Yeah. This post is going to be different. It’s just me, my thoughts and some beer. Should be interesting. Or not. I could be really boring right now as I let my emotions guide my fingers and just type whatever comes out. Ever read a stream of consciousness post? Yes, you have. Probably didn’t realize it though. Damn near every one of mine have been that way. Even the ones that seem to make sense, or are sort of poetic. It works like this for me: I get a feeling inside of me, it builds up pressure, and like any other sort of pressure it needs to be released before things explode. So I sit down and write it out. Writing is the turning of that valve so that I don’t go mad from whatever it is that is eating at me at that particular time. And the blog is as good a place as any. Maybe someone will stumble across this place and say to his or her self “Wow. I feel just like that.” and maybe knowing there is another person with the same things going on will help them out. I damn sure don’t write this thing for the glory. But I love this place even so. It’s a good listener.
As a man, I often feel like I have to keep everything locked up inside. Like if I let anything out I feel ashamed. At least the sad parts. I’m not supposed to whine. I’m not supposed to hurt. I’m not supposed to let anyone or anything affect me, and I am damn sure not supposed to cry. I am sure that this stems from my country upbringing and my redneck father who seemed to be made of stone and anger, but was probably suffering under the same delusions he passed on to me. He just didn’t have an outlet beyond punching and drinking and holding a gun to his head. Somehow, someway, I was born with a passionate yet creative disposition. Way more cerebral than dear old dad. He never understood me. He didn’t understand how I could spend so many hours in my room drawing, reading and just THINKING. He thought if I wasn’t actively doing something out doors then I wasn’t doing shit. He really wasn’t a very good father at all and once he and my mom divorced I hardly ever saw him. He once told my mom that he didn’t come around because it hurt too much to see us. I realized something when I heard that. My dad wasn’t a tough guy at all. He was a big fat pussy. I figured out at that moment that in order to stay manly and avoid having anyone see you crack, you had to avoid anything that would make you want to crack.
So I did for years. I kept it all bottled up. On occasion I would let things slip. Not very often. I fell in love – or what I thought might be love – a couple times. They ended badly. Funny thing though. I was married twice and neither one of those times correspond to the times I was in love. Could explain my divorce rate. 2 for 2 baby. Batting a thousand. After all of the crap, I was way more successful locking myself up. Of course it didn’t hurt that no woman made me even remotely interested in opening up either. They were so interchangeable that they all merged in to some gooey gunk with a vaguely feminine shape. I didn’t give a rat’s ass about a one of them.
And they loved the shit out of me.
But things change and so did I. I started hating that. I hated not caring. I hated that I was just fucking someone just to be fucking someone. Because I was horny. I hated the fact that the less I seemed to give a shit the more they chased me. It just seemed wrong. I looked around and I saw couples that seemed happy, and many that I knew were really happy, and I kept asking myself why the fuck I couldn’t find that. What self-destructive tendency did I possess that kept me from that? What was stopping me from caring about these women? What magic formula was needed to make me feel something goddammit? I had no clue and I still don’t. I just knew that until I felt something what I was looking for wasn’t going to happen.
And then I met her.
Fuck me, but it was love at first sight. I know, I know. It’s a load of crap. All kinds of rationalizations can fly around explaining that shit and I’ve heard them all – a lot of them from her. But I just knew. There is absolutely no way I can explain it in words. I was struck with a certainty I hadn’t felt before.
It was exciting.
It was exhilarating.
It was heartbreaking.
It was terrifying.
It was mysterious.
It was life changing.
It made me strong.
It made me weak.
I say all of these things in the past tense but the truth of the matter is that it is still happening to me right now. I am somewhere in the story. I can’t tell you if it is the beginning, the middle or even the end. It could be anywhere along that path. Some days it feels like the beginning…like I am in a really fucking long foreword…other days it feels like I am on the last page and I am about to turn it and see The End. The only part I am sure of is that I intend to be the romantic lead and do all I can to win the heart of my lady love. I’m either going to fly to the highest heights or I am going to crash and burn. But if I do burn I am going to scorch the memory of me into her heart.
Thing is, she wants that too. She is uncertain of it, questioning, but I can’t answer that question for her. Only her heart can guide her to the point where the answers are. All I can do is shout and whistle “Hey! Over here!” and hope like hell she notices and turns in my direction. I’m probably trying too hard, but this is all new to me. She’s done things to me inside that I am not familiar with or comfortable with and so I am kind of flying blind. I try to retreat back into my tough guy persona, but there’s not much of it left. She’s cracked it all open like the shell of a hard boiled egg and left me exposed. So I go with it. I let her see what no one else has ever seen. A side of me that makes my friends say “Who the fuck are you?”. I hope she doesn’t feel guilty about that. Or pity. I want neither from her. If those are ultimately what motivates her then this whole exercise is useless. I want her to feel happy about it. Privileged. Impressed. And then I want her to fucking fall her ass in love with me. I want a happily ever after (filled with good times and bad times – I’m realistic). She struggles against herself. Resisting. First going one way, then another. This stems from her having pain of her own to deal with. A way more intense pain than anything I have had to deal with. She is not at fault for being wary. I understand it. I accept it and try to remain patient. I stand here and hold out my hand and offer her support and love. It’s all I can do at the moment and hopefully it will be enough in the end.
Nowadays it seems this sort of persistence makes one a fool. But wouldn’t it be more foolish to let something I have spent a lifetime searching for go too easily just because it’s difficult? I think so. I’m not going to be a pussy like my dad and avoid the risk of a heartbreak just to keep from being hurt. I am going to plow through and see this to the end, whether that end be bitter or sweet or some combination of the two. I’m not prepared to wait another 20 years to have someone pry my chest open like she did. I don’t have the time for that. I want this love that everyone else feels to be a part of my life while I am still young enough to enjoy it. I’m not sure what I am going to do should she decide not to reciprocate. Not a lot I can do really. Sink back into the oblivion of meaningless relationships, flounder around and hope like hell it doesn’t take another 20 years to fall madly in love with some dark eyed beauty.
So keep your fingers crossed for me. The road is under construction and it is going to be a bumpy ride but I am confident that a pretty smooth highway lies on just the other side. Then it will just be a red convertible, the wind in my hair and her pretty head on my shoulder. We’ll be driving down the road with laughter in our hearts and love on our mind. Watch us disappear into the sunset and become that couple that some other person looks at and thinks “Damn, I want that.”