encounters with yesterday's news:

Lifting the veil of hibernation has led to some eye opening perspective about the men in my life last year. The fire has remained on my periphery for whatever reason (he needs bodies to fill spaces sometimes and he knows how to ply me into a yes, I suspect is all it is) and this week I realized it has been a year, a whole entire year since I was first aware that there was some attraction between us. Whatever that attraction was based on (my surprising nature, a good hair day, a beautiful Spring afternoon) has long since expired, but for some reason we are bound to each other. Sometimes I wonder if it is to prove that our initial responses to each were genuine and not just a desire to be with someone.

Seeing him again, last week, last month, three months ago, four months ago, etc, there has been no residual wonder or hope for him; I had been so fully crushed in his wake, I could not resurrect my earnest affections. Imagine my horror then, when my good friend and often drunken truth teller, Walter, joined me for one of the fire's many events requiring bodies and began informing everyone around us and harassing me that the only reason I was there was because I still wanted him.

And it's odd, but I haven't questioned the fire and the light interactions we have, the sense of obligation I feel to filling up the open space in his events, or wondered about it all. I decided at some point that he had not been unkind to me during that awkward phase between men and women when they are first getting to know each other and wonder what might be. I also enjoyed his cheerful serenity, his hobbies and habits and his general sense of appreciation of me and the other bodies I brought with me over this past year. I am understanding that it is rare to meet people I actually like and admire, so I found it odd to discard him and his invitations simply from the spite of being overlooked.

I noticed, in addition to introducing me to people, that at one point early on after I arrived, he was raising eyebrows with some guy and looking at me (which I assume is guy code for are you seeing this girl?), he also seemed to be pushing this agenda he's pushed before with giving his friend information about me (while in the bathroom of all places) to get a conversation started between us, because his friend is interested in me. It gave me some small sense of pleasure that even though he is girlfriended, he finds me charming enough to get something going with his friends. It also made me realize that perhaps I was there for the wrong reason and I need to admit it's not my scene.

So eventually, that night, I had to admit that Walter's drunken assessment wasn't completely wrong. Except, for the first time in my adult life, I wasn't going to sit around and be mopey about not having what I want, because I know nothing is going to happen between us and I accept that. I wasn't allowing that attraction to govern me.

The same could not be said for the magnetic disc. I did nothing but torture myself about him, hating the torturing, but unable to stop it and this week I couldn't help myself, I opened up that wound and poured lye into it. I can't quite tell yet, but I think it helped. Now I have an idea what he was doing and saying to the people around him. And now I understand that it wasn't just me who wouldn't let go.

She was getting to that drunken point where her speech was slurring and I asked her about him. I could tell she had been bracing herself for it. Hell, I think they've all been bracing themselves for it, and interestingly enough, every time I ask them, the elephant in the room disappears in smoke and we are able to fully enjoy each other's company. That's part of what he did to me. He created an entire scenario that disrupted my friendships with people and convinced them of something that put distance and awkwardness in the space between us.

I knew something had happened, I could feel it, it was so frustrating, people coddling me, people acting like I was obsessed or stalking him, people watching me to see what I would do. I felt the hush of the bar every time I came in and he happened to already be there. It was maddening to me that people who had previously been so jovial treated me like it was a chore to speak to me.

I tried to stay away. The more that time passed between what happened and Fall made things better but I could still sense the tension of it, not as much as before, where sometimes, no matter how much I drank I could not get drunk or shake the feeling that I was experiencing a dramarama of high school lunchroom levels, complete with racing heartbeats, nervous and guilty behaviors and awkward eye contact and monologues on unfairness.

I was guilty, but not of much. I mean, on the surface, not much actually happened between us to cause the sort of scandal it seemed I was facing each time I walked in there. We kissed a couple times. We hung out once. Big fucking deal.

According to the sloshed informant, little did I know that he lied to me out of distress because he didn't want to date me, so he made up a story about being in love with his girlfriend back home and proceeded to insist we be friends and that he hoped it wouldn't be weird for me to continue to go to the bar--to which I replied, not at all and took my hands, dirty and grimy from the handling of men, excavating the good ones from deep mines only to find them flawed and not for me and I let it go.

So why then did this man (who recently turned 30) proceed to whisper in the ears of anyone who would listen that I was chasing him still? Because I texted him a couple times after? Because I still went to my bar, the place I'd been frequenting on a weekly to bi-weekly basis three years before his arrival? Because I didn't ignore him every time he passed me? Because I still obviously really liked him?

I did all of those things with the same logic I applied to the fire. I realized it was rare that I liked someone and if he was willing to remain on friendly terms with me (in fact, he was the one who proposed so and insisted on it) then why wouldn't I continue to enjoy his company? It would be so much easier if being romantically attracted to someone was as easy to turn off as a light switch. I am getting better at dismantling those feelings than I used to be. It requires the passing of time, which slowly erodes the beaches of my memory of things that I associate with them, each discarded shell removed.

I didn't have the luxury of time in this case. The other thing I didn't have was a clear idea of whether or not he was not interested in me. He may have informed all of his buddies that I was chasing him, but he certainly never ran away, sometimes he initiated conversations with me, and once, when he was so drunk that he doesn't remember seeing me, he tried to kiss me on the lips. So even though half the times I encountered him he could be a real dick, the other times he exhibited a sparkling kindness that I wanted to believe meant something and I believed that lie for a while, until I realized I was getting carried away and then I wouldn't go back there for a while until I felt strong enough to ignore him again, but he always managed to not be ignored. He didn't want to be ignored. He may have pretended to everyone that I was always staring at him, but to see my eyes, he had to be looking for them.

Once I knew he had a girlfriend--a fact I suspected long before I got confirmation of it, because everyone was tiptoeing around me like I was going to fly off the handle if I knew he had a girlfriend; which I never did--I let that possibility go, that there was something between us drawing us to each other, that he felt it too. Maybe he felt nothing but my clamoring, but my sense and intuition tell me that he had some interest in me, even when he was feigning that he did not.

Even asking her, this girl, the sloshed, slurring friend of his, acquaintance of mine, I knew I was going to be filling the role I surmised he'd scripted for me. I had to know. Hopefully one day I can get by without knowing, I can get along without wondering, I can just trust that what I feel is true and none of it really matters anyway. But for now, it is good to know that I wasn't completely crazy, and he was an immature idiot. And truly, this is just another example of why I am glad nothing actually happened between us.

the burn

It happened the way those things always do, I meant well, time blinked, and all of sudden, I had burned the tenderest skin on my thumb, the part at the bottom of your finger nail, where your nail grows, with that little ridge of cuticle to protect skin from nail. The water might have been at boiling or higher and I gasped out loud (which I normally don't do anymore, having burned myself so often but because it was such a tender spot, I gasped). I set about the elaborate process of tending to my burn, a mix of running cold then warm water over the skin, maybe a half inch wide and a centimeter high. It had the pinkness of pain within minutes, and it seemed to be a deep down burn, the kind that would not stop throbbing. I then moved on to a piece of ice, which I held in place with my fingers until it melted, and another and another and another.

It is at moments like these, where I wonder what am I still doing there? I try to pretend I am good at that place. And sometimes, things just make sense there, it's true. I move like a drop of oil through water, slick, fast, and smooth. I make people do whatever I want them to, I can deal with just about anyone, and it doesn't seem like a good thing sometimes.

The other day, it was busy. It was the kind of busy that is reserved for two people, but even with two people racing behind the counter like rats in a maze, it would still appear busy. I did it all, managing not to piss off everyone in line and maintain a conversation with the cardboard cutout (an unlikely new fan of mine, a strange jelly has been formed between us, one that seems to require his visitation of me despite the fact that I would rather he disappear into a brine of my own disappointment and never be seen again).

[The cardboard cutout--or as you know him, the fire--has been rather baffling of late. He has been arranging times for us to meet up and in my presence he is merely a smiling anime character, to which I can relate, but he is unable to say more than a few sentences. He has a girlfriend now so his insistence that we have some sort of friendship seems odd, especially given that I know for a fact his girlfriend is the jealous type--he has suddenly removed photos of his ex from his facebook profile, for instance, and when we happen to have a facebook interaction, she'll quickly chime in with her undying love. I say no problem and thank goodness I did not land the beautiful, lovely cardboard cutout. I did however find him somewhat intriguing and told him as much, so maybe that is why he puts in the effort with me, because I had put in the effort with him, before he became girlfriended. My friends wonder why I still consider him someone worth wasting time on and all I can say is that he didn't do anything wrong, per se, he just didn't really do it right. He is a good guy and very sweet and there is nothing wrong with having more of those people around, I say.]

The burn on my thumb was so bad that it looked like my skin was glue. It began to collect lint on its surface, just in that small area, black cotton lint from wiping my hand on my apron and it wouldn't wash off. The next day I forgot all about it. The burn, the gasp, the glue.

Sometimes when people come in who haven't come in for a long time, they express their amazement at still seeing me there with a sort of cheerful pity. I feel the effects of their remarks, which range from, "Oh you're still here!" to "How long has it been?" to "You must really like working here...obviously."

A week or so later, the burn turned into a brown mark. My skin had died so deep down that it was finally ready to scab up and get crusty. It was the tenderest of skin. The brown mark registered in my peripheral as a surprise for a while, always accompanied with the worry, What's that on my thumb? until I would remember with annoyance, especially after the dozenth time that it was just the burn working itself out.

Last night, a customer who I have had some good interactions with was walking down the street right in front of my house. I was so surprised to see him that I blurted out his name even though he was on the phone and probably didn't recognize me in the darkness. He seem startled to see me and in his demeanor was a bit of dismay at realizing it was me and especially moreso when I pointed out that I lived right there. He just moved into a place around the corner, he mentioned in response, and with that, he continued his cell phone conversation and I tried to figure out why it bothered me so much.

Was it just the fact that everywhere I go there is some customer whose face I recognize that I am a stranger to because I don't have my apron and am not behind the counter of Siena? Was it his lack of enthusiasm at having me as a neighbor? Or the fact that I felt like saying, hey, I promise I'm not stalking you, I really do live right there, because he seemed so weirded out by seeing me.

When the welt grew new skin under the burned skin, it began to peel off around the edges at first. After a couple days it was gone, picked away by my nervous movements. The edges still had a some dead skin which I rubbed away with the pad of my forefinger. The skin is so tender there it can just be exfoliated by light pressure. Today was the first day I realized the burn is gone, there is no trace of its happening at all, except my memory of it and one day even that will be gone, rubbed away by alcohol or need for remembering something else, and maybe that is a good thing, to not remember everything.

As for them, and that place, the sting of what was, what could have been, what is, that is what keeps me from submitting myself further and that is what makes me want to run and cower. I won't as easily forget that time my new neighbor and I talked about my writing, or the time when the cardboard cutout made his giant laughing impression on me.

Monday; or the day the earth stood still:

How can I deny that the only thing in the world I've ever been really good at is that stupid fucking cafe, the place that has made me cry, sweat, hate, change, love, expand, seen every layer of my onion peeled away so that all that remains is the core of who I am, not the people I thought I should be, the people I wanted to be, instead I've been reduced to the pearl nestled inside all that mess. It's where I spend the little bits of free time I have, it's what I call my home base, it is where I go when everything is wrong. I have said it better and more thoroughly before. Now it could all be different and what terrifies me most is not the stretch of time, the inevitable hard work, the endless opportunities to embarrass myself; it is simply that I would have to, be forced to, grow the fuck up.

As this was happening, as this was being presented to me, I was reeling from the discovery that my hopes for the fire were all empty and without meaning, that any connection I felt was maybe completely one sided, or that absence of proximity had prevailed in completely dousing whatever interest might have once been present. And I was surprised that even though I knew things were dwindling, my interest (due to an endless array of evidence that he was just a cardboard cutout) and my patience (the game is so tiresome), it still took my heart and hollowed it out like a blasted mine. Instant and heavy hollowness fell over me. It was not about the failure, or the loss, it was about the not knowing and hoping and then having it all blown away like nothing. And truly, it can always be construed as nothing, but maybe all that it provided was the lesson that I need a three dimensional man and not a flat beautiful thing to carry around.

And before all that, there was the frustration that no matter how hard I love people, despite their flaws, with a generosity that I deem them worthy of, they disappoint me by not returning that kindness, by holding my every movement and dialogue as evidence of my betrayal (or imminent betrayal) and it is like I am swimming, trying to tread water, in a vastness with no land and he pushed my head under water for no good reason. Of course I am sad that I hurt his feelings, but how many times have I stroked his ego, joined his causes, rallied in his name, and given him the most valuable commodity I have to offer anyone I love: my time?

So I went home, to that shoebox, to that place he drove me to, to that rat infested shithole and I made the calls I'd been putting off all day, the hard calls, the difficult calls, the calls that will propel me out of that place, away from that hate. I am the worst at doing the things I need to do but find difficult, and that was when the gears of the world began to shift, like a giant machine suddenly turned back on, first it was a hum in my ears and then it was a whirring of everything making sense again and the knowing that it was all going to be fine. As usual. Somehow that reassurance that lives for me like a constant pulse point was silent during that half hour.

So I am moving again. For the third time in little over a year. This time it will be the kind of soul assuaging environment I need to thrive again, to unfurl my limbs from the orbit I've been catapulted into. It happened the way everything I've ever been destined to do happened; I succumbed to the sweeping wave of fate and it was like putting a puzzle together, finding that all along I've been holding that last piece upside down and backwards and when I finally stopped and took a closer look, it dawned on me that I'd been making it harder than it had to be all along.

I resisted the urge to be extreme, I wanted to wipe it all away, the tentacles of me that spread and gotten bigger than I expected, started the fire, which died out; that led to the singer, which was an accident anyway, and finally gave me the joyful experience of being gotten by the brain. So instead of pulling in, pulling away, hiding, I sent them both messages that were friendly and open and without expectation. It didn't surprise me that the brain was prompt in his response, for he has nothing to lose and has done this before, showing his expertise again and again. I am enjoying that he is so good at the game, because I need someone right now who can play the game with me. It doesn't hurt that I love love love that brain of his. His vocabulary alone could set ships sailing.

It took the singer a couple days to report back to me, and it may very well be that he is busy with projects (the two buzzwords most oft used to impose distance and disrupt the landslide). I realize at this point there is no one perfect man for me anyhow, and it will certainly not be someone who can't do the work of getting to know me. So rather than let the moments we shared fester in my mind to grow into an apparition that will never match him, I've let it go, let him go, let that urgency sit it out. I find the more I do this the less painful the disappointments are, because I never give too much of me. At least not without some inspiration.

In the end, I don't regret the risks I've taken because I know I would've regretted not taking them. And each disappointment teaches me something new about what I need.

the blank eyes

What I remember most about that night were his eyes. They were hollow, empty searchlights with no piercing or discernable direction, it was just two big holes where eyes should have been and his beautiful face in my direction and the collapse of my ability to remain cool.

If I tried to hold his gaze it didn't work and I could not muster a gesture that might convey that I wanted him to come near me and I was paralyzed by the fear that he thought I wanted to talk to someone more than him.

And so, somehow, we managed to make each other nervous enough to become strangers again, just like that, figments of our imaginations, images that didn't stand the test of reality; simply cardboard cutouts.

As I lick my figurative wounds (for on the outside all seemed fine and well) I wonder what to do now, whether to carry on with the building, to forage for yet more timber and bark to fill out this fire.

Or really, to admit that there isn't one at all.

the lifted veil

Every day yields a new joy, a new sense of glory to erase the disappointments of the evening prior. It could be the smallest ripple, but it lands in my world in a huge swath, leading to secret smiles on my face. The smallest movement can change my whole world and send me spinning in a new direction and I'm glad for that. I'm happy that I can still be affected and still be open to new things.

Today it was no different, I went home last night with a sour bitter taste and woke to invitations to his world. I found out later that they were not exclusive to me, but it still leaves me with the choice of being a part of something other than myself, a road to travel and at the very least, some way to pass the unendurable time I seem to have acquired.

All I have is a series of moments, held in the wax that was last week, which seems so far away already, and yet, I needed to put some distance between them and me because it would be so easy to make them swirl in the haze of romance, to force them to be something they weren't, to read something into nothing.

What I learned last week is that I'm still not certain there's anything going on, that there's a spark, that we've got what it takes for each other. I could say but this and that, and yet, it could all be under the guise of friendliness.

I was muddled by the night, and dancing, and alcohol, but even with all that I sensed he was a man of worthiness, someone who was above the pettiness of life, an observer, slightly unsure of his place. It makes sense that he feels comfortable behind that table, in his own world, creating the soundtrack for the night. Behind my counter is where I hide and those like me find solace there too.

Our interactions were awkward and uncertain, but there was a moment of complete understanding, where words were unnecessary and I was myself and he was himself. That is the smallest shred of hope I have, that we could have that kind of intimacy that doesn't require words.

Also that he was wanting to become a crow for me, despite the scene, that makes me smile.

What surprised me most was the cd he sought to give me that night; that it contained a diverse and entertaining mix of well crafted pieces that wove themselves together like a story, different from what I'd just heard, or been too busy enjoying to fully savor, so I got to hear every sound of a totally different set from his past in my ears (which kept me company during the dearth of interactions I have on Mondays) and I was massively impressed by his work.

And, lastly, he is the only other person I've met who turns into an anime character when he smiles.

So all there is to do now is wait and see what happens, to follow the path he sets for me. It may not lead anywhere, but at least it's a worthwhile trip.

the lay of the land

One fire has been put out. The easy one, the flammable one, the one who I actually really liked, he's pulled himself out of my scope, of course in the most polite and well mannered way possible. It is all well and good that nothing really got started between us and no one's feelings were hurt. I am largely disappointed, but I think it is for the best. The good news is that we will still remain on friendly terms. His company is boisterous and engaging, which delights me very much.

As for the other one, things have been lagging a bit. I think primarily it's a matter of both of us being busy and perhaps secondarily, neither of us are certain that there is anything to do about the other. Of course I can't speak for him, but I do know he's neglected to respond to me in kind, and it's quite possible I overwhelmed him into silence. Thankfully, I have been remarkably unhurried about him, and I don't feel any sense of despair.

I think what I learned from the disaster that was eric (and subsequently, any guy I've ever really liked) is that no matter what the circumstances or coincidences or my feelings on the matter, attempting to force a person who isn't ready willing and able into a relationship doesn't work. And realizing that has given me a sense of freedom I've never had before in this area. In fact, I can't even say for sure that I fall into the able to deal with a relationship category or that I'm ready to deal rigors of dating right now.

And yet, I realize that it is time to start the process, because this is a part of my life that is important to me and always has been. Why else would I moon so heavily about each potential whisper of a relationship if I was not hopelessly optimistic and desperately romantic?

I'm noticing this time around that my criteria is still the map I use to determine my next steps and that I'm a lot more realistic about whether or not there is a genuine connection. Even in the case of the easy fire, I could see that things between us might not go very well, but I was willing to negotiate because of his excellent personality and our obvious enjoyment of each other's company. The truth is, his aimless existence troubled me, his excessive drinking and partying was worrisome and our schedules were nearly impossible to line up.

As if that wasn't enough, a couple months ago I joined an online dating service with nary a date to speak of til now. We're due to meet tomorrow. I don't quite know what he looks like and I can't quite tell what sort of personality he's got. We seem to be good at the emailing, but that doesn't always translate into real life. The one thing I do know is that he's excited about me, which is a good start. I don't even want to go through the speculation process. As my friend Annie said to me today, we'll both know the minute we see each other if it's a yes or no. So I'll let that moment speak for itself when it comes.

And so that is what has been occupying my mind for the last week or so, along with the endless parade of work, stories, dishes to wash, laundry to do, etc.

here comes the sun; fire building

I'm standing here, trying to start a fire, taking the scraps of love I have left, needling, pushing, worrying over things I'll never know, wondering if it'll work and scared about it working.

Should it be this way? To be excited and a little terrified at the same time?

I don't know. I want to ignore the need for warmth, I want to stay cold, but something bigger than me is at work. When fate calls your name you can try to avoid it, but it usually finds you. And I couldn't forget his laugh, his big huge laugh, and that moment when I was undone, completely and thoroughly upside-down.

I described it as a soul to soul moment, where two people touch each other beyond everything physical, and nothing around us mattered right then.

If someone told me I'd have that with him I would have been disbelieving. Because we've never had anything but stilted awkward attempts at conversation before that one. And I am guilty of book cover judging, in his case. He can't help that he's a perfect physical being, and I wrongly assumed that was all he possessed.

It's hard to be wrong. And in this case, I'm pleasantly surprised that I was so wrong. I couldn't have imagined the depth he has, the array of his interests, his industriousness.

I'm not sure if there will be a spark, if it will catch, if there will be a fire. I was compelled to reach out to him and put myself in his scope. His response was kind and open and full of invitations into his world. The idea of exploring another person in the hopes that I will find something amazing is exciting, but I don't want to force anything. I will never force that again, struggling against something and trying to find the brilliance I deserve.

As I was reeling from this endeavor, I joined my good friend at our usual spot, and attempted not to delight in the presence of a different man, far different than the potential fire, someone who I feel an instant chemistry with, a strong pull, a giddy thrill. He's brilliant, gregarious, charming, with a voracious laugh, the kind of guy that everyone adores instantly. I thought that it might just be my penchant for brits, but even the generally grouchy older man at the bar smiled and remarked on his personality.

With him, there is nothing to do, nothing to be, the ease we have is pleasant and refreshing and welcome. With him there is no guessing, no wondering, no waiting. He arrived on my horizons with a huge smile for me and I am eager to see that smile more and more.

And so we fell into each other, so easily, so well. Everything fell away and there was just that overwhelming spin, the carousel, the joy of being swept up by another person who has nothing to lose and everything to gain.

We have plans to spend time together and that will be the true test, when the liquids that make me uninhibited are gone, when there's nothing between us, no counters, no stools, no distractions. I have a feeling it will be easy and fun. I'm not worried about him at all, and for once it's nice to know that there's substance behind this, that it's not a bunch of vapors, a mirage, a bouquet of hopes.

And what's even better is that I've let myself heal, I've taken care of myself, I've given myself time to let go of the pain. And I did it without toppling someone else, without destroying someone else. So maybe that is why these two different men have arrived and given me hope for warmth. Now it's just a matter of choosing which fire to succumb to.