Thursday, August 23, 2001

the last one

5am, and I can't sleep. While I know it's the coffee I reheated at midnight, I can't stop thinking about the last boyfriend, the one who dumped me 2 years ago, on Gay Pride Day, with barely any warning, and no explanation. And, except for a phone conversation, and one feeble attempt a few days later of getting some sort of explanation, I hadn't seen or heard from him in 2 years, until the end of June this year. Now he's always hanging out at one of my local bars, and it's really getting annoying.

I suppose I still have those secret hopes of him coming to his senses, and he begs for me to come back to him; I mean, he's beautiful, and I haven't had any sort of decent relationship since we were together, so I guess it's natural. But I'm finding myself getting all angry at him, and at me, all over again. I mean, I've made myself completely unattractive to anyone. I don't shave, clean my apartment, or even consider looking for a job. I have nothing of any interest to say to anyone (the porno obsession is just not that fascinating to any of my pals). I haven't spoken to anyone in my family in months, I just sit here, glued to this machine, waiting for Mr Right to pop out of my monitor?

Pitiful. And I think of something he said when I did finally speak to him a few weeks (months? I have no sense of time anymore) back. He said our problem was that we weren't trying to make each other, or the relationship, any better. Interesting. This is from the guy who anytime we had a serious discussion of any type would say "are we done yet" "are we done yet" like a small child in the back of the car saying "are we there yet, are we there yet". The same guy who broke up with me twice before only days after we had serious discussions about "us". And me, the guy who offered him money when he was really really stressed out and needed a vacation; Me, the guy who offered my spare room when he couldn't find an apartment to his liking but his old lease was up; Me, the guy who stood out if front of his apartment at midnight yelling up to the window, calling from a payphone, banging on the door, waking up the neighbors, getting the police and the super to let me into his apartment because we had just talked on the phone, and he asked me to come from the lower east side to Queens so he could see me, and now there was no answer - he was passed out on the couch! Drunk, stoned, who knows, but scared the fuckin' shit out of me, and I looked like a fool, and I cried when I realized he was okay, and how scared I was to think something horrible had happened to him............ Me, the guy who when he was telling me it was over that final time, I tried to console him, tried to help him understand it, make sure it was the best decision for him........ until it hit me, and I realized he didn't want or need me for that, and there was no one to do that for me, and I yelled, and made him take his clothes that were in various drawers in my place, especially the $160.00 Prada t-shirt I bought him for Christmas because I knew it would drive me crazy to have it in my house, and yes, I wanted him to wear it and feel guilty and miss me.....

So who is this we that didn't try? This is where my Dad would say something like: "We?" "What's all this ' we ' stuff, Paleface?"

I'm a mess, and it's his fault for making me this way......... and it's my fault for staying this way for so long............

how long does it take before you can let go, before you can move on, and actually want, desire, something better than feeling sorry for yourself............?