Sylvia Plath's Toaster Oven (apologies to Toddy)

Okay, I need to exorcise this so I can put it behind me. There is a positive use of denial; it has always worked for me, and I intend to swim down Denial just as soon as I finish here. I haven't even returned my friend's calls because ---
I just can't talk about it. Here, I can put it down at my own pace, and then brick it up in this monolith of memory I'm constructing here.

The story is not an old one, but when it happens to you, it seems brand new. Read the last few posts and you'll see where I was in my relationships. Outside of the incredible sex I had last week, it also opened something in me which had been bolted up. For years. I think I had nailed it shut because the last time was so devastating. (see "Nicholas.") In fact, see all the posts; part of my devastation after the conversation that follows, was the realization that pretty much all of my affairs have been similarly fucked up, and ended by the other guy.

Usually, as you see, I have some rueful humor laced throughout my romantic misadventures. But there is no comedy here, and yet I don't want it to drown in melodrama, either. So, just the facts. Again, I won't recount what came before.

When I woke up yesterday I laughed at the "one-nighter" line I recalled from "Starting Over," so I blogged it. I thought maybe it was a way to cope with waiting for a call I was sure would come. After having wait a couple of days, I picked up the phone. Fuck waiting any more.

"Hello," he said. His voice sounded far away.

"Did I wake you up?" It was 11:30 a.m., but what the hell - it was Sunday.

"No, I'm just -- getting things together. I told you I was going on that trip."

If he did, I didn't hear it. Okay, move it along.

When ya comin' back?"

"Thursday."

"Oh. Well. We haven't talked in a couple days and I just thought I'd say --"

"Can I call you back? Just in a little while. I'll call you when I'm done."

"Okay, sure. Talk to you later."

That was 11:30. Like a dope I waited here till 2 and then went out. I came back. No message. A wave of imminent disaster washed over me. I thought, "Wait a little longer. Wait a little longer."

By 4:30, I just picked up the phone without even stopping to consider.

"Hi," he said.

"What's up?" I was waiting for you to call me back."

"Oh, I'm, sorry."

What the fuck did THAT mean? And and it was followed by silence.

"So, what's going on?"

"Just chillin'."

"Just chillin." I thought about each word before it said it; if I could keep this canoe afloat somehow, I would do it.

"What are you doing?"

"I was just waiting to talk to you. I wanted to thank you for that nice text message you sent" (the morning after we slept together. My plan was to stay positive.

"Cool. Sure." Then more silence. I felt it all coming apart.

"What's up with you?"

"Nothing. I'm just getting for the trip."

"Yeah, got it. What's going on?" He started to giggle nervously. This went on for five minutes, alternating with long pauses. This was it. Game over. So go for it.

"Well, something's change since I saw you."

"Okay... "

He said nothing.

"I thought I heard you say 'ok'".

"I did. I'm just trying to get the words."

Oh, Christ. Well, let's have it. I saw all the images of our night wipe across my mind.

"I think we rushed into things," he said.

"Okay. I can set that. But it seemed like you were the one who ---"

"--- it's not you, it's me. It's my problem. I just can't do something like this again. Rush into something."

I scrambled. "So -- you want to slow down?"

"It's something I've been working on with a therapist."

There it was. Coming to the end.

"I just can't do this, I'm sorry. It's me. It's not you."

Period.

I said a quick goodbye and hung up, making sure I did before he did. I sifted what we had done through this filter. I tried to see how it fit. But if someone is sick, if they're a sex addict, all bets are off. You have to just accept it. Get up.

I was just angry at first. Then hurt. Then an overwhelming sense of hopeless dropped on me. Just, what's the point - not about life in general, but about finding someone healthy and available. Christ. I don't think I've ever had that, and that compounded everything that just happened. I actually felt a weight on me as I literally stumbled (the humidity didn't help) to see a movie, to get out. I talked to myself. I tried to translate this foreign language I'd been asked to take in. Can people see this, I wondered.

I ended up seeing "Prairie Home Companion," which was okay, but the end result really lifted me. Seeing Lily Tomlin and Meryl on the opening credits, I felt a sense of relief; oh, here are two people who feel like friends, who are going to tell me a story and take me away.

And it worked. As corny as it sounds, I walked out of there with some perspective. The night was cool and breezy and I sat on a stone bench waiting for the bus home.

I thought of the stories people tell about going to a picture during the Depression and coming out feeling more hopeful. I can't process what happened - any of it -- but that's intellectual now and not emotional.

So.