What do people do?

Is this where the bad decisions come from? Idle hands and all that?

Here, I find myself with a day off. And nothing to do. At least there is nothing I have to do. Today.

I can stay in bed. All day. Glorious, no?

Except, that is what I do. All day. Nothing.

Clarissa calls me. “What are you going to do today?”

I have no answer. Other than, “I can come over.”

“That’s not what I want,” is her reply.

Here, I lie in bed. With nothing to do.

Yet, people do things. Have I always been like this? Just sitting in neutral with no tasks at hand?

I joke. “My hobby is sleeping,” I say. It’s not wrong though. It’s no joke. Some days, I don’t leave the apartment. Or the cottage. Or the house.

At times, I adventure. No city is too far. Nor countryside. Nor attraction. Nor mountain, nor monument.

But why? For those Marriott beds? Perhaps. Because I will sleep on “vacation” too. Hmm.

No drive.

Yes, I will wander into the out. I will find something to eat. Likely a sandwich or a taco. Preferably a taco, but again she doesn’t want to see me. I will go get some things from the store. Fabric softener is at the top of the list.

I need a haircut. The bedding needs washed. Or warshed, depending on your dialect. I used to exercise—walks, lifting at the gym, runs. Hell, I used to eat far more protein than I currently do. My back hurts, so a trip to the chiropractor definitely won’t hurt. I have more books to read than I can finish before I die. I’m tragically pale—and unhappy—so a few minutes under the happy lights is an option as well. I used to write. More. A lot more.

And there’s plenty of time in the day to do it. But there’s television. And doom scrolling. Clarissa will call again and we’ll talk—probably for hours. She is also doing nothing. Sitting in the dark. Thinking. About everything. About life.

When did we become so lost? So idle? Devil’s playthings, indeed.

Yet, I am so comfortable. Lying in this bed. Typing this out on a laptop. I can roll over and go back to sleep. And it will be glorious. Satisfying. I’m so relaxed.

What if comfort is an indication that I am less? The key indicator that I am NOT doing the right thing? What if it’s my drug. Not unlike her. This euphoric sensation of the next narcoleptic wave that will whisk me away to dreamland. Where adventure and sex and love and action await.

Seriously, what do people do? And what will I do today?

I don’t know how to not be Superman. Even though I’m not a… super man. I know she’s hurting, I can feel it. And as much as I wish I knew what to do, I really don’t. I don’t even know if being there for her is the right move.

Is she depleting me? If she is, I don’t feel it. I am never more at peace than in her presence—even during her moments of chaotic turmoil.

She doesn’t fully believe that she can escape… no, that’s not the right word… affect her life. Her lifestyle. All she has known is being sexualized. Which is a tragedy, because she is a beautiful woman. And confident… most of the time. But she only knows she doesn’t want life as it is right now.

And escape. Escape is tantalizing. Life is long and hard and mostly dull. So, this is what attracts us to new experiences… someone new may come along, and we like them, so we trust them immediately. A couple of drinks later, we’re opening up to them. Next thing you know, we’re friends. Maybe a little bit more.

We all have demons—some we control, some we ignore, yet all are dangerous—but we try to put on our best mask. We smile. And, Lord, the drink helps here. Because, it is so much easier than full honesty.

Ask how I know.

In seven years, we both harbor secrets. Yes, honesty is important. Yet I don’t want or need to know everything she has (or wants) to share. Or not. All I can do is be here for her to listen. To help her through this struggle. Maybe more, but we’re starting here.

Does she want me to share more? Possibly, yet I have no way of knowing.

Over the last several days, she has shown me that I matter. Yet she is so slow to trust. Maybe it’s because we’re taught that anyone who is too good to be true must be. I’m not the ideal candidate, yet we share a genuine affection for each other. Even if we don’t exactly know what to do about it.

No, I’m not Superman. I cannot save her. I may not be able to save myself. But I cannot leave her to face her demons alone.

Right now, I’m more than her friend. Right now, I cannot be her lover. Right now, I can be her champion. I can listen when she wants to talk. I can take care of certain things with her and for her. I can show her how much she matters. To her daughter. To her family. To me. To herself? Maybe. Eventually. That may take some time.

It’s true. We can only heal through radical honesty. With others? Yes, but that falls flat when we’re not being radically honest with ourselves. That’s when the victim mentality sets in.

Are we sure we did nothing to let this happen? Sometimes we only have to open the door… and discover that a friend is not really a friend. Yet closing ourselves off is not the answer either.

She’s sleeping so peacefully right now, and I weep while I wish for her to hold onto this peace while awake. And at night. Nights are the hardest, I know, my love, and it’s terrifying when one of the demons follows you into the daylight. I know you want to understand why it happened. How anyone who professes love to you can betray you. Some answers are not ours to discover… only karma or the universe can sort it out.

Yet this is her dark night of the soul. I suppose I can accompany her, but ultimately this is her path to walk… alone. And all I can do is stay on my own path and offer support within my means. Will there be moments of tough love? Times when I’ll have to wait outside the dark cave while she does battle? I have no doubt.

I am learning a lot about love. What does it mean to be there for someone? When she’s sick? What if she loses the battle? What if the demons win?

And what about me? I am the way I am, because I never wanted to take care of anyone in my life… hell, let’s be honest. I never wanted to care for anyone else in my life. This. This is way this young woman blindsided me. Was there an initial attraction? Yes, but this was more. It’s like our souls touched. And entangled.

So, I couldn’t let go even if I wanted to. Herein lies yet another lesson. Because I have to hold on to myself. No matter what happens with this woman. I have glimpsed her life. Getting sucked in can ruin me. Pulling her out will require effort on her part… something she possesses today, but the past has a strong hold on us. Limiting beliefs. Indoctrination. That shit is buried deep in our psyche. And we trend lazy. Working on growing every single day is exhausting. If only we just grew… without thought. Like the plants. I wonder, do the plants feel pain? And what if growth didn’t have to hurt? Or healing?

So much of our past is comfortable. And there have been great times with people who ultimately betrayed us. And it sucks. I believe it is important to remember that each new day is a fresh start. That our sins can be forgiven. And that we can find peace.

Today marks an anniversary of sorts. Kind of.

On this day, nineteen years ago, I was writing about the demise of a three-ish year relationship in the spring and my recovery. I recalled my girl, 26, had left me for an older man, 53.

And, out of curiosity, I had to sit and do the math. Because I didn’t note their ages. At the time, I was 33.

I’m reading this piece and marveling at how... offended... I was at this. Of course, I was the lover betrayed.

Then, I find this li’l nugget:

This morning, i had the horrible thought that she is setting me up to become her "ideal" , single, fifty-something who has to seduce twenty-somethings to get his rocks off... because at this moment, it feels like i will never find anyone like her.

Incredible.

Here we are. Today. I am fifty-two. My current girl is twenty-seven. I adore her and cannot imagine life without her and... “it feels like I will never find anyone like her.”

Interesting.

What i'm listening to:

Bad Dreams
Teddy Swims
Bad Dreams

I’ve got regrets... but I don’t regret a single day I spent with you.

Wait. I regret one. The one that changed the course of the entire relationship. The one you could never let go of. The one day/morning/moment I can never take back.

You wanted it to work. We both did.

I frustrated you. In that critical first moment. And I broke your heart. And our relationship...

[ more.. ]

I thought I saw a man brought to life
He was warm - he came around like
He was dignified
He showed me what it was to cry
Well you couldn’t be that man I adored
You don’t seem to know - don’t seem to care
What your heart is for
No I don’t know him anymore

So I guess the fortune teller’s right
I should have seen just what was there
And not some holy light
But you crawled beneath my veins
And now I don’t care
I have no luck
I don’t miss it all that much
There’s just so many things
That I can’t touch

There’s nothing where he used to lie
My conversation has run dry
That’s what is goin’ on
Nothin’s right

I’m torn
I’m all out of faith
This is how I feel
I’m cold and I am shamed
Lying naked on the floor
Illusion never changed
Into something real
I’m wide awake
And I can see the perfect sky is torn
You’re a little late
I’m already torn

One may bask at the warm fire of faith or choose to live in the bleak uncertainty of reason — but one cannot have both.

What i'm listening to:

Torn
Natalie Imbruglia
Left of the Middle

“Can you tell me why you like me so much?”

The question she asked was sincere. She’s looking up at me, with those deep brown eyes... yearning for an answer. I don’t have one.

Does it matter why, my love? Is it not enough that we are here, right now, in this moment? What purpose will it serve feeding your ego at this moment.

Yet it does matter. She’s visibly getting angry. She’s been hurt before. She wants to know that this is real. That it will last. That I’m the one.

Yes, this is real. No, it will not last. No, I’m no one.

I am only here to remind you how to love. How to feel again.

They say everything happens for a reason. I disagree. Perhaps I’m wrong, but I don’t believe everything happens for a reason we are humanly aware of.

I can’t tell you why I “like you so much.” I am still trying to figure that out.

Yet I do. Like you. I like this moment. I love providing you glimpses of safety and security. I love being inside you. I love your touch. Your smell. Your taste.

I sense that you want me to tell you that this is permanent. Nothing is permanent, my love. Forever doesn’t exist for people like us. We are here now. Can’t we enjoy the now? Without clouding it with the fear of the future? Because it is fear. You’re already dreading the thought of being without me.

Let’s enjoy this moment now. So what if I can’t tell you why.

“Come. Shower with me.”

This weekend, you closed your curtains, locked your doors, turned off the lights, and ate presweetened morning breakfast cereal, with little marshmallows! You spent $7.

I’ve been living simply. It’s time to live... larger, but that’s a conversation for another time.

Anyway, I’m living near my girl, in a shitbox studio, with only furniture and dishes and such that I didn’t pay for. An easier exit for when it’s time to depart. There is always an approaching departure time.

What’s that old axiom? Oh yeah, “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

I would not have chosen the dinnerware I’m using. They’re black. Rather boring. And HUGE!

The bowl, for example, seems to hold twice the amount of cereal as my previous bowls. Now, I really shouldn’t be eating cereal anyway—processed poison and all that—but frankly, I really don’t care at this moment. I’m immortal. Why would I?

After yesterday, I can tell you that the bowls are large enough to finish a box of cereal in five bowls.

Now, ask how lousy I feel after consuming an entire box of cereal in one day...

I have been educating myself on addiction lately. What constitutes an addiction to, for instance, alcohol?

And I have come up with this formula: If I leave a full (or partial) bottle of whiskey (tequila, vodka) at your apartment, will it be waiting for me when I return?

I’ve learned that in many cases, this answer is no. A reasonable pre-qualifier for that next “less dramatic” girlfriend? Sure.

And, applying this algorithm, I have a “healthy relationship” with alcohol.

Cereal, on the other hand... fuck.

You said,
“Tell me where you’ve been, love.”

And I thought of all the lost roads,
and dark corners,
and heavy work,
and heartbreak,
and all of the healing.

And I just said...
“On my way here.”

Love is giving someone the power to destroy you and trusting they won’t use it.

I have been thinking a lot about life and love lately—in the shadow of so much death. I suppose we each handle death in our own ways. I suppose.

And I’ve been getting to know someone. She’s an incredible young woman. Beautiful and vibrant. Curious and sensitive. At the risk of sounding cliché, I can see the future in her eyes.

Those deep, beautiful brown eyes.

The speed with which we went from strangers to intimate was breathtaking, yet organic. It’s like we’ve always known each other, yet each yearns to learn more.

But she’s afraid. Of the cascade of emotions. And this is what breaks my heart.

We’re taught that emotions are weakness. We’re taught that we can think ourselves out of crisis.

This society has created a lot of people out there who are not capable of true love, which ruins the field for those of us who are capable of nothing else.

So, she has found someone who loves her and will take care of her. And she has withdrawn. If this is the end of the affair, I will be sad, yet without regret. She knows who I am. We are no longer strangers.

In the shadow of death, however, I fear losing her… and all of my loved ones. Losing contact.

At any moment, my light could go out. Or hers. Flame extinguished. And if we’re out of touch, how would the other know?

Imagine, the horror of discovering the one person you had to build up the courage to join, the one you want to pursue your fantasies and desires with... only to find he or she passed away a few weeks ago. Isn’t it better to experience waves of the good feelings over the bad?

We’re all going to burn out. All of us. Death is not a trend, it’s a part of life. We need to stop losing our valuable time thinking about what could happen and risk a little heartbreak. The love we gain is worth it, and we deserve to feel loved. Wanted. Desired.

Discovered today this li’l nugget written August 29 of last year.