happened because this new and better thing was going to happen.

Love is a Battlefield...

By the end of the triad of 'relationship-type-things' I was ... just think of three minor breakups in a row. I felt like that. Some things aren't break ups, they are 'endings', but there are aspects of a break up involved in each of these. While the rest of my life was running well enough, romantically I'd been feeling like I had one of those hang-overs where you have to wear sunglasses, even indoors.

Then they all hit me up at once. Differently. At the same time.

The first one, we hadn't spoken in... I was estimating almost 2 months. I thought 'He has finally accepted that neither of us need to be in this dysfunctional relationship. I'm so relieved that he was able to finally let go and so was I. This is the healthy thing for us both.'

BUT. NO.
This weekend of contacts starts with him calling me. Over and Over and Over all day and night with me not answering. I'm big on texting people if one can, rather than calling them without regard to their schedule or what might be going on; I've always, since texts were invented, thought they were much more polite than a call, as you can send when you want and they can answer when they want, not when you ring them. At any rate, he knows this, but keeps calling anyway. It's always been a control issue with us.
Sometime Saturday, tired of ignoring multiple calls, I text him and we end up talking on the phone. It goes something like this:
"I haven't talked to you in so long cause I've been in jaaaaiiiillll."
"What?!?! Wait. Jail? Why??"
"I got picked up for drinking and driving."
"You had to know this was coming."
"Oh, no, this wasn't one of those you have 48 hours to turn yourself in. This was one of those where they pick you up and take you straight in. I was wearing my..."
"While it speaks volumes that you know the difference, I meant you go to bars, drink, and drive home. You had to know you would get arrested for it sooner or later."
"Oh. Yeah. I was hoping for the Later on that one. Why aren't you on facebook anymore? Or did you unfriend me?"
"I blocked you months ago Jonathan. We've spoken since then. You just didn't notice because you only ever looked at it when you wanted to find something to bitch at me about."
"Well I didn't notice the last 6 weeks because I've been in Jaaaiiiiiel."...
The conversation kinda went on in that direction for a while... It might help if you read it in a drawl, it really tops it off.

...

The next guy on the contact path sent me a message saying he was sorry for any hurt or misunderstanding he might have caused and hoped we could be friends.
That's what he typed.
Sometimes I write to my government representatives. When they write me back they often say one thing, but I read another. For instance every time Blaine Luetkemeyer returns an email regarding my concerns I read "I can't believe you bothered to send me another email with your opinions. No, I'm not voting the way you want me to, you Ignorant Liberal Female." I'm pretty sure that isn't what ol Blaine wrote, but I'm just as sure that it's exactly what he means.
So, when I opened this message from this man what I read was: I'm tired of feeling like a dick when I look in your eyes. Also I'd like you to laugh at my jokes.
If I were one to put words in someone's mouth I might say I also read that my time limit for being mad was up now, but that would just be speculation.
While I wasn't in good humor with the fellow as it was, I think it was the word 'misunderstanding' that put me over the edge on that one. It was so invalidating. Like everything else that happened when that ended.

...
The final one to contact me was the only one who truly had any concern with my feelings. Even though it had been a mutual and amicable decision to stop dating, he recognized that it could still be hard and wanted to check in on me and say he was thinking of me.
Oh My Gosh, my favorite break up ever. I feel like this guy should give classes on how to break up gently and be a good person after. Not only that, it was so affirming. Acknowledging that we had something that can be hard to let go.
My heart went pitter patter. 
Then I remembered why we broke up; not because of a fight, but because of more legitimate reasons, like incompatibility and 'style differences'.
Then I hit on him again anyway. And he kindly ignored it - Yet still was cordial and considerate in a very platonic way.
This really should/could have been one of the most lovely endings ever. Neither of us wanted to get back to dating or thought it could work. We were both kind, considerate, like each other as people...

BUT. Sometimes (pretty much always) when I can use reason to convince myself something isn't right for me and another person I still struggle to give up the physical aspects of an involvement. Thus, when one night I text him after a couple of drinks with a girlfriend and ask about having that coffee he suggested we have... and push for a time we can do it... and..? Then I tell him I might behave inappropriately, and when he asks what I mean I figure (with all evidence to the contrary might I add) it's an invitation to detail what I'd like to do... (Insert Unsolicited Sext Here.)
His response? That we should get coffee in a public place.
I texted back not to worry if he didn't hear from me, as "I get really poor reception under the rock I'm currently climbing under."
I'm still here. Never got a return text on that one. Instead I'm going with avoiding eye contact as much as possible and consoling myself with promises that I will never try it again.

Not the dream ending - he gave it his best shot - but somehow it's befitting. It's me.

The 'Blessing Way'? What does that even Mean?

I sat on the floor with my skin stretched to the last place it could go before stretch marks would become inevitable.  This room smelled of things too natural for my mainstream nose to identify, but by this time I was grouping all of these ‘natural’ scents as either patchouli or herbal tea and calling it close enough.

They called this place The Womb Room and filled it with pillows and books on natural birth, breastfeeding, gentle child rearing and other concepts that were foreign to me then, but would become my life. I would know these ideals forward and backward and filter them as I saw fit one day, but this was far from what I could accept at the time.

This space sat atop a doctor’s office ran by a woman who my sole similarity with was that we had both conceived babies, though at different times and under different circumstances. So maybe I just mean we both had functional uteruses. Later we would find enough common ground for her to sway me from an unnecessary procedure, but for now we were aliens.

Having no idea what to do with pregnancy I had been influenced into attending a prenatal group there, comprised mainly of women who would have home births with this doctor or have her attend their natural births at a birthing center. I believe I was the only person in the group who had poured out a bottle of vodka after their positive pregnancy test to keep from drinking it. I’m sure I was the only one who took the test in a bathroom stall at a bar.

Later my rare visits to this place would include pictures where women pointed out ‘orbs’; talks of spirituality over religion; and the most sincere emotional support between women who carved toys out of wood found on nature paths and served one another hummus ground from beans at home with the varieties being determined by what had sprouted in their gardens that season.

Tonight I was here on the floor for my own ‘Blessing Way’, which my crunchier than thou sister had arranged for me and explained as a baby shower without the presents. Since I knew no one in town, she had invited every one of her friends who I had ever met, even once, casually on the street. The challenge of remembering everyone’s name was not one I was equal to, but these ladies rallied and strung sea shells onto fishing wire and folded origami fish and created a beautiful and shockingly meaningful mobile on a beautiful piece of drift wood.

Someone, possibly the person who would be my ‘doula’, a concept I barely grasped, gave me a small pink rock, vaguely the shape and size of a conversation heart. Another stranger who had been recruited to play the role of my support team exclaimed to the gift presenter “What a great heart shaped rock! You are the best person at finding heart shaped rocks!”

This would be the defining moment of the event. Who were these people?! I could tell you of my friends who could make the best martini; who had the best corsets or heels to borrow; who to borrow DVDs from; who threw the best dinner parties (me), and who could always introduce you to the hottest guys…

But who was the best at finding heart shaped rocks? NO.

Who were these people, and how would I ever fit in here?

Suddenly it’s 6 years later, this very week. That particular group of women never became my ‘crew’, but I have been back there a few times and can wing it, almost like a native speaker. When I go I don’t wear my black heels with the zippers up the back and they seem to assume I know what the benefits are of the particular root tea being served; or if they know I still don’t, they don’t let on.  We are kind to each other, if less than friends. 

And what do they think when they hear about the beautiful child that likes to whittle and craft and collect interesting rocks? 

The conditions of Unconditional Love

I'm tired of seeing the memes about love being something you give, without expectation - That if you expect something back, it's not love. 
I call bullshit. 
You can't continue to love without expectations. At least not if you respect yourself. Not if you are healthy. To give love, you need to receive it, in whatever form it is in. 

The best explanation of this I heard in the bathroom at a club. A girl was screaming at her man into a cell phone. They were back and forth a while when she over-road whatever he was saying with this:
"UNCONDITIONAL LOVE?!?!?! UNCONDITIONAL LOVE?!?!? DO NOT TALK TO ME ABOUT UNCONDITIONAL LOVE MUTHERFUCKER. UNCONDITIONAL LOVE IT WHAT A MAMA HAS FOR HER BABIES, NOT WHAT A WOMAN HAS FOR A MAN, NOW YOU BETTER STOP SCREWING AROUND..."

Maybe I'm wrong, and love really is just this free thing that the hippies like to act like they give; but even they fail remarkably. It gives them something to say when they are in altered states, or reason to get all over each other, but the likelihood that they mean it when they bequeath on you this free love? It's not stronger than the likelihood that anyone else will stand by that statement. I can't tell you the exact number of the unconditional love crew that have stabbed each other in the back, but it's exactly the same number as in any other group of people.

I give love to my friends; that love is not unconditional. I've let go of many a friend who has taken and taken when they needed it and not given back when I needed. Sometimes I've let them go more than once. I've stopped loving friends who have stolen from me, treated me poorly or abusively, used me. It's part of being a healthy individual. There are conditions to love, and a huge one should be Not Taking Advantage of That Love.  

In the other love, the love we most often think of when meme'ing all over the place, romantic love, we all should require something back. Respect. Kindness. Maybe even... Reciprocation. 

I know several people in beautiful loving relationships. People who would never leave each other in hard times. People who will take care of each other the rest of their lives. That isn't unconditional love. It's true love, it's mutual love. It is not unconditional love. 

On a related topic, Rihannah broke up with Chris Brown. Again. 

Maybe the only truely unconditional love is that given to a child. I think that drunk girl screaming into her cell phone may have nailed it. 
-Because the only one going to hit me ever, scream when I don't give in, make me late for work because of not being responsible, expect me to make all of the meals, never take me anywhere or ask what I want to do, not help me with my problems when I need help while expecting help for their own, person that I'm going to love- unconditionally - is a little one.
And when mine grows up I hope he gives kindness to the world, but his 'unconditional love' to the only ones who give it back.

Not all days/blogs are created equal.

Yesterday my babydaddy, who wandered into his son's life at age 4, just long enough to get his attention then disappear after the boy found him passed out on the front steps, emailed me to again ask for an address to send a gift for his 6th birthday next week.
It was similar to the request for an address in December to send the Christmas gift he didn't end up sending. Yet again I told him our address and that the child still wants to skype with him. Same request I've passed on for over a year. Same request he keeps ignoring. I swear I want to see his face over the computer far less than he wants to see ours, but I keep asking anyway, for my child, because I won't tell him anything bad about his father.
I tell him he has a great memory like his father; he is pretty like his father; an inventor like his father. I tell him the good things they have in common and things he can be proud of.
But it makes me sick every time I hear from the man. And scared. Always scared he will try to get involved again and bring the child into his dangerous life of alcoholism.




Then in the afternoon, this hot, sweet, sexy, kind, former lover (who I've been working hard to quit hitting on) messages me... while I'm still trying to figure out what the message means he sends another message, that message was meant for someone else.
Oh. Well. Sigh.

Then I go to donate blood and am sent away because my iron is too low, possibly because I donated exactly the limit of 56 days ago.

Not all blog posts are created equal; but not all days are either.

Stephen, Not Steve - Endings and Rebounds

He dressed and carried himself like German nobility while quoting Bukowski and listening to Black Flag, often while doing tricks on a skateboard in the living room; avidly professing his undying love for me, just 4 weeks into our relationship. 

My room mate at the time thought he was pretentious. 

Side note: I have a terrible predisposition for being wildly attracted to pretentious men. I don't know why. There's nothing in my background to clarify this further even to me. 

Stephen may have been fronting, posing, or a pretentious asshole, as my friends claimed, but all this time I’m still quoting him on both rebounds and relationship endings, so maybe he was as bright as I gave him credit for after all.

10 years later, still facing endings and rebounds and choices my friends might question, these two statements I attribute to Stephen not Steve, have always stuck with me:

In regards to my concern that our relationship End Well: “Nothing ends well. If it were going to end well, it wouldn’t End.”

I’ve found this to mostly be a truth in romance. While I have seen a few relationship that have evolved and the people aren’t together but are still close, they are few and far between and don’t count as endings, just changings. Most things don’t change smoothly either.

Second, I expressed my feelings that he was still somewhat hung up on his last girlfriend and I was a rebound. 

He said “Aren’t they all rebounds, after the first one?”

Yes, yes they are.

From that I have learned, if you wait for someone to be completely over the last relationship before you date them, they will already be with someone else.

As much as I try to move on and clear my mind of thoughts of the past on my own, someone almost always gets me over the last person. I always have these lingering memories of my last involvement until I meet someone to replace those spaces in my brain. I may not want the last guy back, but that space in my head is usually taken up in a way that says "They are all rebounds after the first one."
Ex: Justin got me over Aaron who got me over Stephen.

On rare occasion the person who gets me over someone is the person I need to get over.

Ex: Jonathan got me over Brian who finally got me over JW; but then Jonathan got me over Jonathan himself, because he was such an exhausting jerk that I started feeling like I was in a Taylor Swift song, for like Ever.

Then there is the occasion I get experience the uneasy sensation of getting caught up with one while still bouncing off the last. It's rough on the equilibrium - feeling hurt and angry one moment while having the just as real feelings of anticipation and delight the next. But on the rare occasions it works, it's Stephen's rebound rule at it's finest: It's getting caught in the air before you ever hit the ground.