Magical Thinking

So I went out on a date with a guy I'd met at a bar maybe 3 weeks ago. He is the only man who's ever asked me for my phone number in a bar. (I've been making a concerted effort to make eye contact and smile at men.) I'd been out of town, and then this happened, and part of me said 'You're being melodramatic, Constance.--You haven't dated him for over a year.' So I didn't break our date.

He is a sweet guy. But he's 23. I would never have agreed to go out if I'd known he was 23. But, whatever. I couldn't actually walk out on him because of his age.

He kissed me and I started to cry, and then I felt so bad. He was like "it isn't me, is it?" And I assured him it wasn't. We went to John's and my park (although we went to areas that weren't where John and I would hang out). That park is very much at the center of my world. After John left, I had to reclaim it. Now that he's dead I will have to reclaim it again. But this was maybe a bit too quickly.

The kid said he knew I was older than him, but he loved how confident I was and then he kissed me and I burst into tears. Why the hell can I be confident for everyone except someone I actually love? I guess it is that whole bifurcated thing. Ms. Chatterley Esq. is totally confident, but little Constance (Connie?) is not. John knew how fragile Connie is. When he said: "nothing will ever be so intense as the anger and disappointment of a man. And nothing will ever be finer than his warmth and acceptance and love, the joy of release" that's for Connie. Well, maybe it is for Lady Chatterley too. I don't know.

Here's the weird thing, though. Since John left me and the Republican slapped me, Connie has sort of disappeared. I don't fantasize about wiitwd anymore. I mean, I do if I want to come, but none of the rest of the time. By the time the guy I was dating this year and I broke up, we were hardly having sex. (Part of this is he was a morning sex guy and I'm an evening sex gal, but still...). I hardly ever 'take care of myself' (and I used to like every day--now it is once or twice a month I bother to finish the job) and when I do, my orgasms are maybe 10% of what they used to be (when I bother to have one at all).

I am taking care of Connie is odd ways. She likes pink and flowers and playing on swings and blowing bubbles and cupcakes, and skirts with lots of fabric. I kid you not. Next I'll be buying a Disney Princess dress (or not). Since John left, the more attention I've paid to my 'inner child,' the younger she got, and she lost interest in sex. I'm trying to check in with her more often. I've been journaling, with using my left hand for Connie and my right hand for Lady Chatterley, Esq.

So in a way, I am much less bifurcated than I was. But I miss really intense, strong, fabulous sex. Part of me wonders if shame isn't sexy. If getting rid of the bifurcation means I lose having strong orgasms, I wonder if it is worth it?

And I miss John. I miss conversation that could go anywhere and share anything. I miss being with someone rather than doing things with someone. (Unless you consider walking and talking 'doing' something.) I miss the level of sharing. I've never had that with anyone in my entire life. Not any shrink. Not any friend. John's the only one. With John, I knew he would always support me in my vulnerability. (Not in my insecurities; he wanted me to slay them, but that's a different story.) And I miss the intellectual fireworks. I miss other things too. He was terribly handsome, and when he smiled, his whole face would light up. And he smiled often. Whenever we went out to eat or drink, he always ordered for me. And he knew me well enough to know exactly what I'd like, but that I'd always order from the bottom of the menu, so he'd pick out the dish that I would love, but would never want to spend money on. (He never let me pay for anything. I actually argued with him about it because I felt like I was taking advantage of him in a way. Or more, he had issues with women taking advantage of him, and I didn't want him to feel like I was.) Intellectually, I wouldn't think I'd like having a guy order for me, but it was so sweet and loving. If he hadn't ordered what I'd like, it would have been odd. But he'd be like "ooh--this fish with truffles---I bet you'd love truffles--let's see if we can get it on chicken instead, with fresh string beans, and plenty of wild mushrooms. And you'll have the arugula and pear salad, with the dressing on the side." And he wouldn't even ask if I'd want a drink, he'd just order me a sidecar or a whiskey sour, or some beautiful, sweet, fresh, girlie drink. And when I'd slow down, there would be San Pellagrino just waiting for me. We'd meet for a late brunch because he knew it was my favorite meal. Once he bought me an $18 pear and blueberry martini! And I said "don't waste your money on that!" and he said 'I want you to enjoy it.' And the pears were sliced so thin, all over the bottom of the glass, with beautiful fresh blueberries all over. It was so decadent. And so lovely. And sometimes, I'd send him an e-mail--a silly one, and he'd write something like: "You probably have no idea how honored I am that you share these inner thoughts with me." Me, honored him by sharing the ideas that most people think are just boring. The number of times he spoke of me honoring him is more than I can count.

Or something like this:

Do not think you disappoint me, Constance, as you do not J

I reject that in you which seeks to confine that in you! I embrace your releasing self, very truly! Very fully. I feel like I have life I can share with you! And I need not even touch you (unless you want that). I feel truly that it is a simple matter. Know what we are. Accept ourselves. See the way in which it works with someone else who understands. You are reborn into beauty. Pain becomes power. Anguish becomes joy. The beauty of our people is that they cannot achieve these things alone. We depend on each other. We must depend on each other. We depend on each other.

When you integrate, my friend, it will take your breath away J

I hope you will be there to witness it.

That is part of the beauty, and part of the curse, of what we are. We want so much to stand alone, but we cannot. We must eventually yield to the fact that we need each other. And we need something nobody else can give us. Only those who understand.

And when we find that understanding and acceptance, it is the feeling of coming home, of finding others of our kind J

Oh, and he always wrote his e-mails to me in blue. (Well, not always, but most of the time) and used Zap Dingbats to make those smiles, which he used often. I don't think in our hundreds of pages of correspondence he had a single typo (and I had several--probably one every 3-4 pages or so.) And it really felt like we were simpatico. We were kindred spirits. Both damaged in various ways. I told him once that he'd like my parents and he replied: "I am utterly certain I would like your parents and yet pardon me, really forgive me, for wishing they hadn't wounded you while they were protecting you." (And I'm sure my parents would agree with that one.) And that's really it, isn't it? I trusted him enough to show him my wounds because he had similar wounds and could understand why something hurt. And he could see my love for my parents and that the wounds were real.

He loved my writing. He ever read an early (and bad) draft of my romantic novel and wrote

I think it's entirely great :)

I knew you could write but this is exceptional even for you, especially when I factor in the time you needed to achieve it - this just poured out of you in excellent condition :)

The dialog! If I had to point to one thing that I was most impressed with, that would be it. In hindsight I can't imagine why I should be surprised. You've only devoted a large chunk of your time, your life, and those wonderful brains of yours to studying the art of the word, but you my dear have a black belt :)

When are you going to start shopping it around?

I am kicking myself for taking so long :)

I think it's excellent that MY friend can do this - I know it's silly but somehow it makes me feel like this whole choosing the right people business is something I do get right once in a blue moon :)

He supported me in some many ways. "For the record, I find you entirely charming J You fear, but you persist – you relentlessly seek clarity – as habits go, one could do a lot worse J"

God, I loved him so much! If I had to do it over (and I knew what was going to happen), I would have just cherished every day with him as a friend, instead of wanting more. Not that I know how to do that, but that's what I wish I could have done. If I'd just been happy in the present moment, and never read "He's just not that into you." I could have had another year of his friendship. If I hadn't been so scared that he didn't like me, maybe he wouldn't have been scared to express that. He didn't want to let me down, I don't think. (Of course, he claimed he didn't realize the scope of my feelings, which I don't think is true. But I'm a Scorpio. The week before he died (well two weeks, but I'm not counting the week in the coma) he asked why I had kept the scope of my feelings from him. I just assumed he knew. And I assumed that it wouldn't bring us any closer. If I hadn't felt that way, it wouldn't have been hard to be his friend. And since he never agreed not to read the blog, and I know for a fact that he read it for a while, I figured if he ever wanted to know how I felt, he'd read it.

I keep thinking this isn't real. If it weren't for the obituary that ran on the NY Times web site, I really wouldn't think it was real. I half expected him to be at the memorial. Like it was all some elaborate hoax to test me, or something. I don't understand how this gem of a man can actually be dead. I just don't. Dick Cheney doesn't even have a pulse and he has to be plugged in every night and John is half his age and is dead.

I know I have to be brave enough to love someone again. Knowing it will never be the same, but maybe it will be different. But I don't see how.