Log in

No account? Create an account

Let’s Get Ready to r-r-r-rumble!

Now: The Official Website of The Unwilling Raconteur!

Let’s Get Ready to r-r-r-rumble!

Posted using ShareThis
Am sitting in a coffee shop now, wired to the gills. It's different here. The weather's nice, the shopping's great. I'm a little homesick. I discovered that I booked my return flight a week later than I thought and had to pony up three hundred for a change in ticket price. Not so fun. Not fun at all.

Ended up at Santana Row yesterday, at a place called Straight's. My Palm pilot told me that this was one of the best "coffee shops" in the area. Coffee shop? It's a celebrity cafe, smacking with high tech wives "doing lunch" and high tech suits wandering around looking important. It's impossible to tell whether they're gay or not until they start hitting on me. Whatever. I guess I just scream "Out of towner!"

Got a text from Jon just as I arrived at the San Jose airport wanting to have lunch ... I texted him back that I was in Northern Cal looking at law schools. Got a weird reply, something about going to China to teach English as a second language. I don't know about him. His story changes from day to day. One minute, he's moving to Seattle, the next minute he's moving to L.A., and then he's moving to China. I'll believe what happens when it actually happens ...

Truths, various and sundry

We spent the day together Wednesday, first time in a while. Both of us have been busy. He wants to go to the Alligator Grill. Odd, but I was just thinking about that particular place, how nice it was to hang out there on the deck and have drinks. The last time we were there, California was burning. Both of us drank too much, and god knows how I drove us home. I stayed fairly lucid, but he had his cold martinis and kamikazee shots, enough to loosen him up and loosen his tongue. He blames me. He told me that I judged him, that it was like I thought I was better than him and everyone else. Never got that comment before. I had to ask why, and he said it was because of the way I talked about sex workers -- strippers, cyberwhores, etc. I didn't know how to respond to that, I mean, do I make better life choices? Certainly. But am I a better person? I don't know that. Only God has the right to decide that in the end, and I have to think that the choice I made here on earth not to exploit my body for sex is going to play into it one day. But again, I don't know. I didn't say these things, of course. Ramblings. He rambled about a lot ... I am an elitist snob, it seems, to his mind. The whole college education, white collar job. He is angry about something, about me. I don't know.

We go to Blockbuster, pick up some films. Listen to Generica V in my car; it is beautiful. He says that it's his best since the first album, and I agree, it is his best. We go back home. I say "home" because that's still the way it feels to me at times. We start watching one of the films, end up talking. Getting serious. Getting deep. He's holding my hand, and I'm crying; I can't really tell him why, but I think it's because I'm listening to the music play, and I'm remembering the first time I heard it, in the parking lot of Randall's Westlake, on that cold November night with full moon. He tells me that the relationship in Seattle isn't going anywhere, but I already knew that. He hasn't talked about her all night, and he seems resigned to getting on the plane rather than excited about it. He's very drunk by now, revealing too many truths, using the same term of endearment from long before. He asks me questions, why I never wanted to go to Australia with him. Tells me that he would have gone to the rain forest with me. He asks me who I miss in this life, and I don't know what to say. He knows what he's asking. Hands entwine. His hands are so soft. We kiss. It gets to the point where it starts to feel serious. Not just a kiss anymore, but something else, something deeper. Like it was when we first met. Exactly like that. I tell him that he is my most beautiful boy. He seems happy with this.

In vino veritas? I don't know if that's true. I know that he cannot lie whenever he drinks. I'm not sure how much of this he's going to remember. I know that he's not getting on his plane on time, that's a given; there's just no way. He wants me to stay with him until he falls asleep. I stroke his brow and wait for his breathing to become even. I want to stay, but I know that it's not a good idea. I need space to breathe, and something feels like it's sitting on my heart right now.


He posted another picture of the new girlfriend either yesterday or today, encouraging fans to comment. One thing that I figured out from a couple of comments is that this thing between them was going on while he and I were still living together ... I knew that something happened whenever he passed through Seattle, but discounted it as another fan interaction in the back of the bus or in a hotel room. I never dreamed ... never ...

He breaks my heart. He always finds a way ...

Wrong on every level

S. predicted that *he* would leave for Seattle. That there was a young woman and a situation there that *he* was going to "exploit" (S.'s words, not mine) for a few months, but it wouldn't work. She paid for his plane ticket.

S.'s visions have a weird way of coming true.

Tonight, we have Thai, me and *He Who Shall Not Be Named In This Blog* (although you might be able to figure it out). He talked about her over dinner in a matter of fact sort of way as though she were a latest acquisition, like a semi-precious vase or a painting. She makes a lot of money, and her family is wealthy, too -- this is the first thing he tells me, and he keeps reiterating it throughout the night, which is in itself telling. She doesn't drink or smoke and has a college degree. That explains why he's trying to quit drinking and smoking, but it's not working too well. He got back from Seattle, first order of business was to get drunk. That had to be killing him, to be on behavior at odds with what he is. He tried not to smoke after dinner, but soon was back to one cigarette after the other. He told me that Seattle felt more like home, the things that he was used to seeing in the stores, like oriental fans, and the cold rainy weather. He doesn't seem to speak of the new girlfriend with any particular love; he tells me that it could last a few days or a few months; he seems more interested in being in Seattle for the summer and having a place to crash. He told me that wants to go to Asia and teach English, maybe scuba diving, or maybe go into screenwriting and film. Next, he talks about the BB6 show, which that animator in NYC might be doing, but I'm wondering who's going to write the goddam screenplay, the literary fairies? I wonder how he's going to navigate his way out of that, I mean, it won't take a genuis to figure it all out. Music will be a hobby for him now, he tells me, the downloads aren't selling. I don't know what to believe because a) most of what he says never happens anyway; and b) his truths change dramatically within a period of days, sometimes hours. I don't know what's really going on in his life, except that he seems to have no direction at all.

He tells me that he was happy this August and January, when he was working on himself. Best times of our relationship, no coincidence.

He wants to go someplace "pretty" to drink coffee, but when I pull into Zilker, he's changed his mind, he wants to go home. We go back to his place and end up in each other's arms, par for the course. I can see that he loves me, misses me, all that residual emotional noise. He'll always be there for me, he says, it'll take time to get back to a point where things feel normal. I don't want that again; I tell him that I trust one other man, Kyle, that's the only one. I can't let anyone else in, no one can possibly understand *this* thing that won't climb out of my head. And ... then I tell him that relationships are established bilaterally, and I decide, I decide that he will never have me back, ever again. He looks mutinous, that thin-line look that I'm used to getting. Whoops. Time for me to go. Er ... okay, bye.

Also ... I have a hard time taking people seriously when they talk about their significant other at the same time they are seeing their ex on a pretty regular basis, expecting the regular perks and platitudes. If you know what I'm saying.

Not going to go there again, though. I'm clean. I'm thinking about what S. told me about the future ...

I keep thinking about G. tonight. Listening to BT's "Satellite," and it reminds me of him and those long conversations deep into the night so long ago. How much I loved him, like a girl with a first crush. Sometimes I hope that it doesn't work out for him, that he will by some miracle end up single again and I'll have the second chance that I wanted before.

Well, this is fucked

Yesterday, I must have kicked my back out whilst racking weights in addition to twisting the entire right side of my foot, for today, my entire spine feels like it's got bamboo shoved into the cartilege. The pain was so unbearable that when Nick and I went out to dinner, I ended up having a glass of wine, and I never drink wine. I also ended up eating s-u-g-a-r out of a keen sense of self-pity; didn't need *that* either. I'm trying to keep it lean. Funny, but when I first meet someone and I think that maybe they could be habit-forming, I really amp up the body work. I'm so afraid of letting C-boy down. Looks aren't important to me, but they seem to be for the majority of the male population. I'm resigned to the fact that I have to pretty much outshine every other woman in their life, and with country boy, that's going to be pretty hard to do. The VAST groupies weren't much to look at for the most part -- you had your random cute girl scratching at the bus, but she was inevitably a stripper, cyberwhore, or erstwhile employed in the sex industry. Country boy's groupies ('scuse me, *fans*) look like contestants for the Miss U.S.A. pageant. And they're eloquent, well-heeled, well-scrupled and go to work at real jobs. Basically, any of them could be me. There is actual competition. Which makes me very, very nervous.

I was bawling my head off yesterday about my mom when Jon texted me out of the blue. He does that randomly and capriciously, usually when he needs for me to be around. I let the message ferment on my cell for a while until I got bored enough to respond. He asked something about my mom then about T. (ex-husband) which was weird, he had to have been drunk, is my guess. He's not quit smoking, but that's no big surprise; I knew when he was breaking a sweat less than 12 hours after the last cigarette that he wasn't going to last the night. When you're not with someone in "that" way, you're really able to see them for all of their bullshit. And about eighty percent of what Jon says he's going to do isn't going to happen; about eighty percent of him is pure contradiction. He doesn't mean to lie to others or himself, but it is what it is. I take anything he says with an atom of salt ...

Wills and Probates tomorrow, again. A few more weeks of this bullshit, and I will be so DONE with the Saturday classes.

The childhood home

I'm in Temple, where I spent my formative years. It feels odd to be here, as though I've traveled back in time. My old room seems so small; the entire house seems so small, as do the yard and the trees. My dad's roses are in full bloom.

My mom went through the Volvo. Apparently, there was an inordinate amount of Jon's mail still in the back of the car and in the trunk. Unfortunately, most of said mail consisted solely of overdraft notices, letters from various better business bureaus, deliquent bills from years ago, and two arrest warrants. It reminded me of the time when we were first dating, when my conscience told me to step back, step far, far back. I've been seeing him, still, in a weird, unhealthy way. We're used to each other. I know that he loves me in his weird, unhealthy way, too. He just wants drama in his life now, and I can't give him that. I can't give it to anyone. Pass on the drama.

Kept the letters. I still have some c.d.'s that I can send these people, even though it's been years since a lot of them have written or filed complaints. It's not a matter of bailing him out; it's a matter of doing the right thing by these people. Then there's this one letter from this older woman who sent him money for a bunch of promotional stuff. Like, serious cash. He cashed the check but didn't send her anything. I've seen a lot of her letters in the piles of stuff that went into storage, but I only just read the letter today. There was some sort of phone flirtation going on there that made me go "Ew." I feel sorry for her in a twisted way. On one hand, I don't know what would compel someone to send money to a total stranger, and on the other, I can imagine that he must have told her something that made her trust him. Well, hell. I mean, I'm not one to really talk.

Tried to get in touch with my friend P. from high school, but no luck. I sometimes think that she doesn't really want to be in touch with me any longer. It's quite odd.

That's life ...

Disappointment. C/W boy has financial issues. They aren't as bad as J.'s by any stretch of the imagination, I mean, he's trying to take care of his responsibilities at least. But the liabilities exist, which precludes anything serious. I could never consider marriage with anyone with the IRS on their tail. That's the one entity that disregards basically anything and everything. I don't want to lose my trust, my money, my land, my Clarksville condo, because of that. I was rather surprised and disappointed. It's difficult to imagine that someone my age would have those types of problems, because you live and learn and then you figure it all out at some point. At any rate, this looks like it's going to be a lot of drama. I might as well sign up for someone with an alcohol or drug problem, because the end result is the same.

I don't know if I'm doing the right thing in establishing a relationship with J. Sometimes I don't really want to; I listen to how he speaks of other people in his life (women in particular), and it's so duplicit, I wonder if he's saying the same or similar things about me behind my back. I know that I'm the only one who never betrayed him, who always acted in his best interests. He says the other woman, the one in Arizona, is dead in the water. I don't know about that, he was pretty smitten with her drug-riddled ass. J. tends to go for the slutty basketcases with zero potential; according to everyone who knows him, I was the one exception to the rule of his relationships. It doesn't make me feel too good to be lined up along with femme-scum ...

Hopefully the girl who's going to look at the apartment today will take it. I'm so tired of dealing with flakes who never get back to me or creepy older/younger guys. There's not a lot out there to choose from, though. Might have to take whoever's willing to write the check.

Shouldn't do that

Getting back together with an ex is never a good thing to do.

I'm confused, off-track, and thoroughly sick of myself. And his issues and complaints. I never realized just how much I was unhappy before until now. I'm not happy without him, but ... I will be one day.

Make me stop

I am so fucking off tonight. I can't make myself study for Wills & Probates. Had dinner with Kyle, loaned him "I Am Legend." We talked about life, depression, S___ (anniversary draws nigh), why neither of us can trust other people aside from each other, and a lot about J. Kyle says just from talking to him, he seemed to not really understand what point he was at in terms of the Big Bad Problem that begins with an "A," at least not totally, and I would concur. Kyle said that if he ever made amends to me (huh -- won't hold breath), I should forgive him. Yes, I can do that, but I can't forget. I've known people with the same problem, and they aren't that extreme; the problem manifests itself in so many other excesses and selfish qualities and ways, it was pervasive.

It's the whole thing about running out of goodwill. I don't hate anyone, it's too exhausting ... but I cannot allow myself to feel goodwill toward them, or to help them. It's hard enough to forgive the time aspect. So next thing you know, I'm crying into my Ceasar salad, warbling about how I want the last two years of my life back, and Kyle says that there's still time to fall in love and do what I want to do in terms of family, and God, I know that, but I didn't want to waste that much of my time on the wrong person. Three months, maybe. Why did I have to lose that much time? Years. How much money is that time worth? How much happiness? Who could I have met and married and had a couple of beautiful children with during that time? I'll never know what my alternate path might have been. No number of amends or apologies or paybacks will make up for that time. And it's the only thing that I want, I want to have loved someone that I don't regret, someone who doesn't seem so small and shallow to me now. If only I could say, "This person was really worth the fight," but I can't do that, I think about the thing with the grandparents, and I hurt for them so badly that they probably know what's going on.

(Note: Kyle remembered the name of the now-defunct regional burger chain that I've been trying to think of. It was called Just-a-Burger, and they had the kids' meals with the plastic toys and cars in the little boxes.)

It was the anniversary of Tonya's death today. I try not to remember that anymore. It rained today, just like it did when her tiny sportscar skidded into the oncoming lane of traffic.