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.

Crescendo

The artist picked me up from the airport last night. I entered his car on a business call. It was 10pm. I said aloud to my client that I would email it shortly as I was almost home. I believe the artist had other ideas, dinner or drinks. He drove away his eyes avoiding mine. Today he writes on Facebook, “The magic is gone.”

I was up until 2am preparing an LOI for the aforementioned call. Having not had dinner, I needed sustenance. At 1am, I ventured downstairs for a Subway wrap and a coffee– ever grateful that they never close. As I descended my stairs, I found myself approaching a nature’s symphony. The water danced madly, howling and screaming on the dead Avenue. It was as if time had stopped. The Avenue without passing lights. The gutters overflowed and buckets of water clamored on the tiles before me. I stood still- trapped behind my porton. A homeless man slept huddled in the corner, and ever so politely remained outside my enclosed foyer, even though it was open and always is, even though it would have offered protection. A makeshift sleeping bag, a makeshift roof– cardboard. I am still in awe at how even in such desperation, he refused to encroach. I stood and waited. Watched the orchestration. Amazed at its vigor. 

I haven’t seen such rains in forever. This morning confronted me with 2 inches of water collected in my sala. I arrived to work sometime shortly before 11am. Much later than normal. And my day is overwhelming, much like last night’s weather. “The magic is gone.” Simultaneously, I receive this from an ex who moved to Costa Rica after I moved to PR:

I am sorry I haven’t written you back – honestly,  i try to get you out of my head more than in. You, us and all that was is strangely persistent in my thoughts.

I am in a relationship now – which is well…fucking odd, considering that Ellie is living with me and so many things are tied to this new life. Even more odd is its the first relationship I have had since we were together – we did quite a number on me.

That said – this is not the reason I haven’t written – not girl jealousy or anything like that and I have been fully honest with her about who you are to me and what we were (at least my perspective). The thing is my mind wanders to “Attainingme” much too often for my own sanity and as always I still hear songs that i’d rather remember in your humm.  

So you see i haven’t changed. As much as I wish I had. I am the same as the last time I saw you. And that is the problem.

And I just discovered the facts of this weekend’s plane crash- 6 died. I know. I feel hollow. The link to Venezuela. I don’t want to work.

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.