the great dane and the not so great outcome thereof

I haven’t been writing the details of my life down anywhere, and I am afraid of forgetting them. I used to keep a paper journal with regularity, but the past couple of years that has fallen by the wayside, and I haven’t even been updating this blog.

I think that between songs I’ve written and emails I’ve sent, I’ll be able to piece together the broad strokes of what I’ve been going through. I would still like to capture a bit more of the nuances, though, because the details are what matter.

I spent July until the first week in November falling for someone against my will and better judgment. This seems to be a pattern with me. I don’t know if I am attracted to broken men, or they are attracted to me (it is probably a bit of both), but this last experience was fairly typical.

He’s a fellow musician that I knew vaguely from the open mics we’d both frequented back in 2005-2006. I never really spoke with him much, but I knew who he was. I thought he was a good musician and one of the cool kids who would never deign to take notice of me. So when we became friends on Youface, I was a little surprised.

He’d just broken up with someone and so he pursued me pretty intensely, first on Youface and then in person. Via  Youface, he found me at an open mic, bought me some vodka tonics, and then we sat in a friend’s backyard drunk, holding hands and talking about all sorts of things. At the end of the night, he kissed me and said, “I’ve had a crush on you for awhile.”

For a while it was nice. He’d come over and play songs for me. We’d go to dinner or the movies. We’d play at open mics together. We’d make out a lot and actually slept together on our first date, which I was okay with, but apparently he was not. We talked about it and I thought we’d worked it out.

Then after a month or two he started saying things like “Oh, don’t fall for me, I’m pretty flaky” and “You know I’m dating other girls, right?” Which, before you shout “DICK!” at your computer screen, I did know he was dating other girls. I approved of him dating other girls, because he told me early on that he tended to jump impulsively and head long into serious relationships and ended up regretting his non-choice and resenting the girl. I said that I had been there and done that and did not want it, so you go ahead, honey, and date all the girls you care to.

It went along merrily in this way for several months.  Then, in October, he started playing an extremely unpleasant game of push-pull, in a series of messages spanning about two week’s time:

You’re a special lady, [Iris]. I’ve expressed interest in keeping the “dating thing” a bit on the lighter side, and I’m still of that mind, as I’m terrible at picking partners. [...]  I dread the thought of not having you to talk to and hang with, when possible. You’re funny, easy to be with, and you really care about the people in your life. There’s really not much else worth looking at.

But I’m perpetually trying to make sure I don’t get into something that’s not right for me, as I have a remarkable record of doing so, while thinking I was absolutely with the best person ever. For that reason, I’m currently dating a few different ladies in hopes of narrowing my chances of making another poor decision.  If you gotta move on, please don’t let me stop you. But if you’re still around when the “smoke clears”, I guess that’ll be my sign. (Emphasis mine)

But I gotta say you’re awesome. I can’t write off anyone who gives me a hand-made [...] zombie-doll for my birthday, especially with the enthusiasm you displayed in giving it to me. My mother has known me 41 years and she still doesn’t get it. That gift really stands out as one of the best ever, despite my lame reaction (I may have been a bit burnt out from the barroom interrogation, but I dug it).

So anyway yeah, I’m dating around, and at least one of these ladies could be called “nice enough”. But I don’t fuckin know what I want, that’s all. Do I want to blow everyone off and tour Europe for a couple of years? Maybe. Maybe not. Whatever.

Point is, stay in touch. You’re a good friend, and I like hearing how you’re doing. Call up and say some shit. I’ll listen. I don’t want to figure out where we’re all going. I just want to go, and see who’s still there when I finally find my head.

In case you missed in, the summary is: Don’t wait for me, and don’t count on me, but if you’re still around when I get my shit together, hey, I might date you!

I wrote the following:

Here’s how I think and feel: we are more than friends. I don’t want to make out with my friends. I don’t want to hold hands with my friends. When I hug my friends, I do not hold on for longer than five seconds. While I can acknowledge that my friends are attractive people, I am not attracted to them.

It is the presence of these feelings, whether they are acted on or not, that makes people more than friends. And all I want to do is keep hanging out and learning more about you and seeing if we want to either move forward or stop. I think that’s all dating really is, right? [...]

So no intercourse? Sure, that’s a good call, especially if it makes you needlessly confused. No making out, even? Okay, yeah, that can be put on pause, too.

BUT–and this might sound completely bonkers–touching–especially non-sexual yet intimate touching–is really important to me. I don’t remember my mother hugging me until I was fourteen and leaving on a band trip, and she hugged me after she saw my friend get hugged by her mother. Before and after that, the only physical contact I had was beatings. So touching and being touched is really important to me, so if I had to be around someone I’m really into and I couldn’t touch them and they wouldn’t touch me, I would be totally bummed, and I don’t have the time or energy to be so bummed right now.

So hanging out with me means that I’d want to hold your hand during the movie, or lean against you at a show, or press my face into your neck when we hug goodbye, and I’d really dig it if you did those things, too; especially touching my neck or my hair. I have a neck/hair thing. And if that weirds you out, or freaks you out, or in any other way causes you to react negatively, then we shouldn’t hang out in person. Because like I wrote before, if there was no physical contact, I’d feel super-sad, and I don’t want to be sad, or be sad around you, because otherwise being with you and talking with you normally makes me very happy.

He wrote, “Suffice it to say that I understand your needs, and so I have to keep my distance until I know what the fuck I’m doing over here. My head is in a scrambled place now[...b]ut I’ll call you sometime soonish, and if you don’t wanna talk, just say so.”

So I gave him another gift–the gift of time, and the gift of my absence:

I’m going to give you time to figure things out. And I am going to protect myself. Which means that I can’t talk to you in any way–phone, email, facebook feed, nothing.

I fall into the pattern of giving until it hurts, and I can’t keep doing that. I have so many people who need things from me–my friends, the kids at work, my family, myself–that I have to be more selective about what and how much I give. I can’t be a part of your life until you know what you want from me and how you want me in your life. There’s no good or bad here, it’s just painfully obvious that we can’t give each other what we need right now. I do want to talk to you. I enjoy hearing what you have to say, and I like telling you stories…and all that other stuff that you already know. Not talking to you and not seeing your comments on my stupid facebook posts makes sad. I was having fun working on a trumpet part for your song. Writing this email makes me want to cry. But I know if I keep talking to you it will hurt even worse. I can’t keep giving so much of myself to someone who can’t reciprocate. And I think if I keep being a part of your life, on your terms, you won’t have as much of an impetus to figure out what you want. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I care about you very much and I don’t want to hurt you in any way, but I have to take care of myself first.

Please get back in touch with me when you’ve figured out what you want.

I feel good about this decision. I feel terrible about not having him in my life right now, but I would have felt more terrible if I’d kept giving him things when he’s incapable of giving me anything in return. I was talking about this with a friend recently, and he said that in trying not to make a mistake, the Great Dane has made yet another one.

And this might sound egotistical, but you know what? I have enough self-esteem these days to say that yeah, I’m a pretty cool person. I care about people. I tell them stories to make them laugh and I cook them dinner that I hope they will enjoy and I take them to movies that I think they will like to see. The Great Dane was well aware of all these things, and commented on them frequently. He complimented my appearance often, and said that I was a good kisser and that he was attracted to me. We had fun together. I think with all that evidence, and after five months, you  can make a pretty educated and informed decision about whether or not you want to keep dating someone. Which was all I wanted. I never brought up commitment, or the word boyfriend, or any such like. I just wanted to keep dating and getting to know him, and know each other as a pair.

And he’s casting me off for, at best, one girl who is “nice enough”? What the fuck? Really?

I have every reason in the world to be angry. So why am I making a playlist called “Sad Times”?

Stupid fucking heart.