Some days

I wasn't completely honest in my last post - I think I tried to hide some of the truths about the way I feel about my ex-girlfriend, in a couple of different ways.

It's something I've been having trouble with; I keep having to reorient myself towards the North Star of that odd type of purely selfish honesty that this sort of blog putatively sails towards. I think my ex still comes here sometimes - it's hard to say why. In more hopeful, generous moments, I dare to think that maybe in some sense it's to see what is happening in my life. In darker moments, I fear she comes looking solely for ammunition, for something that I might write about her that can keep alive the story she felt she had to tell herself about who and what I was. So there have been times when I have shied away from saying what I actually felt, because I don't want to write anything that can be intentionally malinterpreted. But neither, out of my own pride, have I wanted at times to admit to how much I still think about her.

Like this morning, when I woke up with an aching for her that was so intense it was like somebody had removed some vital organ or part of my body. I can deal with this rationally - it's healthy mourning, not a surprise, nothing to worry about, perfectly normal, etc. All true. But also true is the shocking intensity of this feeling, this many months on. As I've noted in previous posts, it's not like I've locked myself away, hermit-like, merely going over the past. I've had some sexual and even light-romantic dalliances. But they are what they are, and I'm pretty clear that they're pleasant interludes until something more serious comes along.

Maybe it's only then that I'll finally stop waking up like this, about once every seven to ten days, feeling around for K. So there's a naked truth - I miss her. It feels disarming to say that, like I'm somehow surrenduring some chimerical notion of disconnection, or giving something away to her. But I never wanted to be her adversary. That feels like the real defeat, to be trapped as adversaries.

In other news, I was recently reassured by a woman that I could do "whatever (I) wanted to her, really, literally". This offer, intriguing as it was, came at the end of an exhausting party at my place at about 4:30 am. I was too tired to start any sort of scene and was wary about the offer (when offers like that are made, it is best to be very wary indeed). But then she proceeded to try to reassure me of her seriousness by jabbing one of my knives about an inch deep into her thigh. To say that this bled a lot doesn't begin to capture the charnelhouse-like geysers of blood that proceeded to rain down on my couch. I must say, I certainly did not doubt at that point that she had truly meant that I could do whatever I wanted to to her. I also did not doubt that the last thing in the world I wanted to do was anything with her. Crazy women have lost some of their charm for me over the years. At least the party wasn't boring.