Everything Matters

Everything Matters . . and everything comes at once.

“It’s the image of a kid . . . a boy let’s say, sitting on the curb, looking around, slightly confused, not sure where he is or even quite who he is. And then an image of a girl, who notices him and stops. She reaches out her hand to him and he takes it. She says nothing, except with that one simple gesture she says the thing that matters most. And that’s – ‘it will be ok.’

And since then, somehow, somehow in many different ways, I have felt inexorably tied to you. Can’t deny that really – I love you even though at the same time you manage to both baffle and frustrate me.

And since then we’ve danced around each other – lovers, friends, other . .

The email continues. My heart skips beat. I laugh out loud. I smile and I also pause. He goes on to speak about a hidden me.

“Since the very beginning I started observing things about you, seeing things, and I suppose the conservationist never let go. I’m sorry – I guess it’s why I could never fully let go even when I pretended I could. I just never knew who I was falling for, so deep down without noticing I setup a natural barrier. And I waited…

I’m not sure exactly what I’ve been waiting for – I suppose a hunch that there was always something left out.”

And how he has danced around its discovery. Waiting to perhaps see and/or to not see something. I can only wonder if he was waiting to be dissuaded. Find out why I possibly wasn’t the one to love . . yet, the feelings, the dreams, and me have never left him—I, a low humming frequency in the life he leads.

I always equated his diatribes, his dissertation-like emails regarding his feelings for me to I being a placard–the justification, the excuse, that he is alone—why he breaks hearts, left and right. I always doubted this love he speaks of. We are so different. But, should it be real, I worry that I will hurt him for this apathetic New York bachelor is a façade for the man I met on that corner so many years ago. A man that still breathes somewhere underneath his hardened exterior. His words today are the first I trust. And perhaps this love he has for me is because I am the only one that knows these breaths?

I don’t know how to respond. I return to New York. To A, to new beginnings of which KidRobot does not yet know. In Puerto Rico, Caballito and I remain close, an entirely different story, one that was cemented by a tragedy . . .

And my life baffles me.

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Currents

There is so much noise, it is silent. My mind is blank or is it everywhere? Currents of thoughts against a sea of nothing. Perhaps I am lost in the many days that pass. The sun’s risings each morning are becoming a blur and I, am no longer capturing them.

A return to dormant behaviors. And a necessary selfishness for those behaviors threaten me of drowning. The priority merely keeping afloat, functioning. My thoughts pass between men, my empty bank account, the proper solution, career, foundation, dreams and the few things that actually matter in life’s larger scheme … The issues conflicting and my mind, awash.

For simplicity, I will update “men” as this blog is chapters in and chapters behind.

Thoughts of S are fewer and farther between. I note that my thoughts have lingered longer than we were together. How amazing to be affected so much by somone with whom we were never an us. He told me three weeks ago that he was back with his ex. Glowing as he ran on the treadmill, he felt more connected to her than he has ever felt with anyone. A dagger in my heart. Although, jealousy escapes me. I am happy for him should his words be true. Caught actions since make me question those words, or perhaps, all men.

The impulsive gentlemen weighs on me. His words, “You are not ready for a relationship. You need a friend. I fear that in only wanting to make you happy, I have made you unhappier.” His words are true. The supposed pressure is gone, but with each invite, each told bottle of wine, and cooked meal I refuse, I cringe.
The lingering gentlemen, the love, his disappointment, it all pains me. To go through each day alone and have someone thinking of you every moment, who would give anything to be that companion you long for …

In recent days, words from ghosts pass fill my email box, KidRobot, Matt Damon. My signifcance hurts me.

I feel as I am surrounded by an impenetrable circle. My world is just me. The orbiting worlds breathe me, dream me while I can only breathe thoughts indistinct.

Knots

theartistport

It is possible to like a few. But, is it pointless? Am I just toying with hearts? I don’t let go, because “maybe’s” exist.

The coins laid out before me. I pick them up. I close my fingers around them. Unclench, and pass them through my fingers.

I think. I stare at my last name. A simple word. It is affixed in the painting that just was anonymously delivered to my office. Wrapped in brown paper. His name and my last. My heart skipped a beat. Fuck. I unwrap it. The Artist. Yellow. Warm. Bright. Abstract. Is this how he sees me? I would have guessed a painting to be inspired by me, conceived by him, to be rich in frustration, as his frustration is akin to mine with Caballito.

Tomorrow I leave for New York. Cold awaits. An extreme from my past weekend of tangerine and turqoise, Venezuela. There was Veuve Cliqout and waters so clear I could see the fish swim around my bronzed skin, the same fish that later lay splayed amongst lobster, kissed with juices from oranges and lime. I danced in the moonlight. I confronted my unquiet mind. I came back with bruises. Too many knots. Unfortunately, not from those tied around my wrists. 33 knots–the yacht’s speed.

I fly tomorrow. To pack, ship and donate my belongings from New York. I will stay with KidRobot. See MattDamon for dinner. I will think of the Artist and the painting that I stare at now. I will straddle lives and affect hearts. This shouldn’t be painful, but it is. And all the while, I will think of Caballito.

Mr. Marry

I suppose I didn’t respond with what you wanted to say. Your current words. Light, funny. You write the word “Phew.” and “I guess I was just trying to figure out stuff that was happening, so what the hell I thought I’d ask.” You also tell me you are going to DR, then Thailand, and perhaps, moving to Spain with the guys in July. WHAT?

Ok, so a note to all. I know what KidRobot is doing. His reactions would be fine had I wrote him I wasn’t interested, that I didn’t think about us as well. But, that’s not the truth. Clearly, my words were not what he wanted to hear. But, now his emotions are so indifferent he has sealed their fate. I want to say “Fuck you.” I know his indifference is a safety blanket, a retraction of the emotions, an attempted way to save the potential hurt. But, again, fuck you. If you are a man, stand by what you say until we discuss it and figure our own truths, together. You are proposing being partners and you cannot even do this?

So, it’s not that I am angry, but I write this as a note on the decisions we make and the games we play when dealing with the heart. He chose a route I do not recommend. I suppose perhaps, all routes arrive at the same destination, but I think less of him for his withdrawal. For his inability to stand by his words. His emotions. There is a reason I hate the words I love you and why I prefer my bouts with “unavailables”.

So, I thank you for leaving me empty, leaving me distrusting.

The remote chance of an us

I often post moments. Snapshots of my life. Perhaps, it is time to share more. Provide some links. Although, it will not be now. But, I will share this.

As I ride the emotional rollercoaster that is Caballito, many are riding the rollercoaster that is me. I will update the cast to this extent, but I am held awake, with an overdue response to a particular email.

KidRobot-the friend I have had for the longest in New York.

It was 2004, I was walking to my Vespa. The treelined streets of Carroll Gardens. Tall, dark, and handsome, he was walking a black lab. We passed eachother. Ten steps later. We both turned around. I was smitten. We dated. He was in the process of getting divorced and I turned my emotions off deciding we were brought together for “support.” I was dealing with an addiction and he, a newfound freedom. He loved me, he said. His emotions given, but met my deaf ears and walled heart. Drama was our parting. Reconnected as friends. He had fallen in love again. Then, I was living in Florida- a three day business trip turned into two months. We spoke and we flirted, shared. I dreamed. And fell.

Fell hard. Down. When I returned to New York, he was an emotional disaster from his break up. One I thought he had long before. Many years as friends thereafter. Last year, we went to Tulum, a group of friends. He told me he never stopped loving me. We returned to New York. And the foundation that was my life had crumbled. I shut off. Easier to fall alone. And took this job in Puerto Rico. This year he came to California with me for Christmas. And said, he felt like he came home for the first time. We slept in the same bed. Side by side for a week. An arm was not even placed around me.

And on December 30th I returned to PR. A package was sent. A card and Tuesday morning, the morning after my fight with Caballito, an email of which I will provide tidbits:

” . . . On one hand I feel tough, complete, whole but at the same time very vulnerable – especially with you. I feel so cliche, like one of your many guy friends “bearing his feelings” or telling you how “you’re the one” – I never really went that far because of listening to you and being afraid to end up just being another guy who bears his feelings  . .

I broke up with Julia and sabotage things not because I am relationship adverse or because I don’t want to be close to anyone, but because if there’s a chance somehow of us, I want to keep myself open – for that chance, however remote it often seems to be. . . 

I know this sounds like ranting but I say this because I feel like I am trying to run away from feelings, trying to avoid feeling a certain way because I am terrified. I am terrified by what will happen, by what will happen to us – and by what you will say. . . . 

I say this because I am terrified to discover the truth about myself and about you.”

 

Paltry Subterfuge

I pull closer. I cannot get close enough. My body is yearning for yours. I can feel you inside me. A wave of calm mixed with a resurgence of sexual energy,

My mind and my movements take on a prowess. I feel seductive, sexy and  . . . free. My sensuality had been on an extended sabbatical. Hello again 😉

I drive over the bridge. Unfortunately, my sensuality has only returned in my thoughts. The dance with my lover/my companion has been postponed. The “to be continued,” still pending.

The saboteur. I am. 

Yesterday, I recalled my typed words–my request of myself to not sabotage my reunion with Caballito. I knew he wouldn’t call me until after the gym circa 9pm. However, my vulnerability demanded that I distract myself. Not wait on his call. Avoid wondering why he will not make concrete plans with me, secure seeing me, and the corresponding pain that I am not a priority.

I acknowledge that a woman, a relationship, falls second in his value hierarchy. I acknowledge that this does not reflect his emotions for me and the amount he cares. He simply cares about himself more.

Sigh, the traits of a Mr. Unavailable. I complain, but these traits are also my safety.

I initially hung out with the Artist, escaping the pain of waiting on a ring. I dropped off the artist who has fallen for me, who does cute things. Who shines a light on the failed actions of my Caballito. I left the Artist hoping to see Caballito.  I received a call from my father, family circumstances. I called Caballito, tears building, he didn’t answer. 

The Trainer called me thereafter, as I was driving, looking for a place to cry. And, he said, “Come here.” PS. I barely know him. When Caballito called back, I was already driving to the Trainer, the Stranger. To cry.  

I told Caballito I just needed to drive. I was upset and that we would talk tomorrow– which is today.

SUBTERFUGE. At least, it wasn’t SABOTAGE .

xx

The current summary of my peripheral men are the following:

1) The Artist new man who I have spent time hanging out with. As friends, in my mind. As more, in his. Nothing has happened physically so I assure myself that we are just friends. Yet I can see that look in his eyes. He is on a high. He is a puppet, and I hold the strings.

2) The Lawyer- I attended a Grammy winner’s birthday with him on Tuesday. he has written me these texts since: 

“ATTAININGME- I WANT THAT YOU LIVE WITH ME IN MY HOUSE I LIKE YOU A LOT MY BMW IS WAITING FOR YOU.”  The text before said this “ I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER ALMOST FOREVER GOOD LUCK”

Haha. I met this guy at a business meeting. He is the opposite of what his texts make him out to be. He was so shy when we first met. Couldn’t even look at me. And, when I was friendly, as I normally am, he told me he has never fallen in love at first sight before. He thinks we should get married. What’s really sick is I am pretty sure he is serious. 

This will go nowhere. I include him to illustrate the contrast in courtship.

3) MattDamon- A character in this blog since its inception. A coffeeshop acquaintance in New York who fell for me. I toyed around with giving him a shot. Yet, couldn’t as my feelings weren’t quite there. I wanted them to be. This has been on a hiatus as my days are in PR and he lives in NY. This was Jan 1st’s email:

“What I do know and it was confirmed to me last night is that I miss you despite my repeated attempts to forget you. Even though I was hosting yet another great party with my some of my closest friends – when midnight came and went – I had a moment of sadness instead of joy because you weren’t there to share it with me. Then I even became a little angry because you hadn’t texted, called or replied to my last email . . .

So when I ask you to tell me what you want – I’m really asking you to have the courage to tell me what you already know but haven’t directly said.

If you like me but are afraid of getting close because in your mind that equates to a relationship and I’m not someone you envision as a boyfriend – then say that. 

If you don’t have any greater feelings beyond wanting me to be your friend – then say that.

If you miss me as much I miss you and want to see what comes of it – then say that.

Personally I’d rather have this conversation while sitting on a beach, holding you and watching the sunset but I guess an email will have to do for now.”

4) KidRobot- One of the first men I dated in New York. Now, my oldest friend. He came to Christmas with me. These are his current words:

“Why do I miss you so much? What’d you do to me?”

and then, “I also don’t want to go out. I really miss sleeping next to you and wish I could roll over and wrap myself around you.”

Mind you, the Christmas week we shared a bed, we didn’t even share an embrace. Not even spooning.

5) The Trainer- for now, a new friend. 

6) Rediscoveringme– On a good note, I ended this yesterday. It’s been many months, yet he still texts me, how much he needs my body, how much he misses me. I told him I needed more. Goodbye, my soulmate. 

 

I will stop here. This is too depressing. Blah. I am horrible. A horrible horrible person. Mark was right. “You make people your world. And they become addicted . . . ” 😦 We can all deal with Attainingme’s issues later. People always assume I am afraid of getting hurt. No, I am afraid, of hurting others. Deathly afraid. I stay far, guarding my kisses. Yet, I still hurt.

My kisses however are extended to one, Caballito. The one who cares the least. The one who is safe . . . 

. I miss him. I want him. I am craving his cock. His voice. His laugh. Crystal-light.

 

 


No feelings for Person > Person has feelings for you > Person around = Resentment?

I have quite a bit of updating to do, but a quick note. 

I am back in New York. Missing Caballito. Still frustrated at my initial sabotaging of our perfection. I realize that if he were to ask me to be my boyfriend, I would object. I don’t actually want anything more than what we have, aside from perhaps some security, an antidote to my vulnerability. This vulnerability is causing me to want to act up, react, demand, and need. 

I saw KidRobot for the first time since May. More to come on KidRobot. I also saw the Journalist. The companion I left behind in New York a month ago. A companion that is emotionally available and as such, I didn’t allow as close as Caballito (physically). Of course, we only want the men that could hurt us. I spent many moments with the Journalist. Stuck him on a horse. Drove him past pumpkins. Departures from the typical daily life of a New Yorker. Perfect “dates” although in my mind, they were just “days.”

I saw him Friday, my first full day back. And I couldn’t find the feeling of connection I had previously felt. Perhaps, because he is a large contrast to the energy, power, and strength I see in Caballito? Everything from his shoes to his purchase of gloves made me realize the difference of our worlds. Unimportant, yes . . but the little things were starting to bug me . . 

AND when the little things start to bug you, I feel everything thereafter is an inevitable ride downhill (without brakes) . . 

Is it just me or when you lose feelings or realize you have none, do you start to resent very small insignificant things?

 I realized that I may have been too shocked by getting acclimated to New York again and clouded in my own feelings of longing for Caballito and my lack of “legs” here, to enjoy the Journalist on Friday. So, last night, the Journalist came over. It was nice and comfortable, but when I realized he was spending the night, I wanted to inch away. Eject him from my bed. He somewhat smelled. He was too skinny. He is nice, but just nice. I turned off the light and he kissed me. I kissed back with tight lips. And then turned. 

I slept. I woke up early and there is no better source of caffeine than wanting to escape a situation in your own bed. . . . I miss you Caballito.