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.

What do you have?

Can the world execute a well-crafted plan? A series of events. Is there a camera rolling? This isn’t happening. I am not this girl. . . I see the mirrors. I am secure in my self, but my ego is in check and this insanity, is not . . . 

I am already missing U. What do U have? I do not know but I love it. The text reads. From the guy whose table I sat at Wednesday night as they exchanged Secret Valentine names a la Secret Santa. As he gave each of his friends CDs with a quote inscribed on the packages inspired by the recipient. I was in awe at the group. The friendships. The amazing guy, who I thought gay. Perhaps, this is what I need. Perhaps, this group could be mine.

That evening, a lift of my depression. I felt full as I ascended my stairs. Friends. Being social. A sabbatical from which was too long. I laid down, calm. A departure from my usual “read, write, do” or numb with addiction until I pass out.

However, last night was different. That text. The fashion show. Even Rediscoveringme was there. The tug of war. The trying to be gracious, hating the required hover when one buys you a glass of champagne. I was leaving to meet Caballito. And then his phone went unanswered for half an hour. I sat in my apartment as I received that text from the man I thought gay. I am already missing U. What do U have? I do not know but I love it. And I was angry. Why? What do I have?

Caballito called twenty minutes after. I went and met them at Latin Star at 2am. I watched him and Enrique eat. The lie from weeks ago, a faint memory.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————–

Today. Friday. Thank God. I am glowing. I don’t know if it’s the weekend’s nearing, my prospective career, or the fact that I am no longer emotionally attached and vulnerable to Caballito. Last night, I listened to him as he stumbled on words such as “I haven’t been good to you,” and “make love.” You mean fuck, right. I said to myself. Happily.

This morning I must have woken up on the right side of the his bed. I worked out and as I showered and dressed up for work, actually blow drying my hair. I walked around my apartment in black lace shorts, sipping my coffee, dancing and feeling irresistibly like me. I told the parking attendant, “Creo que tienes el pelo mas bonita.” The window washer, barista, bikers and joggers all waved, “Hi, Attainingme.”

I love it here in PR. I really do. I will ride a rodeo horse tomorrow- it will be a first. I will go to the beach. Work out. And happily spend time working and avoiding the Artist, the Man I thought Gay, and a few others– the men who have presented their emotions. Unzipped, raw and tender.
I walk into my office and Jose, attempts to speak English. “Flo- ers.” What? He chuckles. Laughter- his default response to all things said in English. I walk to the back thinking there is something wrong. More guns? No, he points. To my office. I walk. Flowers.

WHAAAAAAAAT? 
I assume they are from MattDamon or my sweet 80 year-old friend Tito or the Artist. . . but, then I read the card:
Ha sido un placer conocerte. Espero que tengas un lindo y bello dia. –The Engineer.

 

Disclaimer: I post this, because these are stories and moments that no friends want to hear, tellings that elicit nothing positive to the listener. But, this is my place. And I write this, because it hurts.

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.

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.

 

 


Attain Me.

I took a personal call this morning, a rare occasion during “work” hours. My girlfriend needed to speak and I called her on my way to the office, thinking five minutes would suffice. Five minutes became sixty.

She shared intimate details, and a gift was given to me–she allowed me to open up to her. Forever grateful I am, for the revelation borne in that phone call.

Caballito. The dance. The unease. My confusion at this unease. My neediness. When did I become that girl? Everything is perfect, I don’t wish for the dynamic to change. It’s a puzzle I cannot complete. A piece is missing and yet I don’t know what to look for.

What, I wonder, am I seeking? What words could reverse my insecurity or satiate this unidentifiable void? Perhaps, this situation is not sustainable for me. I, not cut out for this companion, FWB.

The journey to the truth.

Caballito put it all on the table when I met him. I don’t want to be your boyfriend. I welcomed the departure from the men in New York, the Journalist and Matt Damon, who wanted just that. Between the falling snow and cold last week, I was disappointing them. Creating pain. Running away . . . .  to Puerto Rico, to Caballito. My companion. I, now the disappointed.

I vary between the extremes, I think.  The Available Man who is unappealing versus the Unavailable man who is addictive.

“It’s all the same,” my girlfriend said. I search my mind, attempting to find the common link.

Ah-ha. CONTINUITY.

The revelation.

Someone asked me in April what I wanted. I said, continuity. Ever since, I use this word often. However, I never realized how this unfulfilled need and my search for such, is the basis of the unhealthy relationships in my life—and the deterrent to a proper one.  These men and my relationships with them, stem from the temporary fulfillment of this need, a fulfillment that cannot sustain itself.

With Matt Damon and the Journalist, they liked me, truly. I liked them as friends. My ex-boyfriend told me, “You make people your world and they become addicted to you.” These men. We become friends. We establish the continuity I want. I seek. Yet, it is a lost pursuit, as the foundation is created on their desire for more. It will inevitably, end. And it does.

Matt Damon. He wrote me an email on Monday, “I still feel now as I did then that you are clearly not a platonic friend to me and it only takes you walking into a room to remind me of that.  I’m confident enough in what I want to tell you that I don’t want to pursue a faux friendship with you as I place you on a pretty high pedestal so it would be dis-ingenious for me to do so.” It’s over. That’s that.

 

Caballito. I love our companionship. It is beautiful. But built on words that promise no continuity. “I don’t want to be your boyfriend.” We have, however, established a continuity. And the obvious conflict between the foundation and the continuity that is making me so happy precludes it’s death.

And here Attainingme realizes, that without a solid family, without a solid home, with two lives, she has a very crucial unfulfilled need. Some people need to be liked, need to be appreciated, need to be in control—I  need continuity. And I can’t put this burden on men. I need to fulfill this elsewhere. And I have a feeling, that once I do so, life will change, yet again. 🙂 
And this is how I grow. This is how I attain me
.  

Advice wanted.

A quick update on the men:

So, as you know MattDamon let an imaginary relationship grow in his mind. This became apparent by his friends’ and colleagues’ comments at his gradation dinner. Recall, “So, this is the meeting of the parents! “

After this event and my avoiding his attempts to peck me on the lips as if we did it for everyday for the last ten years, MattDamon avoided the coffee shop where we spend our days working on laptops.

 Another fellow coffee-shopper, the Journalist, also works from there. The Journalist is also an acquaintance of MattDamon, albeit a new one. He too was at the graduation dinner. As we were chatting that evening, which we had done many times before, I sensed a spark of interest (he unaware of my assumed romantic status with MattDamon.) Jounalist had always disregarded me previously (so much so that he didn’t even recognize me when I had walked into the coffee shop from my two weeks in PR, so I was rather surprised to find a spark in his eye.)

I gave the Journalist my card as I fled that awkward evening. The next morning:

On 10/17/08 7:51 AM, the Journalist wrote:

Hey there,
Just adding you to my contacts before I forget. Here’s my info, case you need some editing help.
Good to see you last night.

Journalist
555.555.5555

On Oct 17, 2008, at 9:28 AM, Attainingme wrote:

Lol. Thanks. Way to make me feel brilliant first thing in the morning.

On Oct 17, 2008, at 10:49 AM, Journalist wrote:

Just kidding. Drop a line if you are out in hood later.
Btw  still embarrassed about not recognizing you yesterday 😉  

 


The night of the credit card incident, Journalist texted me. Feeling as if I lost my mind, I welcomed the opportunity to have a drink. Without money, I told him he had to purchase it. He obliged. We met at a small bar. Sat. Talked. Connected . . .

This was the start to our companionship that flourished until my leaving for PR last week–the companionship that has me feeling empty. I really miss him. We talk daily. We kissed while I was there. Nothing more. I spent the night and he did as well. He ventured with me on errands and to ride horses, hours working at cafes, a few dinners, and a couple parties. I enjoy him, but don’t foresee him as a boyfriend. The only potential boyfriend may be Dario, who will be dissected separately.

So, here is the dilemma:

onewomanmanymenpicture

As I mentioned MattDamon and Journalist are acquaintances, a growing friendship, a mutual respect. So, the Saturday before my departure to PR, after the companionship with the Journalist and I was budding, all three of us somehow ended up at the same bar. MattDamon was clueless that the Journalist and I had planned to meet each other. MattDamon left to go to another obligation. I was leaving soon as well. Ten minutes later, Journalist walked me out. MattDamon stood outside waiting—he waited ten mintues!!

MattDamon asked to walk me home. Continue reading

I am what I hate in men

I went to Matt Damon’s graduation dinner last night for his MBA. Quick recap: Matt Damon is one of those great guys I previously mentioned that I never allowed things to progress with. Yes, as currently discussed with Cindy and Cremello, risk of hurting him was too great. Traveling to Puerto Rico allowed me to avoid dealing with this situation. I suppose I believe it would dissipate; instead this is what has transpired:

Last time I was in New York, I truly enjoyed seeing him, which consists primarily of daytimes as we work from the same coffee shop in New York. I do love talking to him, and a dialog of whether I should give it a shot continues looping through my mind. However, in my gut, its not there . . . a lack of that sexual attraction, perhaps or my inability to see myself with him . . .

Regardless, during the last trip to the Island, I sent him an email containing some work-related mishaps we share during our days at the coffee shop and ended it with “I am thinking of you.” He responded I wish I was there too – I can’t imagine anything more perfect than holding you on the beach right now.  I’ll get down there soon enough” to which I responded, “I am imaging you here. I am so different here. I have been here all but three hours and I wish you knew the me that is here. I can’t wait for you to come. . . I don’t know why, but I am feeling inexplicably close to you these days . . “

Ok, I am an ASS.

In that moment, I did feel that. I promise. I could only think of all the conversations I love, the moments shared and didn’t think about how I was taking his heart into my possession. I am that horrible misleading girl. But I meant it :/

To which he respomded:

“So tell me about how Island Attainingme differs from New York Attainingme.

Does her lower lip still curl up when she pouts?  Does she still look amazing when she’s dressed for a meeting?  Does she still laugh at all her emails?  Does she still tell ridiculously involved stories that make me smile in disbelief?  Does she still look around aimlessly as she’s typing?  Does she still sound impressive when she’s negotiating on the phone? Does she still look back at me sheepishly with her beautiful eyes after I kiss her? “ Continue reading