Ocean Waves Recess

   The week progressed just as I thought it would. Four days of rest, three days of excess, and seven days of grasping for the straws behind my psyche. Waking up at 3am is clockwork to me. I'm not up too long, but it gives me just enough time to dole out a few sets of push ups and sit ups. Jeff watches me with a look of disgust that only a dog awakened by nonsense can give to you.
   "Listen Robert, I'm finally five years old. That's.....", dogs are not very good at math. "That makes me.....hmmmm...... thirty two?" See I told you. "I think we should talk, man to man."
   "First of all, I'm not even going to talk about your poor arithmetic skills. Yet, I will say, it's three in the morning, I'm trying to wear myself out, and obviously the "man to man" reference doesn't really work in this situation", I am this sarcastic, even to my dog.
   "You have good points, but I could also say, you are the one, in your briefs, holding a conversation with a dog." It is a really sad state of affairs when your mutt is dead fucking on point. Needless, to say, the push ups have ceased.
   "Ok, you have my undivided attention", I sigh as I roll over onto my back.
   "Robert, listen man, I keep trying to find a good way to bring this up, but I think I need to be direct", he has now switched into an oddly serious tone. Don't ask me what a dog's serious tone sounds like. It will just embarrass the both of us even further.
   "Ok, just spit it out", I sit up and we are nearly eye level now. Yes, I let him sleep on my bed. I mean, come on, he's a talking dog.
   "You've been single for what.....a year....year and a half now?"
   "Jeff! That is not entirely true. I mean Amalie. That was a few months, right?"
   "You know, I'm really wondering whether that relationship even counts", he said it. He really did.  
    "I don't want to discount her at all. Lovely girl. She truly was. Yet, was that really what we would call a 'relationship'? I mean, you gotta put yourself out there man."
    "Wait. What? I put myself out there", I'm starting to get a little insulted by this conversation.
    "Oh, I'm sorry, by yourself, I meant more than just your dick", my dog is well versed in the sarcasm, also. "Listen man, you gotta stop it with this wall building shit. Don't get me wrong. You really do...um......how can I say this.......play the 'man' role? But, you gotta be more giving with yourself."
   "Example?"
   "I need you to look me in the eyes for this", Jeff has turned dead serious.
   "Sure", I say with just a bit of uncertainty. I ease up on my knees. A lot is starting to sink in. It's three o clock in the morning. I'm in my underwear. Kneeling nose to nose, in front of my dog. Having an imaginary conversation about my relationship with women. This is not a high point in my life.
   We are now staring into each other's eyes.
   I've always found it weird how human his eyes are. They seem to come from another place. It, at times, has been unsettling, but for the most part, comforting. I can see his nostrils flaring with each breath. His little black lips are thin and a bit pouty. He lets out a small bark. It refocuses my attention on his eyes.
   "Robert, I want you to listen closely to me. You are wonderful. Not only the parts that you show people, but the parts you hide away. You are smart, and funny, and witty, and anyone can tell, no matter how much you hide it. You have a ton of love in your heart. I mean a fucking ton, man. I see it everyday. You can't ever stop hugging things. I think it's funny when you try to be all mean, and gruff. Because I see what your smile looks like when we wrestle around your bedroom. You're problem isn't that you love too little, and people think you're an asshole. You're problem is that you love so much, and it hurts people to watch you try to hide it. I know you have been hurt, and I know you want to do the same to everyone else. Yet, it's frustrating you even more because you can't. Just stop it. If I had arms I would hug you, but I don't. So, all I can do is this." With a quick motion his tongue hit me on the tip of nose.
   I buried my face in my hands and started to cry. I found myself at an odd crossroad. A dog. A stupid, furry, mangy, mutt had told me what no one else has had the balls to say. In that one little doggy kiss, he had broken down everything I had tried to build. A big, fucking, mean, black, sarcastic, wall. I looked up at his gorgeous, brown eyes. Tears soaking my face. There was only one thing I could say to him.
   "Who wants a tummy rub?"
   "Oh, oh, oh, oh, I do!!! I do!!!!!", he exclaimed.

 

 

  
  

My Favorite Game

It's called, "I Wonder if She is Thinking About me, As Much As I Am Thinking About Her?"

 

 



The Lion's Den

They say, "There are plenty other fish in the sea."

I say, "Fuck you, she was my sea."

-J. Faulkner

 

 

 

The best foot forward

on the edge of a sliding cliff.

"I can hold you", she whispered.

"I can hold you better", I scream.

 

We all do, what we can,

and hope that the "best" is exactly that.

"I know you can do this", I sighed, hoping she would listen.

"I can't", she knew I was ignoring, all of it.

 

 

All the choices in the world

never means it will be enough.

"I gave this all to you so quickly", she wrote on a note and slid it across the table.

"I think you underestimate my pain threshold", I crumpled it, and threw it away.

 

Walking through the desert

was supposed to be easier.

"Come here, hold my hand", I reached out to my side.

"................", she said nothing, because she was no longer there.

 



 



The Shot Heard Around My Head

   This is an embarrassing tale. With a less than classy set of circumstances. So, we are going to try and wind our way through it, without divulging all the minuet, possibly ridiculous, details. Let's start it with a bang.

Very early, on Sunday Morning, I fell in love.

 
   That's what happened. I could tell from the second I saw her. I had fallen. hard. Now, I'm not going to pussy foot around. Most people that read this blog, should know by now, that I am prone to manic fits of endearment. I fall for a great smile. I blush with a slight wink of a gorgeous set of eyes. I have a "swoon factor" that is fairly unmatched. It has always felt right to fall easily. The enjoyment from it warms my chest, and I would hope that it does the same to the person I am complimenting.

   So, I have ran over how I would write this blog post in my head several times. I think it might be best to let you hear what happened in her own words:

 

"oh my god someone just said the sweetest things to me and I’m going to die because it’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened. I’ve never been fawned over like that oh man
'I would want to be cute lesbians in New York with you making lots of really good art
I would ride the subway past 9:30 and keep you safe
I’m smitten, smitten
I want to drink whiskey all night with you
I want to open a record shop with you and sell vinyl to people who don’t deserve them, I want to be assholes to everyone with you
I just fell in love with a stranger
Everything about you is cherubic
You deserve to always have a pretty boy or girl next to you kissing your cheek, you deserve the best possible things always
I’m gonna scoop you up and eat Mexican food with you
I love you, I love you, I adore you
I’ll ride my bike over every bridge in PDX til I find you'"

   This was all said, by me.  This was all meant, by me. Our conversation still rattles in my head, and the memory of her smile still makes my skin goose bump. Here comes something that only a few people will understand. You can take this literally, or figuratively. I saw a lot of naked women that night. I saw sex, and skin being thrown around like it was a mere afterthought of existence. Hers, though? I had no want. I had no lust. I had no ulterior motive. I just wanted to hear her voice, see her eyes wince in giggling joy, and warm my heart in the glow of a happy woman. Yet, it gets worse.
   I will, more than likely, never see this woman again. I will never hear her voice. I will never touch her, or feel the warmth of her breath. I will never fix her breakfast. We will never ride bikes together, or take her along as I walk my dog. I will never lay in a park, and watch her fall asleep, on the blanket I brought. She will never kiss me. She will never bring me coffee while I paint. We will never meet up, randomly on a side walk, as our friends drag us to drastically different places. She will never fix my crooked tie, and I will never try to get into her pants at socially unacceptable points in time. She will never heal my wounds, and I will never be the biggest cheerleader to her accomplishments.

   Yet, she is out there. She is reading this, and hopefully, for a few minutes of time, we lived a life unchained by anyone else, but each other.

 





 

 

 



How You Look to Me

   She told me today that she feels guilty. Working different hours than your partner is a strain, or so I'm told. I wouldn't know, and in this instance, I don't seem to care. This story is getting off track.
    The circumstances go like this. She is a ball of anxiety and fret. Now, keep in mind, none of this is a direct result of anything I have done. Well, that isn't exactly true.
   "Can I ask you a question?", she slurs, slightly as the rain hits the windshield of her small urban SUV. The funny thing is that no matter how many times this scenario happens to you, the situation always comes out of left field.
   "Of course you can, Hon", I keep my eye-rolling buried deep in my conscious mind.
   "The other day, when I told you I loved you, why didn't you tell me, that you loved me?", no matter how you answer this question, you are fucked. I don't really pause here. I know the answer. The worst part is, so does she.
   "Because I don't love you."

 



  
  
  

Does This Exist For Me?

She wears garters on a regular basis.
She reads novels, that weren't necessarily written in the last 60 years.
She paints me.
She can go through entire evenings without discussing herself.
She doesn't have to be mad, to be silent.
She has a style that others envy.
She watches a movie.
She truly watches a movie.
She listens to Slayer, yet you could never tell by looking at her. Or maybe you could.
She fucks me like a hate crime.
She lets me fuck her like it's genocide.
She doesn't say sentences that sound, such as, "Yeah, Robert isn't like the other losers I dated."
She bothers to learn the names of my relatives.
She understands why I don't want to see my relatives.
She understands why I want to see my relatives.
She teaches me something new, almost, everyday.
She can run.
She can jump.
She blushes, when I whisper dirty things into her ear, in public.
She moves closer when I do.
She does them, also.
She has common sense.
She has intuition.
She never let's me go away unresolved.
She will fight the war, but understands the battles are normally ridiculous.
She understands when I want a night, or two, or three, alone.
She surprises me.
She doesn't feel a need to schedule.
She doesn't go to the same place everyday.
She is not in constant mourning for something that is beyond her control.
She knows how to let go.
She can tell when she is going to ruin something, and doesn't.
She can tell when I'm going to ruin something, and doesn't let me.
She has a past.
She has a future.
She, most importantly, has a present.
She does not set standards for me, that are not standards for herself.
She knows life is not absolutes.
She can discuss anything.
She is not in love with the idea of me.
She is in love with what is truly me.