Some Old Writing I Found – A Not So Short Story – I am Still a Romantic Idealist

Oh Mickey You’re So Fine You Blow My Mind – Hey Mickey

Slam! went the door. And she did look back in anger trying desperately to deny the tears even though they were already etching red salt stains on her cheeks. She struck out the tip of her tongue and licked at one of the tears that strayed towards her mouth and the salt reminded her of a taste not unlike the one she tasted now. That taste had been of pleasure; this was only a taste of disdain. Two months, two lousy fucking months of her life and three months later she was till running over and over it in her mind. Desire being eked out of emotion instead of animal lust. But for him it was all too much, far surpassing desire but yes, he too was in the emotional realm when the chips came down. And as these chips passed her by she noticed they had a distinct odour. He could easily ditch her, (and he did) but it would in no way bring him piece of mind. Small consolation for her and the dreams he had planted in her mind; now lying festering like an infected wound. So sad. He had agreed that it was sad but that was all. If he had just said yes, I will be your friend, she would have left well enough alone. She would have been satisfied knowing she had not been totally rejected. But no, he would not have it. He had to dismiss her completely. Days later it still reverberated in her ears. “Didn’t you ever decide that it was better to just have nothing to do with someone, that they shouldn’t be in your life at all?” Of course when she had thought back on it she realized that yes, she too had probably done this on several occasions but she could not think of a time she had had to deal with such a continual affront from someone, as far as he could remember no one had ever cared enough to pursue her that persistently and therefore she did not know how to respond. In fact, at first she was put off. But finally she conceded, the day she realized that were she in his shoes she may very well have done the exact same thing, knowing full well too that no amount of persuasion by the other party would convince her otherwise. That was the day she relented. Clearly how she felt was only part and parcel of what was to be considered here. It all seemed so far away and so pursing her lips to restrain the tears she deleted all of his information from her various electronic devices and took the hard step of going to her handwritten phone book and ripping up the post-it with his phone number and address out of there as well. It was so anti-climatic after all that.

Generally speaking I would say our family is pretty close-knit. My sister and I are always having good intentions about getting together but you know how it is. You live blocks away from each other and you rarely seem to manage to get together. So finally one evening we arranged to meet. We met at the Living Well, a local café restaurant. It was a Monday night and I figured it was as good a place as any. I was strapped for cash, how unusual (not) and she offered to buy a drink as I understood it. You know I figured it would be one of these sit chit-chat, kiss each other on the cheek, nice to see you and that would be that type of thing. Wrong answer, when you least expect it bud. She wanted to know if I’d be into drinking some wine. Hell yes, one of the few alcohols I’m pleasant to deal with while under the influence of. Besides it was only half a litre, or so I thought. A litre later we were giggling away and I wanted to continue partying, but where the fuck do you go on a Monday night in this dead city? We looked through the Now Magazine, nope nothin’. I mentioned a few places but we nixed them all. I mean they’re all hopping on the weekends, but Monday nights, forget that noise. Man, sometimes this consumers’ town really gets me down. So Lorraine says let’s just go to her work. Sure, fine by me, I can handle it there, the staff are alright, the customers well … and she feels comfortable there and besides it’s close to where she lives.

Hey but let’s just get one thing straight right off the bat, it ain’t my kinda place and it’s the last place in the world I’d expect to meet someone attractive. I mean I like going to the uptown clubs with the fund and the house music, maybe some rockers or some jazz but definitely not the Monday night baseball game. A place that in some essence has some soul missed in with the sophistication. Lorraine and my brother Jason both worked in this joint. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to be totally condescending but after all we are just talking about your typical local. Personally for a local, a small café that serves cappuccino suits me fine.

Paupers’ Pub is in the Bloor and Bathurst area. It was originally an old house and it has been converted into the bar while maintaining a good part of the original structure both inside and out. And like an old house there is a main door and a side door entrance. The main entrance has two heavy wooden doors with glass windows in brass frames on the upper half of the doors. On the weekends you are greeted by doorman who watch for the d&ds (drunk and disorderlys) and believe you me they have their hands full. Immediately upon entering the pub you are met by a red carpet, it may even be patterned but honestly, I’ve never really scrutinized it. The railings and the bar are beautiful old brass, cool to the touch on a warm summer’s night. There are wooden booths with high dividers between them, allowing for a certain element of privacy, but when it hops in there you can’t hear anything anyway. There’s your regular bunch of locals out for their nightly beer, hanging out on the bar stools and some of the neighbourhood friends in the booths. I say neighbourhood because most of the regulars live in the vicinity. And for you beer connoisseurs there’s a veritable smorgasbord on tap. (Personally I hate the shit; think it tastes like dirty socks. (And no I haven’t eaten any dirty socks lately, thanks for asking.) There are three different seating areas in Paupers if you count the patio, all with their own unique ambiance. (The piano bar area is a scary pick-up type bar and I steer well clear of that place.) My preference was the main bar. The only source of distraction in the main bar besides the local weirdos is a lone t.v. set tin the middle of the bar that is predominated by hockey and baseball games, that and the barkeep. I’m sure their income is dependant on their performance, literally. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more animated staff member than a bartender who is solely reliant on charisma to keep his regulars coming back for more. The guy manning the wheel on this particular evening seemed to be duelling with the members of the bar; very off the cuff, almost abrasive, but they were lapping it up.

I guess my sister was pretty close to sewing things up with her boyfriend at the time, unbeknownst to me, so she was right into tying one on and me, hell I was just along for the ride, just crusin’ … that was until I took note of him. Him who? The bartender stupid. I mean it wasn’t that he had done something exceptional to catch my eye or anything I just sort of stumbled upon him as I was glancing around. At first it was like any other time I liked a boy … I guess I’d better explain something right off. I’m not exactly what you call a conformist type person. I like breaking the rules and I like different things. How different you as, well while I can’t go into all that right now let’s just clarify something, at the time I was pretty sure I was gay. I have been bisexual for seven years and although I had slept with a few men here and there, I hadn’t had a serious relationship with a man in four or five years and as far as I was concerned I was perfectly content. (A little too single for my liking at the time maybe, but that was okay.) Anyway, I was my usual outgoing self and the wine had aided in loosening what little inhibitions I may have had under normal circumstances and I started to voice my opinions about the good looking man (boy?) behind the bar. I mentioned to my sister that I thought he was attractive.

“Who Mickey?” she asked a little incredulously. “Yeah, Mickey,” I turned to take a sip of my drink and before I knew it she was off her bar stool and standing with her arm around Mickey blathering away. He turned to me smiling and gesturing who me? by pointing a finger at himself. Yeah you, of course you. (Always asking, why me? And me always saying why not? Some day I should write a piece called a million reasons to love and dedicate it to him.) I didn’t know exactly what it was that drew me to him at the time, what made the sparks go off. I do now, it was his wit, his mind, all of the twists and turns, he radiated complexities and I always want to know what’s behind the mask.

You know how it is, never resist a challenge, confront things head on. Well while my mind stayed tuned to keep that fire burning my moth went on a trip all its own getting into some in-depth conversation with some dude who was ogling over my intellect, or at the very least, my breasts. Meantime, Lorraine was three sheets to the wind and falling off her chair and two glasses of wine and three shots of tequila later I was, despite physical appearances to the contrary, following in close second. (Needless to say I lost about half the contents of my purse that night.) The bar was getting pretty empty and it looked like were about to close the place up because when I looked around even Mr. Wonderful had left the vicinity. I checked the area but to no avail, he was definitely not on the scene.

“Hey Lorraine, where’d the bartender go?”

“Huh, Oh, he probably went downstairs to cash out.” Wow, like downstairs where no one else was, that was decidedly my cue.I ran downstairs mumbling something to the guy I’d been talking to about it was nice meeting you and whatever else bullshit in order to exit, hell, if I tripped over the guy in some alleyway tomorrow, I probably wouldn’t even remember him. (All the while my head’s a singin’ IT’S NOW OR NEVER!”Anyhow, there I was banging on the door marked ‘Staff Only’, knowing full well I was about to make trouble – oh yeah I was so slick thinking what the hey, here’s just another guy, I’ll sleep him off his feet for a few seconds and leave him wondering. Well wasn’t I thrown for the royal loop, when you least expect it bud. So here I am doing my best to hold up the wall and maintain my composure with full intentions of stealing a kiss off this guy and walking out of his life forever (like I’m so sure). So he opens the door, sees it’s me, says just a second as he nervously runs to put on a shirt (too cute), but he does return. And I say come here and he steps closer and I grab him by the collar and I kiss him, my eyes are closed and not only is it okay but it moves something in me. I excuse it all in the light of the fact that I’m impaired, smile and walk away.

Sounds simple enough so far right? Yeah well you don’t know me very well yet do you? But if you did, you’d know that nothing, I mean absolutely nothing in my life is that simple. I’m just not that obvious. You see I’ve come to the conclusion that since it’s not in my blood to be involved in some seedy underground lifestyle my complexities are solely to be found in my emotional life. Everything else I like on a even keel. For the most part I would even go so far as to say I lead a somewhat sedentary lifestyle. Hell I’m writing this aren’t I? But you know a funny thing happened this time round (when you least expect it buddy). I mean it wasn’t as if I’d stopped flirting with guys since I’d stopped having sex with them, but it had never invoked any inner longing in me. I mean I’d even made out with a few guys before, everything but … you know, but I’d always been able to walk away from it and I’d never had any qualms about not looking back. (Besides, it was so easy to get in the situation where you couldn’t do it right there, at least for me.) But this guy, he was different. So when I woke up the next morning and discovered that I still wanted to talk to him, it was me who was sitting there dumbfounded as the tables turned. I was on the phone before you know it saying something dumb like I usually don’t just kiss guys like that and walk away. (Which is true, I usually get to know the guy well enough to know that I shouldn’t have even kissed him in the first place and then walk away.) This time I hear myself saying some shit about would he like to see me again and him saying yes. Meanwhile, every light, buzzer, bell and warning signal in my head is resounding an emphatic hey, slow down, what the fuck do you think you’re doing? same as always, got a gut feeling, follow through. You only live once. As Jenny Holzer so quaintly puts it:

“Letting go is the hardest thing to do
Listen when your body talks
Push yourself to the limit as often as possible …”
(an excerpt from a piece called Truisms).

When I die at least I will be able to die knowing I experienced life. I didn’t just sit by the wayside and observe life as a spectator. I participated to the fullest; (barring lack of fundage of course, ‘cause fuck if I had money I wouldn’t even be sitting here right now.) But I will go on as I have and in spite of everything that has hurt me emotionally I have and will continue to give everything I’ve got. “Cause let’s face it, in this cold, harsh world it doesn’t hurt to have a few romantic idealists floating around. Even if it is a constant battle to hold your head above water. “People who go crazy are too sensitive” (Jenny again). I’m proud in this detached, overly rational world that after so many pitfalls I still have the strength and courage to keep on loving and giving. Hell, I think it takes a lot of courage sometimes to just get up in the morning and face the world. Oh shit, I’m digressing into philosophical conversation – running from the heart of the matter as it were ‘cause the next part’s going to be hard to write about but since I brought you people this far …

In a way it seems so ridiculous that out of an entire lifetime two months could have such a resounding effect on me. But then I’d never felt so wholly like I fucked my big chance before either. I realize now it had a lot to do with a certain lacking as well. “Timidity is laughable” (Jenny). I mean I know it takes two, but I sat there for a long time paying my own penance because I felt at the very least, I owed myself that. (My body is eternally grateful that I got over that phase. But that’s how I got into trouble in the first place … stupid animal lust. Why couldn’t he look beyond my actions and see what I was really saying?) I mean I was practically begging please help me, tell me you really love me and want me, better yet show me and then I won’t have to take refuge in someone else’s arms. But instead he did the safe and sensible thing, he turned and walked away. A friend said, ‘I saw this coming a mile away, it’s like putting a hundred watt light bulb into a twenty-five watt socket. Yup, it shines forth with a light brighter than ever for a few seconds and then it explodes and all that’s left is splinters of glass to catch the light.

I suppose you’re wondering what happened between: “Do you wanna see me sometime?” and goodbye? Yeah, you and me both boy. But at least for you it can just be some light subway reading to break the monotony on the way home from work; simply something pretty straight forward with a beginning, middle and end. As for me, it may be years before my heart reconciles this situation. Anyway I’m straying again aren’t I, now where was I …

Mickey got shortened to Mick, an abbreviation of convenience seemingly appropriate because I noticed a bit later that he had taken to calling me Dan. It’s funny, you go along in life thinking you are oh so observant to things around you and then one day you wake up to some minute detail like a nickname and wonder how long you’ve been standing in the dark and what else you have missed along the way. So yeah, we did go out. It was either that night or the night after. It’s not important. What is important is that it was very soon after that fateful Monday night. We started spending a lot of time together, in fact, and even though I was professing my undying devotion to dykedom (a course I have since deviated from totally) my heart was mapping its own course. Although we were supposedly ‘buds’ there was a hell of a lot more between us than that. In retrospect, I guess we were never buds. And to top it off we were sleeping together in the same bed; oh we had clothes on but we were kissing and touching all the time, we couldn’t help ourselves, I think you get the picture. I look back now at how uncomfortable I felt about his being a guy and I have to wonder at my own ignorance and self-betrayal. At any rate, I was feeling pressured and we were starting to fight like we were going out – sexual tension will do that every time. And I was starting to think that neither one of us needed this especially since we weren’t even fucking (gawd forbid a deep and meaningful relationship should ever exist above and beyond sex!) No, no it wasn’t that, it was just that we both wanted each other so badly. If it would have been nuts one or the other it may have worked itself out but there were sparks flying every time our eyes met and I was thinking if I didn’t get away from this guy I was going to explode. And his face was already a steady shade of crimson form the whole ordeal, but I didn’t want to give him up. Yeah, there was tension but there was love, caring, friendship, sharing and a whole lot of witty conversation going on when he let loose. (And I have to wonder if we could have just stared into each other’s eyes long enough, if we could have broken down the barriers, if we could have just let go with each other, could have taken it a bit further, maybe a lot further … ah hell.)

One night we met and from the word go we were at each other’s throats and I couldn’t stand watching him hurt this way, besides he wasn’t the only one who was suffering, but I felt like I was causing all of this because I was the one who had set all of these limitations in the first place. So over a plate of pasta and a bottle of wine I announced that I thought it would be better if we didn’t see each other, and he kinda breathed a sigh of relief and walked away. Just like that. Simple right? Nope. Nothing in life is that simple. (And I wonder still if the story had ended right here if we still could have remained friends, the world may never know … as I type this out 24 years later I wonder whatever happened to him. I searched Facebook but to no avail.)

So I’m walking away and my brain is thinking free at last and my heart is saying ‘oh you think so huh’ – all of a sudden my heart’s weighing in at a good twenty pounds and I’m aching inside and I’m very, very confused. And suddenly I don’t want anybody else except him. No don’t be ridiculous you can shrug him off. Even now I scoff at this façade of control I had deluded myself into thinking I held. When all the while I knew that I was fucked because I knew that despite the fact that I had never had sex with him I had already fallen in love with him. I know, no shit Sherlock, but what would you have done in my shoes? I saw no other avenue of escape. (Had I a brain in my head at this particular juncture I surely would have kept on walking.) I mean after all escape was what I was looking to do. Silly rabbit when have I ever run from someone – never. So two days later I’m practically doubled over in pain. I mean it’s like withdrawal and I’m just a shittin’ over the possibility that I could lose this guy. Fuck that. Suddenly I don’t care if he’s a guy. I mean this is not your average dude. This is definitely the diamond amidst the glass. Sometimes I could look into his eyes and feel what he felt too because there was a commonality between us that rarely occurs between two people. It was something spiritual for me. I would look at him and know that if I was a man, in many ways I would be just like him. At least in a spiritual sense. Unlike him, I would never step totally away from something or someone that disturbed me until I fully understood it. When I was younger if I didn’t like someone it was decidedly their fault. Now, if I feel I don’t like someone, I try to get to know them and see if there isn’t something reflected in them that I don’t like in myself and haven’t dealt with. Granted, sometimes they turn out to be a bona fide dick head but most of the time I usually found myself confronting some of my own insecurities. So that’s what I decided to do with regards to Pete. I waited two days, which seemed like an eternity to me and then I couldn’t take it anymore. I phoned him, I said I’d changed my mind, that I wanted to sleep with him. (As if I hadn’t known that all along.) And instead of him saying ‘oh great’, he asked if I was sure that that was what I wanted to do. Yeah I was sure. (Maybe I should have thought about that statement a little more closely at the time, too late now.)

When I phoned I was unsure, I mean he could easily say no. But that wasn’t it at all – he cam, we were together – it was close, oh so very close- too close I guess because one day he stood back and said ‘hey, this is too much, I can’t take it anymore’ and walked away. So that’s the story. Now if I can just explain to you how he made me feel maybe you’d understand how two months could touch me so deeply.

It’s funny you know because I didn’t start writing about his in my journal when we met, no it began when I started feeling scared. (Tart.) And I quote, “no boredom now, only confusion – sad and I’d complain but it’s nice to feel again.”

Monday April 24, 1989

And now it starts – a slow plummeting sensation sliding down my throat and ending in my gut, as if suddenly startled by a loud noise, my lungs aching. The ache won’t subside and I’m sure it has managed to permeate my facial expression. Once again I’m tormented by my own emotions, so obvious, so overt. And I’m not bored anymore and I think I’m ready to deal with this kind of confusion but I’m frightened by my own feelings. This is something completely new to me.

Will you desert me? Will you run away? You say no and I want to believe you so badly; my chest swells, scared. But I can’t let go of you, my emotions have taken control. Strange, we have not slept together, yet I know I have fallen in love with you. (And Blue Rodeo sings about late night conversations as I transcribe this and something tugs at my insides, so many wasted words, so many wasted opportunities.) Chest now constricting, hard to breath. And sitting on the back of your bike you tell me it would be so easy to fall in love with me and I want hear this but I’m afraid it’s exactly this that will drive you from me. I retreat to my writing and try to sift through the cacophony, trying to find the melody amidst the chaos that is deafening my ears. And I phone you but you are not home – prickles of panic, are you running already?

And the phone drives me crazy with its incessant ringing, all the while knowing full well that it will never be you. Not close enough to you yet to feel what you feel for me when you are not near me. Wondering what is going on; shut out I become paranoid. And I question if whether you have any idea what an hour or a day of being left to my own devices can do to me in this precarious state? I wonder if you have any notion of how insecure I am? Or maybe a part of you thinks it would be easier this way? Not being this way, that is. Have I occupied your every waking moment like you have mine? And I do not have a job designed with distractions like yours. Write, write, write – “I’m tripping over ambivalent shoe laces,” oh yeah. “Hey deejay just play that song, keep me dancing all night long.” (No matter how loud the music gets, or how much the beats pulses through me it still can’t drown out my thoughts or hide my sorrow.) “Everyone thinks of themselves, but I’m thinking of you.” (Nice emotional drivel eh, don’t worry it gets worse. Please bear with me, this is from the heart.

I want you here, now, to hold me, rock me in your arms and tell me I’m a fool and that everything’s alright. I phone again … busy, my heart skips – are you home? Nope, no answer, my lungs fill with anxiety – fuck! I just want to get out of here, to run away and hide from the pain. And yet it still seems so much better than the void that has filled the last month or two of my life. (I guess it’s not like that for everybody. It seems to me that so many prefer to fell nothing at all. I think beyond all of the obvious poverty and destruction in this world this is one of the saddest things I know.) You have excited me in more ways than I myself would have chosen. Where are you? I hate waiting, yet it seems I am constantly waiting nevertheless. (Fuckin’ state another redundancy Danielle.)

I feel like I’m still waiting, but what for heaven only knows. And a thousand times a day I think of holding you, of kissing you. Hard to write, disturbs me. I want to run to you straight from work but I’m petrified that you won’t want to see me. (How sad that this seems to have become so true, I feel guilty every time I go into his work and burden him with my presence – great fucking feeling.) Tears – no, not here, fuck off! Shit. I really care. Would you want to read this I wonder? (Still wondering, even as I write this out in 2013 what he would think if he read this.) Would it make things easier to know that I’m searching deep within myself and struggling daily for a reason not to become your lover? Would you want to know or would it merely be perceived as a paper prophesy – a way of relinquishing my feelings with no apparent consequence? One o’clock, pick up the phone, dial for the 20th time – ring, ring, ring, ring, — click. Where are you? I break into a cold sweat. Would it really be so wrong to be your lover? Lunch time, escape – I wish I could go to the gym right now – but I will have to wait until after work.

And I remember what struck me most about you physically, your smell, always warm and sweet, never any deodorant to mask your natural musk. That and those rich brown eyes that I just fell into without warning. I should have stayed lost in your eyes instead of getting caught up in my own ambiguities – too late … I think, I’m not sure. I’m not sure about anything anymore. It’s all so strange.

May 16, 1989

I wonder if you knew how unbelievably shitty I feel if you would pick up the phone and call me? (Another happy entry on the way I see …) This censored sensitivity irks me. I am here doing what I consider to be going out on a limb by leaving you alone and once again I’m wearing mud in my eye (splat!). I can’t believe that you have no concept of how tortured I become with every passing hour that you do not call. (My this is becoming a might repetitive ain’t it …) I can only hope that I’m doing the right thing … I ache now and that ache will make me turn and run – do you care about me really? I am going home and I am going to sleep and if you do not phone me then I will consider this a mind fuck and I will respond in kind. (reading that over I suddenly see how true those words were because he had said to me that there was only one thing that he couldn’t tolerate and I ran out and did it; asshole.) I hope somewhere in your head you grab hold of the realization that I am trying desperately to fall out of love with you. (Guess he caught onto that notion soon enough, although it took me a lot longer than I expected.)

(I wish you knew …)

Angry, frustrated –

Forbidden Colours – David Sylvian / Ryuichi Sakamoto
(originally used in Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence)

The wounds on your hands never seem to heal
I thought all I needed was to believe

Here am I, a lifetime away from you
The blood of christ, or the beat of my heart
My love wears forbidden colours
My life believes

Senseless years thunder by
Millions are willing to give their lives for you
Does nothing live on?

Learning to cope with feelings aroused in me
My hands in the soil, buried inside of myself
My love wears forbidden colours
My life believes in you once again

I’ll go walking in circles
While doubting the very ground beneath me
Trying to show unquestioning faith in everything
Here am I, a lifetime away from you
The blood of christ, or a change of heart

My love wears forbidden colours
My life believes
My love wears forbidden colours
My life believes in you once again

You say you hate waiting, you won’t – but you ask me to and I do! I want to give you what you need and if you discover it’s not me it’ll break my heart. But for once I’m looking towards the sun. I know it may not appear so at the moment but I really want you. Maybe I want you too much, so I will take this time and hope that somehow it will bond us, not tear us apart. (Rip us to shreds is more like it.) I feel you inside me, burning me up with desire. Yeah I love you but not madly, blindly – I like you, you’re a neat person to hang out with. (Smile.) And finally that heavy sinking feeling starts to lift, and there it is – me – a beautiful me I’ve never seen before that you have inspired, a happy me. And I lost my grasp for a few seconds but I’m back. So for now I’ll say take as much time as you like, I’ll be here.

And that’s all I wrote during … but there was so much more. I guess I didn’t want to put it to paper because I didn’t know what “it” was. I mean it was like being a kid again. He’d touch me so softly, so gently, treat me like a child with gestures but not in a belittling way and I liked it. I remember him patting my head and smiling at me. It was so amazing, I mean were so equally in awe of each other, we were the perfect pair. And despite his desperately trying to evade his capacity for intellect it trickled out and I was enticed and intrigued beyond belief. That’s what struck me so deeply yet is so impossible to convey on paper because I could never describe to you the total beauty of this emotional, sensitive human being the way you could describe someone on a physically lustful level. Granted he’s one of the yummiest guys I’ve seen but not in an obviously attractive way. I mean let’s face it when I first saw him at the bar I wouldn’t have looked twice if I didn’t find him physically appealing but it all became so irrelevant in the long run. The physical contact was important but not for the obvious reasons, I felt it was a way of bonding and I knew that as long as he was making love to me, he still had me in his heart; because loving someone meant that much to him. (And after all was said and done he turned and left in anger.)
It was then the writing started. I mean I just couldn’t handle it, no way, no how. I meet the most wonderful person I have ever met in my life and two months later he’s telling me he can’t have anything to do with me. (And boy did he stick by his convictions. As I rewrite this I wish I could find him to at least say I’m sorry. At first it was a breeze until …

June 6, 1989

Here an now the pain surges forth, waves rush over me like a cold sweat. I reach for the paper as a catalyst, trying to understand. I thought I was okay. I was going to get through this one just a little bit easier this time. My capacity to love has in no way been marred by the constant rejection I encounter (Or do I create them … 24 years later, yes I have to admit I am the Queen of sabotage.) I wish I knew what I was supposed to do. I I break off here as my mind becomes awash with thoughts of you., of your long, thin body entwined with mine, flesh upon flesh. Imagining what it would be like slipping and sliding against each other in this hot, muggy weather. I close my eyes and remember your face as I lose myself in my body, letting my senses overtake me. Here, if only for a moment, all is right with the world. But then I climax and awake to this wonderfully empty abode that has become my refuge and torment all at once.

What do you do when the one you love tells you they never want to see you again – ever? (In retrospect I strongly advise getting the fuck over it and getting on with your life, but that may be easier said than done, especially after two months of pining on my part.) For three days I was fine, or so I thought. (Hell it was two months before I got the message.) I was just idling in neutral. (Shell-shocked was more like it.) So what the hey, let’s phone the guy up and let him know that I hadn’t forgotten him, that my feelings hadn’t changed – a simple ‘I love you’, was all. No chance, suddenly I’m drowning in my own emotions – (and now for something completely different – think there’s a bit of a theme here what with the pining and so forth very Monty Python – should put a meme in here …) my body is screaming for release. I can feel the tears surging forth and it’s all I can do to keep from breaking down in the middle of work and running out of here. I mean who was I trying to kid thinking that it could be that simple for me to let go? (Nothing is that simple for anyone, never mind Ms Emotional herself.) What sordid delusions had I created for myself? Oh god I can’t believe that I could fall so hard in such a short time. (And why not stupid, was it ever any other way?) I wonder if he even noticed that he dumped me exactly a month to the day from the first time we made love. Irony abounds over the fact that I could be with others during the turmoil but now that he is gone I loathe the idea of anyone else touching me. I have isolated myself trying to sort through all of this. (This lasted for two months – a veritable eternity as far as I was concerned at that juncture. I was severally sexually frustrated and managed to harbour an obsession that was only eliminated by his constantly reiterating his initial decisions, pathetic I tell ya.) Did he really mean it? Could he really never want to see me again? (No stupid he just can’t handle you in any way, shape or form at the moment – great.)
(To the theme of Dragnet) Dum, dah, dump, dum. Dah, dee, dump, dump, dump!!! And now (everyone enhale emphatically) for the letter. Oh if you thought she was going to give up before totally humiliating herself you obviously haven’t been paying attention for the last few pages. Danielle’s life can never be simple. No but seriously this is the letter I sent to him for real, no joke. So if you laugh, I don’t want to know.

“Obsessively I devour books, searching for what? A key, something that would set me free in my own right so I could write my own damn book and I’m just on the brink of becoming disciplined enough to sit down and write it [HA!], I mean really write it, plot, characters, setting, sounds, smells, tastes sweet and bitter mmmm … but first there’s you. I mean I could just wipe you out but I have this ache for you that just won’t quit.

If I close my eyes I can picture your face, my expression softens at the thought, eyes feasting upon your image … but then I squeeze them tightly just a split second before they burst open remembering how you looked at me the night you said goodbye, like some pathetic child with no concept of my own potential. It was worse than a slap in the face.

As I write this a strange surging in my body occurs, I yearn for you like never before, your arms encasing me, wrapped around me like a cocoon, oh so protected. (Do you know you are probably the first person to make me feel truly safe.) Because when I am with you I can nuzzle against your chest and feel a warmth and depth like my own. After the taste of your lips all is bland. I long for that tongue forcing its way paste my teeth, all the while I clasp tightly at your neck, pressing hard against you, wanting you, wanting you so badly. I want you inside me. (Flash of pain – I never got to tell you how much it meant to me to make love to you. That’s right – make love.) I wish I would have referred to it as that to your face instead of “fucking”. It was never fucking to me. Do you really think you could have been anyone – no my dear, I won’t even try to compare anyone to you.

I miss your rich smell, hot musk scent making me want to tear off all your clothes whenever I saw you. I always wanted to make love to you sitting up, legs clamped behind your back, on your lap rocking back and forth, able to be so close I could kiss and touch you and feel you inside me all at once.

June 8, 1989

Misty morning sun cutting through the rising fog as the dew dissolves and the heat penetrates through the window pane, awakening me. Sweat glistening below the covers. As I sit up a single bead escapes, threads its way between my breasts and drops on the duvet, reminiscent of a tear. It rained last night – a violent outburst exploding from the sky, pelting down and literally drenching anyone who came in its path for even a few seconds. Sun, rain, sun, storm, sun; weather still following my mind. When you were at my apartment the night of a rather abrupt storm it felt so good to hold you and be allowed to share one of your fears. Now it rains without meaning. I am not unhappy and suddenly the radio sings out the words I need, to save my crying for the days … fool if you think it’s over, just begun. Now it rains without meaning. I am not unhappy and suddenly the radio sings out the words I need, to save my crying for the days … fool if you think it’s over, just begun.

But this is NOT some fleeting teenage love affair. I refuse to just dismiss you like that when I know we could have a most happy and intense long-term commitment. (Adamant wasn’t I.) I know now is not the right time for you, (try this lifetime honey) but I am … Oh Christ I can’t write anymore of this drivel. Yeah, but you know as I read on I realized it’s true; in spite of everything it was a really positive, uplifting experience for me. And it was true that I was disappointed that he didn’t’ feel the same way but I was bound and determined not to let him slip out of my life. (24 years later and I just touched base with him again yesterday … writing out stuff you wrote eons ago is humbling to say the least.)


Well I was doing okay, that is until now. Now the hard part begins, sitting by the phone for seven hours a day (work at an office), battling it out. But I have to do this, I owe you. Besides I’m afraid to talk to you, afraid you will run even father away from me. Oh fuck, give me strength. I can’t believe I’ve lasted this long with only one message, one phone call, wow! Oh well, at least this is doing wonders for my waistline. I’m going to look amazing the next time you see me. Panicking, what if you truly meant what you said? (Oh, I can assure you he meant it.) Wise words from my friend Christy “Danielle, you are a lousy emotional investment for him. He weighs it out, decides it’s too risky and naturally dumps the whole deal.” Yep.

(More pleading …) Mickey, if you knew in my heart that I was willing to invest everything including monogamy – really the very least of my worries – take a chance on us, really believe in us, would that make a difference? I close my eyes and believe in blind faith. My body absolutely throbs with desire for you and only you. I don’t want anyone else. I know it appears pretty pathetic in lieu of my past actions but I guess I had to be cut loose to know exactly what I wanted and baby it’s you. (I had yet to realize it was over, I was still bargaining … You can’t always get what you want.)

June 9, 1989 (Note: this is also my sister’s birthday)

Soft and sensual the music captivates me – not the lyrics, more the rising and falling of the rhythm while I envision us intertwined. Close my eyes and picture you, it’s late. Meanwhile at work, you’re tired and something draws you away. Counting your cash your mind flits to my face and captivates you. You lose your pace. Shit. Start again. But afterwards you rush through your work, you are anxious to have it over with. Heart pounding in your chest, what if you are wrong, what if this is the dumbest thing you could possible do? Fuck it. Take a chance. Pick up the phone, dialling – one ring, two rings …

“Hi, it’s me,” hesitation in your voice.
“Hiii,” soft and drawn out, sensual.
“I need to see you.”
“I thought you’d never phone me, come on over.”

Fifteen minutes later, you are standing together, eyes locked, passion flowing, the heat almost palatable. He looks as if he’s about to talk but he doesn’t. Good, not now, just let it be, let it happen. Soft and pliant, nuzzling at your neck. Yes, now, please cradle me in your arms, let me rock you baby all night long.

June 21, 1989

I phone, just to see if, perchance, I can hear your voice on the answering machine. A woman speaks first but suddenly there it is strong and resonant, reverberating in my head after I have replaced the receiver. Without warning my emotions boil and blister quickly, like a pop being shaken up, only to explode as my emotions cave in on me and I’m crumbling inside. I actually have to lay my head on the desk top to keep a handle on the vertigo that has room spinning before me, too wild. I thought this only happened in gothic novels to anaemic, reclusive women, bound to tight in their corsets who ate to little and exercised far less. Tears blur my vision but I refuse them – pushed aside for a private moment because I’m afraid. I’m afraid it would unleash a veritable cesspool that couldn’t be contained. I’m afraid I couldn’t stand it knowing you weren’t there to hold me. My stomach churns and gurgles, accompanied by a sickening sensation that is rising in my chest. Oh gawd just make it go away!
My eyes are constantly blurred by your persistent image arising before me. Nothing is clear anymore. I know if I saw you right now without being able to hold you, touch you, kiss your sensual mouth I would be reduced to a mere child reacting on impulses, overridden by feelings. Even as I write I am incessantly swallowing, licking my bottom lip which is constantly sliding between my teeth, trying desperately to maintain. Three more hours and I can just go home and relax.

“Showers and thunderstorms rolling in tonight, accompanied by extensive fog,” the man on the radio announces as I wait on the phone. The weather, as always, right on the money.

June 23, 1989

No, I didn’t give up, stop loving, stop caring, stop thinking about you. I just gave a little more, I let you go. I wrote now as I have with many before you, indirectly. A dangerous sign, a way of writing you off, literally. I wonder, should I tell you the time has become too much, too detrimental to love anymore? I wonder but I am adamant about sticking to my guns. If you come back I want it to be your decision. (It cracks me up how much I used to bargain in my journals.) I don’t want to think that I coerced you. I don’t want to think that it was just easy … a mere convenience.

My mind turns over on itself and bam, there’s your face before me and a yearning so rich erupts from with in that I can feel the juices flowing from my body and sliding between my legs. I am distracted from my writing as I lose myself in you and wish it wasn’t merely in my head. I wish I could make you believe in us the way I do. I wish you had been with more women in a serious context so that you could truly fathom how awe inspiring the rapport we have is. No, I’m not Ms expert of the universe or anything, but I do know myself well enough to know when something is right. (*coughs*) “It takes two to make a thing go right, it takes two to make it outta sight” – Rob Base and D J E Z Rock. I feel we could grow a beautiful garden together. I know I scare you, but telling me you’re scared only makes me think that maybe there is something worth chancing. If you see a risk involved, then obviously you also consider that there is a distinct possibility that this may be really good thing.

Oh I wish I could talk to you. I wish I could hold you. I wish I could have you trust me, learn to believe in emotions, not actions. (Aw the hypocrisy here is hilarious – one of my all time mottos now is actions speak louder than words, don’t say, do. I had awhile to go before I outgrew the bargaining stage … still haven’t fully I expect. It’s been so long since I fell head over heels I really couldn’t say for sure. However 24 years later and my love life has not improved much but that’s not for this story now is it.) I wish we could scream in anger until we broke down the barriers. I am not desperate, I have a million offers – some of them not so bad even but I’ve been through all this before. However, I can’t make myself a martyr to this cause. (Err wouldn’t that be a further martyr at this juncture … anyway.) I am not quite as pride struck as I feel you are. I do not mean this be insulting, I just think you are hindered by a lot of self-evolved negative imagery. You are so fucking beautiful and you refuse to let yourself see it. You cant even stand looking in the mirror, never mind letting someone love you. Well I did, do and I will probably always have some spot with your name etched across it. I am not ashamed to feel and I am not embarrassed to love, even if I am wholly mistaken in my beliefs. (Well you got that part right sister.) But I must concede that I do, in some ways, feel sorry for you when I picture the self-induced mental torment that you must be harbouring at this moment. I know you perceive yourself as self-absorbed but I think your manner is more self-destructive and I wish I could do something to make you see that. But I have been through it and I know that no amount of coaching or coaxing can change your vision, it is something that you must become aware of on your own. Therefore I add this letter to the pile of non letters, never to be read by you.

June 26 – forward thinking, a sign of beginning anew. I knew that I should try to move on but I lingered in the moment trying to understand. Trying for once in my life to take the time, to hesitate and ponder during the crux of the actual situation rather than compiling the plot in the aftermath, full of what if’s and could of’s. I took a risk, I’m not sorry, I am sorry. I was confused. I’m okay. I still love. So many eyes always seeing, holograph. Paupers before he entered that fateful Monday night.

Tuesday June 27, 1989

Okay I admit it, I’m angry and yes hurt. I saw him, we spoke, it’s finished. He said some harsh things that I was expecting but he also said something that I didn’t expect and it was cruel and it cut me to the quick and I’m angry because I think it was a pretty unmitigated audacious statement and I want to scream at him now and fight with him. And he said, “you always look like you want to slap me” and I said “no, that’s not it at all” and at the time I meant it. I don’t want to slap you, I want to hold you, want to be with you so badly I ache and what you see on my face is me trying to quash the look of longing and desire. But now as my blood runs cold, yes I think I would like to pummel his face. And as I was walking away my anger raged, but I would not let him see the tears of frustration. So I ran, grabbed a cab and as soon as I was inside the tears began to flow. When I got home I kicked and punched an danced around and screamed and ranted until I finally felt purged and even somewhat positive and then I went to sleep. But when I woke up this morning I was sad and I wished I could remember my dreams so that I could look inside myself and see what’s really going on.

The anger surges again, do you know what that fucking prick said to me?! “I know I’m fucked up but you’re way more fucked up than I am.” Yeah right on buddy, you fuckin’ goof. (Actually that’s still true 24 years later as well.) That comment, that was the one, the one that finally brought about what he’s been striving for all along because those few words are enough for me to write him off forever. He finally gave me the insensitive to move on. I hope that is what he truly wants and I hope he knows just exactly what he’s losing here. Fuckin’ self-centered prick. I told him I would never hate him because I didn’t want him to know that I would bestow such a passion on him, but it’s true, right now I loathe him with every fibre of my being. I wish I had never met him! I feel like he came in and upset the mould of a fine art piece I had been working on for years. (WTF? Oh sure Danielle – I am giggling over that one.) And sadly too I must admit that in a way I’m glad that I hurt him. Glad that I injured him. I hope I left a deep and rich scar. Oh, I’m so angry. I will throw this out as soon as I finish writing it but I will continue to seethe. I hate anger. It bothers me more than any other feeling. I just want it to go away. I want to forget about him and forget he ever existed. I wish that I would stop feeling. Soon, very soon, he will be the past.

So that’s it. I mean that’s the last thing I ever wrote about it – the one that was so nasty and angry but somehow I never quite got around to tossing it. I’m not even sure if I ever intended to throw it out because all of these segments capture emotions that I could not describe as I did unless I felt them again. Do you know? It’s like trying to explain to a guy about period cramps; something is definitely lost in the translation. I think that it’s too bad that people don’t spend a little more time getting to know each other before making judgments. (Hahahahaha I kill myself – I’m still diving in head first a quarter of a century later.)
I went to a party tonight and the birthday boy was wearing a pin: “five billion people and still no date.” I thought it was hilarious. “Don’t laugh, it’s sad” he said. Yeah it is but I have to laugh to keep from crying. I guess that’s why I wrote this, to help deal with it. People have different ways of dealing with things. And yeah this happened and yeah it really, really hurt but it’s not so bad. I discovered some beautiful things about myself along the way. I learned how to laugh again. I met a wonderful human being who inspired me and who gave me one of the best things I ever got without him even know it. No I’m not turning into Jimmy Swaggart or anything, just diverging a bit is all.

Remember as the line from the song goes – picture a throbbing funk beat, woman screaming in such a way that you can feel the sneer on her face – don’t be soooooooooooooo fuckin’ serious!” No, it’s okay sometimes, I was just kidding, really.

And at that precise moment she ran out of typewriter ribbon and had to end it for the day. (Yep folks I had a typewriter back then?!) Besides she had to pee really badly and the heavy duty exercising for the day had taken its toll. Yep, definitely beat alright. You may think this writing thing is easy but I’ve got new for you. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh help me I’m melting! Come on Toto let’s blow this pop stand.

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