This is the last time I was happy, February 2012. After that, things all went pear-shaped again while I continued to fight the good fight and find a place for myself in this town.
I’m proud to report that three weeks have gone by now, nearly three, and I haven’t felt unsteady or crash-like. The way I put it to my best friend in Colorado over the weekend was that “I feel suspiciously happy.” Then we talked about how someone possibly put a curse on me for a minute… but that’s another story.
I write a lot about how human interactions can slap around a life to the degree where it’s not quite the experience we’d like. I also weave in some pleasantries from time to time. (more…)
I love Christmas time in New York City. To celebrate this wonderful time I of year, I’ve been going on dates again.
My mantra of the moment is, “Don’t get married.” As our loyal readers are aware, I have a nasty habit of doing that. And I really like to do it, apparently, with people who I hardly know. So yeah, the “Don’t get married” mantra is in full effect.
I haven’t felt compelled to marry anyone I’ve been on dates with this week… I’ve been on three so far. I guess it’s a bit fun. But then again, it’s sort of impossible to have a bad time running around Manhattan at places like The John Dory and The Pony Bar. (more…)
I drank champagne the day you disappeared, when I should have been concerned about how we didn’t meet in the exact known place at the exact agreed time. Worry should have been fighting for the better of me. It all should have mattered.
But you are a liar. I learned after my first marriage, liars don’t count. So I never counted on you showing up. I never counted on you for anything.
I visited a friend in Soho who updated me about his wife and their baby and their weekend trips to the Hamptons. I never mentioned you. And he didn’t ask. And that made me feel free from you. Like even though I remembered everything, everyone else had already forgotten.
The champagne set the tone for the evening. I decided I wanted French food and wound up at Tout va bien in Hell’s Kitchen. I guzzled Bordeaux and mopped up garlicky escargot butter with a crusty baguette. I slurped salty bowls of French onion soup topped with layers of sticky gruyere cheese. The waitresses didn’t speak English and the service was slow. I spent two hours there, scribbling in my notebook about your perpetual insignificance and my longing to repair anything broken that I encounter.
You were in Brooklyn shagging a fat Russian named Marfa. Her teeth are worse than yours. Marfa is a bartender from Volgograd. She doesn’t know you hit women. She won’t find out until the second month. But she’ll hit you back. It’s a dysfunctional match that fits you. You feel safer with an uneducated woman. Marfa would feel safer with a green card. You are comforted knowing that she can use you, it validates how you will use her.
I stepped out of Tout va bien into the first snow of winter. I watched flakes land on my wool coat and melt into the fabric. I smiled at the absorption, the gentle placement of each puffy fragment. You never penetrated my surface that way. Nothing about you ever occupied me like that, gently and unsuspectingly.
Back home, with a whiskey, I smile and raise my glass to snowflakes – and everything that effortlessly melts without leaving a noticeable scar.
You know, blog family…
Getting divorced twice in a fifteen month period is heaps easier than it reads.
If I could sum up how I feel at this moment, I would probably say…
SLIP OUT THE BACK, JACK. MAKE A NEW PLAN, STAN…
… you don’t need to discuss much. just drop off the key lee, and get yourself free.
I have developed
to deleting numbers.
And I erased you
I swiped and
and you disappeared.
It should have
a loss inside of me.
Like, what if
you needed me or what if
I needed anyone.
The sound of your body
slapping cold ground
is nothing. Ex/Accept. Departure.