“To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.”

-Frederico García Lorca

 “Even love unreturned has its rainbow.”

-J.M. Barrie


It’s all I can do to not dwell on him. I’m very committed to the idea of this being  a relationship (for lack of a better word) where I don’t obsess. But times like these are hard. I want to be with him so badly I have a feeling it must be somewhat smothering. So, then, I guess it’s a good thing he hasn’t called or texted me today. But it’s hard not to focus on something and overanalyze it to death. Like a text message. Did I wait to long to reply? Did he not find it amusing? Oh my God!!! It’s pathetic to even care!

I just remembered the time that he flaked on our one “date” and didn’t call or text for days. And then when he finally re-surfaced apologizing he blamed it on a cold. Or the time he said he’d let me know when he was headed back to Hollywood so we could get together after I was off work. And I waited and texted and he never replied. For two days. And then outta the blue, “What’s up haven’t seen you in so long!” He says he knows how he’s all over the place and it’s shitty but…I dunno. Is it that he is truly busy and spontaneous, or is it that he is with a girl and can’t be bothered. I think this is paranoia. I think he is busy especially with the road trip. And that when he goes to SD all he does is meditate and catch up with old friends and not catch up with some San Diego girl’s pussy. Not that I should care because it’s truly none of my business.

I guess when I didn’t answer his texts for a few days that’s when he got all super nice and sweet. Even approaching a little bit of romance. But it’s hard not to want to spend as much time with him as possible since he is leaving so soon. Thank god he can’t read this shit! He would be so gone so fast and I would simply lie down on the floor and die. Does he like me? I think he does. I hope he does ‘cause I like him and I like being around him. {I am barfing as I re-read this. It’s all I can do to not erase it.} He inspires me. I feel like I want to be a better me. A better person. For everyone not just him. For myself. And he speaks Spanish. Damn. I really like him. I guess all we can do is wait and see.

Haha! He shaves! Like his chest and arms and… At first I didn’t like it, so vain. But now, I don’t know. I think I like that too. And he works out. A lot. And (oh boy) wears tight t-shirts. I know. He made his pecs dance for L when she said, “Ooh-wee, you’ve got muscles!” That’s hideous. So why I am I smiling? He sounds like a douche-bag-king-of-the-hipsters-who-are-hip-for-no-reason type of person. And he hates everything. EVERYTHING. Like puppies and most music (he’s a fucking musician!) and babies and rain. He hasn’t seen Goonies or Back to the Future or Star Wars and he doesn’t like Michael Jackson’s album Thriller. He doesn’t like Macklemore’s Same Love. He is so very weird. And he looks like the Italian mouse from American Tail.



Ha. Haha. Hahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaa. The upstairs neighbor is playing Mozart’s Nocturne. Or whatever that piece is called. The dark disturbing funeral sad one. The one that Tom Cruise is playing in Interview With the Vampire before Kirsten Dunst comes in and he tells her she has been a “very naughty girl” seeing as how she set him on fire and fed him to alligators (crocodiles?) in the swamp and all. This particular choice is amusing to me today because I woke up very upsetfull.

Here is why. And the why makes me upsetfull too.

So yeah, it’s ‘cause of him and how I like him I suppose too much for my own good. Literally. He’s on the road and had gotten as far as Nebraska. He texted me to say that he was farming some thing and it was really cool and I told him so. And then, I find on Facebook he’s backtracked to Colorado. Okay. Colorado. Kinda close to here but whatever. So, yeah, okay, I have had this fantasy that he comes back and asks me to go with him for the rest of the trip but again, whatever. That’s a stupid unhealthy fantasy anyway. Colorado’s not that close, stop thinking bout it.

And what’s the next updated posty wosty? (THANK YOU FACEBOOK, BY THE WAY. THANK YOU VERY FUCKIN MUCH FOR ALL OF THIS GREAT INFO) Ah, why it’s a beautiful picture of the sunset via Instagram. Lovely. I’ll just quickly take a check and see where this was tagged to…Nob Hill. Hm. Um. Wait, no. Knob Hill? I’m not a native Californian but I’m pretty sure Knob Hill refers to a section of San Francisco. San Francisco CALIFORNIA. THE STATE I AM PRESENTLY IN. So that’s not good for my poor damaged psyche because the fantasy I had cooking now decides to boil up and froth itself all over my mind. It’d be so easy to stop by LA on his way back to wherever. All the while telling myself not to hope while still hoping harder. God dammit. I know better.

Next post (AGAIN, MANY HEARTFELT THANKS TO FACEBOOK): Yay, I’m clubbing in Albuquerque! Look at this video of a dancing girl! Albuquerque, last time I checked (I never checked) is in New Mexico. To get to New Mexico from San Francisco would take one past or near Los Angeles, yes? I’m really bad at geography so now I’m gonna look at a map. Okay. I just looked and it seems that EVERY SINGLE ROAD would go through Los Angeles. Lemme check again, I’m getting madder. I just Google fuckin mapped it and I am correct in my anger of madness.

By the way, don’t think I don’t know how insanely stalkingly bad this behavior is. But I think we can all agree, it’s not my fault. It’s definitely Facefuck’s fault as well as his fault for posting an on-line account of his travels. Ha! No, I realize it’s my fault for checking and caring and such. Shut up.

Anyway, I came to the conclusion that he either went through LA and did not bother to tell me let alone see me, or the Knob Hill pic is old and he just happened to post it now. Or there’s a Knob Hill in Colorado….Lemme check.

Ooookaaaaay. Spelling is still a thing and Nob Hill is apparently a popular place name.

I feel stupid now. I guess I shoulda checked that out first. Plus, there’s the fact that even if he had gone through LA and hadn’t bothered to tell me or see me shouldn’t I not care? Aren’t I not supposed to care? I’m not his girlfriend. And if he were stopping for just one night he’d want to see his family no doubt. So it would be kinda shitty of me to even expect a share of his time spent here. But, ay me, I do care and I do expect it.

Well, I’m not quite as upsetfull now that I know where all the different places named (K)nob Hill are. Still, this is taking so long. I always knew he’d take way longer than he estimated. What with back-tracking and side trips and spontaneous decisions. Chance meetings and last minute shows. Just the way he is, his nature as far as I can tell, what makes him late all the time. I wonder what he told his mother. Maybe she knew better than to ask. Because now I think he may never come back. I think he’s fallen in love with the road and is toying with the idea of becoming a forever gypsy.

And upsetfull is back. And this is really why I think I’m upset. Not the whole, “Did he stop in LA?” thing, but the truth of his trip. From the moment he told me about it I’ve suspected he would leave and stay gone. I mean, what’s gonna happen when he gets to Austin? When HE gets to AUSTIN? He’s gonna fall hard for that one. It’s like Mecca for him (figuratively, not literally. I know where Mecca is. Without checking.) The nexus and birthplace and homecoming/spawning grounds for all of the hipstery-est of hipsters. Besides Portland. Duh.

Yeah, he may never leave Austin, he may never leave the road and I don’t think he’s coming back to LA. At least not for a long long time. I cannot hold a torch for him. Sure and he’s not holding one for me.

The most recent post? A love poem. In the style of Rumi. I took a screen shot of it and hastily read it over. I can’t really read it. Not yet. Not now. I already know how it would make me feel, and I feel too much that way already. Mustn’t make it any worse.

I sent him a text with a meme full of puns. He replied, “Gorgeous. Just magnificent.” Followed quickly with, “Thanks Amanda.” My terrible jealous mind. For the first instant I was lit up. He used pretty words. But then as I thought more (which is always the problem) I became more suspicious. Why did he call me Amanda instead of Amac? Is the nickname too familiar? He is with a girl. A dancing girl from New Mexico who sneaks peeks at his phone so he makes sure any last texts to other girls are innocent. Last texts meaning the most recent ones, the ones that are shown in the texting home screen. Easy for jealous girl-eyes to quickly scan. I don’t do that anymore. I force myself not to and it’s hard. Because your eyes immediately jump to the little light-up screens held by clever capable fingers.

“Thanks Amanda” is way more innocent than “Gorgeous. Just magnificent.”

I am so fuckin paranoidly jealous.

It makes me sad to be like this.

I don’t want to be possessive and jealous. Because I don’t want a guy to feel that way about me.

I need to get laid.


So I guess it’s time to let the whole thing with him go. I haven’t heard from him since those last texts and he hasn’t liked any of my posts on Facebook (which is the only way to show someone you care about them) so I’ll be assuming he has found other more interesting interests.
When I think back to the time that D used me for his late night drunken booty calls I feel righteous in my decision that D is a scumbaggy piece of shit. But then I think, “How is [     ] different?” He only texted me when he wanted to get some, right? And any time we planned to do something besides bang, he always flaked out. Right? Am I remembering correctly? I guess there was the time we ordered pizza and watched a movie together. And I came over and watched a Lakers game with him and his friends. We didn’t bang that time. But we’ve never had a single date.
Yeah, I gotta let this go. I have to be ok with the time I got to spend with him. I have to be grateful that he inspired me and showed me through example how to motivate myself more and fall back in love with my creativity. I have to be his friend now. Just friends.
So why is there this scrapey shitty-feeling hole in me? Sitting on my stomach and tucked up around my lungs. Am I making it? Am I projecting my feelings of grief over the death of my grandmother onto the ending of my romance with him? And why THE FUCK does he have to be named [     ] anyway? That was my grandma’s nickname. I hear this name now and all I wanna do is sob and rage and throw things.
Why does he have to be so good? Volunteering, helping sick kids, posting beautiful poems and songs, being free and amazing. I can’t help feeling more feelings for a phantom who only exists to me now on Facebook.



Ugh. My fault. I should’ve known better. I did know better.

I fell for him.

I know! I know. How could I have forgotten  all of my intelligence and sense of good taste? For a year? A year?!?!? I don’t got time for dat.

Seriously, I’m 33 about to be 34 in a few months. I can’t fuck around with some loser LA gypsy wannabe for a frickin year in the hopes he’ll start to value me. What in fuck was I thinking? I wasn’t. Or I was too much. Same thing.

Doesn’t matter now.


Letter written late 2014

Dear S,

I’m so sorry we couldn’t get together this last time I was in Vermont. I missed seeing you, sharing a brew at TPT, eating at Salt, hugging W…I missed so many of the things!

I really missed getting to talk to you though. I was craving a little one-on-one S time where we could catch up and gossip and nerd out. And talk about boys. Guys. Men. Sigh. Yes, my motivations for writing to you are purely selfish, I need to unload some messy feelings about the opposite sex on someone. I hope you don’t mind.

His name is [     ] and I can’t be with him. Let me explain.

I met him at a friend’s after-party last November (2013) and it was supposed to be just a one-night-stand type deal. My friend (and now roommate) L set it up and pimped me out like I was her bottom-bitch trick-of-the-year. And quite frankly, I needed it. It had been a while.

So, great. He was cute and funny and interesting and he certainly did the job. And I left the next morning thinking that was it. And that was pretty cool. I mean, for me to sleep with a guy and not immediately start intensely (obsessively) liking him, it was really cool. I didn’t even wonder or care if he called.

But then of course, he did call. Inviting me to a show he was putting on (you ask, “What does he do?” And I say, “Oh, well he’s a musician. A crazy-talented, focused, successful, creative musician. Who plays, like, all of the instruments. It’s so great and not incredibly attractive to me in the least bit.”) which I couldn’t go to but joined him at the after-party once again. And once again, we had our own private after-party after the party 😉

So, great. Then I went to VT for the holidays (I think now I might’ve mentioned him when I saw you that last time. If so, I apologize for any boring repetition of already known facts) and thought maybe I’d see him again, maybe not, whatever. We’ll see where it goes. He ended up texting me the day I got back to Cali. So for a few months we saw each other about once a week, sometimes less. I noticed he was always very busy and always very flaky. But again, whatever, this was casual dating right?

Side note: I do not know how to date! At all!!! How do I meet people? Do I go on-line? On Tinder? Did you meet W on-line? I can’t remember. I feel like once a woman is where I’m at, she abandons all hope and goes on-line. She trudges through the on-line trenches, goes on a few dates and always comes back saying, “It was…nice. At least I got out.” And then after a few months to a year of the on-line experiment, she all of a sudden meets the absolute soul mate of her dreams…at a bar. Or through a friend. The way the on-line sites say it doesn’t work nowadays. That’s how it happened for my friend C (you remember her?) for my mom and for you. Right? Or is this whole theory ridiculous? Did you actually meet W on-line before you met in real life? Am I just making excuses ‘cause I’m scared of submitting a profile on Tinder? Then again, if my theory proves true I should hit up Tinder this second. Either way I should hit up Tinder this second.

Back to casual dating. The man’s idea of paradise. The woman’s of limbo. Because that’s how I started to feel. Like I was stuck and waiting in some place where maybe one day I would be deemed worthy to escape to heaven. And heaven had become him. Somewhere along the line I fell for him hard. I tried to be mindful of it. I knew it was happening and I tried to stop it. But I failed.

He is a Gemini. He is impulsive and selfish and can’t stand being told no. He is very independent. Last spring he gave up his career and his apartment to travel the country as a gypsy musician/volunteer/jack-of-all-trades. He is a confirmed bachelor and free as air. And he is absolutely and unavoidably unavailable.

I’ve often wondered if that’s really why I like him so much. I fell for him fully knowing it could never work as a relationship. You always want what you can’t have, yes?

It’s been over a year of this “casual dating” that started back up after he returned from his eight month road trip. Whenever he’s in town or whenever it suits him, he’ll text me and we’ll hang out and have a great time and usually (but not always) have sex. But that’s all it can ever be, he’s made it very clear. I eventually was able to talk about my feelings for him and ask him about commitment and he says he can’t. And won’t ever. He is in love with the road and traveling and his new lifestyle and I think it’s actually perfect for him.

Second side note. I do not believe he has been monogamous with me. Of course not when he’s a twenty-nine year old guy traveling around the country singing all talentedly and looking all stupid hot. I can’t fault him that and I don’t. Anyway I never asked him or expected him to be monogamous. And I never would. It just doesn’t seem like a part of his nature to be with one person. Again, a Gemini to the core. I however, no longer find anyone else attractive and haven’t slept with anyone since him. Boo. Not fair. But my own fault.

So here I am, lovelorn over a guy who can’t give me a relationship. And I don’t mean to make him sound like a total shit. A total shit with (horrors!) D-like tendencies. I do see the similarities. But while D was using and manipulating women and lying about it, [     ] just seems to be having fun with free love. I believe him to be a genuine and truthful person. He has been completely honest and upfront with me, especially about sex. He’s also extremely conscientious about condoms and gets tested regularly and initiated a conversation about such things after we slept together the second time. He is responsible for himself which to me seems light-years ahead of most guys.

I love the way I feel with him and I love the way he has inspired me to let go and experience more freedom in my life. Just knowing him has taught me more about myself and my obsessive tendencies with men. I look at relationships differently. I used to want to belong to someone and have them belong to me. I used to want to be possessed and petted and taken care of (remember R?!?). Now I just want to be the best possible version of me independent of my partner. But I still want a partner. And I want it to be [     ].

He has told me that he cares deeply for me and that I’m very special to him. He claims I “stand out” amongst other women and I know he makes an effort to see me and honor my feelings in his own way. I can’t help but like the way he treats me when we’re out together; always paying for everything and being quite gentlemanly but never hovering or keeping tabs on me. He’s a social butterfly (SO Gemini!!!) who’s able to draw me out of my infamous shell, so much so that I was convinced to play drums in front of his musician friends (albeit while shaking and flop-sweating profusely). He’s invited me to volunteer with him (at a food bank) and meditate with him (in the Buddhist Zen community he’s a part of) and I’ve had amazing experiences both times. He’s so great to be around. And he’s never around.

He last texted me a month ago saying that he’d be back in LA during the first week of February and that he’ll be “most unabashedly wanting to see me” (he writes well too. Bastard). I’m sure I’ll want to see him.

It’s very hard for me to believe that there is someone out there who’ll be able to take his place.

I should probably get over it and fuck a hot stranger off Tinder.

I just don’t want to.

Love and miss you so, although that should be a given 🙂 Lemme know your thoughts, advice or admonishments via any method (text, FB, email, bound hardcover) whenever. I know you’re a very busy lady and I’m so proud and happy about that! And don’t think I’m not still interested in hearing all the gossip and news and Salt progress and geese progress (and W progress!) ‘cause I am.

Hugs, kisses, love and blessings,




So I have a problem. I am very good with writing and language and vocabulary. English was always my best subject. And yet. I find I do not know the meaning of the word “unabashedly.”

I thought this word meant something like “unashamed to admit.” Hold on. Lemme look it up. Ok, I guess I was close. The dictionary says “not embarrassed or ashamed about openly expressing strong feelings or opinions.” Oh poor dictionary, you are wrong too. We are both wrong, dictionary, you and me together again old friend.

You see, here’s the thing. I got a text message from him saying, “I will most unabashedly be wanting to see you.” He was texting how he’d be back in town during the first week of February. Just a little background here; my birthday is on February fourth. And he said he’d be totally unembarrassed about wanting to see me! Yay! Best Birthday ever!

Hahahahaha. Yeah right. Dude man flaked. Texted me a sexy pic on my birthday and then ignored me for a few days and then got snippy when I texted asking him if he wanted to hang out together. Nice.

So therefore, Merriam, Webster and I must needs to learn the brand new meaning of the word “unabashedly.” Here are some ideas based off my recent experience:




  1. definitely in no way
  2. likely be teasing you with a sexy picture on your birthday but not
  3. -ly be too busy with my sweet gypsy hipster life to

Hey and guess what else?!? It’s now officially Valentine’s Day!



Just took my first sip of beer after work. And that’s the best my heart has felt all day. But that immediate instant of finally feeling good was quickly followed by fear and disgust. Because I know beer is not the way to fix these thoughts.

What are these thoughts? That I am a fool. The worst kind though, the one who manages to fool only herself. Why would I choose to do this? I guess I’m trying to teach myself not to hold false hope. To hope and believe that the person I am could one day inspire him to fall in love with me. That somehow, he would finally see how special I am and everything would be awesome.

But that’s not gonna happen. And I always knew. Before he even told me this was true, I knew. And he tried to tell me in the nicest way but I think I understood the real reason why. Because “she” was still out there. He was still seeking the special one and had long ago known it wasn’t me.

He posted about her on Instagram today. (THANKS INSTA!!! U MAH BESTIE!!) And she’s all that I am not. Of course she is.

I wish I had a cool tattoo. I wish I had told him I fuckin knew his screen saver was Plato’s Cave. I wish I lived in a cool place. I wish I were more original. I wish I were more independent. I wish I were more impulsive. I wish I still smoked. I wish he would’ve written something that gorgeous about me. I wish I was beautiful in that way. I wish I were that special.

I wanna be the cool girl.

And the worst part? I know I am all those things. I am beautiful, original and totally special. But I absolutely don’t feel at all like that right now. I almost hate myself and it makes no sense and I know this.

So all I wanna do is drink my beer and smoke my weed and numb my feelings and  please stop crying for a bit.

Wow. I personally know friends, family and loved ones who are going through MUCH bigger heartbreaks and problems right now. Life and death stuff. It feels very selfish to me to be throwing my hurt feelings around when they’re just about a guy. Plus, watch her be a lesbian {she is} or something and all my whining is due to PMS paranoia and assumptions inferred from Instagram.

Moot point. He’ll meet her eventually.



Ugh. This is awful. I hate it so much and it just won’t stop. No matter what I do, at least once an hour I think about him and how much I love everything about him and how how doesn’t love me back and my little heart breaks again. Over and over and over.

I feel like I’m trying to cauterize parts of my brain. All the memories and reasons why he’s so damnably awesome, anytime I think of them I visualize burning away the physical cells that are storing those stories. Burning ‘em away with that surgical metal stick thing that they use in operations. The surgeon touches it to slick pink and red and it burns and hisses and smoke clears to reveal and black and barren char. Empty space. Peace.

I think I’m being inspired by The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Maybe I should re-watch it. Maybe not. They get back together at the end of that film. That might create hope and I don’t want to hope. I wanna be done with wishful thinking.

I know I’m extremely sad about all this but I don’t really wanna cry about it either. I don’t want to have a sob fest. I’m mostly more mad at myself. It took me so long to finally process what I already knew. I just kept hoping and hoping I would be able to do the thing that would make him feel about me the way I felt about him. But I can never do the thing. I can’t be a different person and that is always what the thing was. He won’t ever be in love with me because I’m not the girl he falls in love with.

I hate knowing that finally. It hurts so much. I think eventually I’d like to still be friends with him. He really does inspire me.

I feel just like everybody else. All the broken-hearted people who love someone who doesn’t love them back. You sit and wonder what is wrong with me when nothing is wrong at all. You say how did this happen again? How did I give my heart up to someone who never wanted it in the first place? You get bitter and cynical and say well whatever. I’m used to it now. It actually doesn’t hurt as much this time. Because I’m numb. I have no feelings. I have no heart.

I wanted it to be him so badly though.



Anything I can do she can do better. Anything I can’t do she does the best. This mantra keeps cycling over and over in my head. In stupid goddamn musical theater form. When I think of something he liked about me, I imagine how it is not enough, not as good as how she does it. “She” this phantom girl of the future I’ve now invented as his ultimate soul mate.

He liked the fact I had a french press for making my coffee. I became unreasonably proud of my little press. Until I convinced myself of her existence. Because she has a french press too, no doubt. Oh, but it is the best press of all the land! She crafted it herself, blowing the glass and smithing the metal frame into shape. All the while wearing cool-ass scuffed up leather overalls and steam punk-looking googles. Of course, these aren’t some googles she bought at Burning Man (so corporate!) no, these are authentic googles an arctic explorer wore back in 1842. No big deal. She found them hunting through garage sales in her super amazing small town americana neighborhood. She would never go thrifting (so pop music!).

And what to put in the most amazing and original french press? Why only the best and most delicately inspired coffee of course. Does she buy her  coffee at Trader Joe’s? Fuck no!! Trader Joe’s is so corporate. She grows her own coffee, duh. She likes to take bi-yearly road trips down to Mexico and help a women’s collective plant and harvest the beans. For five weeks, twice a year she lives with the native people on their native land making the best coffee anyone has ever tasted in the history of all coffee. They roast it in handmade clay ovens…no no no. They roast in under the focused, natural light of the sun as she teaches the little ones how to speak English perfectly. Of course she is fluent in Spanish. Of course she is.

She practices a from of Buddhism that impresses even him. It is naturally the best, and most difficult form of Buddhism to master. She mastered it when she was eight. No big deal. So she has the abilities to levitate and become invisible. Whatever.

She is also fluent in gibberish and op talk. Only because I am not. One night, while cuddling under the hemp yarn blanket she knit while teaching at the School for Gifted Blind Children, they told each other all about their experiences growing up. When they discovered they both spoke these secret childhood languages they laughed until they cried. From joy. Then they invented a new secret language combining gibberish with op talk. They named it “The Language of Love” and they’re the only two people in the world who can speak it.

Did you know she has amazing boobs? Not too big, certainly not as small as mine, and perfectly shaped and formed. They are in perfect proportion her her body, which is perfect. She works out every day, but not because it makes her body so fucking amazingly sexy perfect. No, she does it for the feeling. It just feels good to move your perfect body full of the joy of living and being. To move your perfect body and take a big gulp of perfect beautiful fresh non-LA air.

You ask me, “Hey, A Mac. What would be the best and ultimately the most coolest screen saver ever in the history of human-kind?” And naturally I answer, “Why, a screen saver representing Plato’s Cave of course. Do you even know what that is? Probably not. Only the coolest and smartest people know what that is and can have conversations about it. I know the allegory but only because I like to read and everyone knows that reading makes you a nerd.” She however, is not a nerd. She hasn’t ever seen Star Wars and she has too many awesome creative thoughts swirling in her amazing brain to focus on reading.

What else do they have in common? Besides languages and thousand year old allegories and hating reading and being cool? Well, she never wants to settle down either. She’s polyamorous, duh, and loves having three and foursomes with other hot girls and just one lucky dude. She smokes hand rolled cigarettes and she keeps the extra tobacco in a pouch she sewed from a deer hide that she personally skinned and tanned after a perfect shot with her hand-made archery set. Oh, and their hair is the same length. So much common ground! Since they have the same length hair, this means she is a girl with a short haircut. Which is the best and most awesome way for a girl to wear her hair. Every girl who has the balls to cut off her hair is automatically original, daring and full of sexy fun times. I have super duper long hair of course, which makes me typical, nerdy and full of embroidery lessons and Victorian sayings.



I can’t let him go. This last visit was weird. He was in town for a few days before he texted me but then we finally got together and hung out. First we visited his cousin, had a couple beers and watched some tv. Then he suggested we maybe all go play pool or bowling or did I have any ideas? Oddly enough, I did. My friends were at my brother’s fiancé’s condo doing karaoke and I mentioned that we should maybe go. And we did. His cousin stayed behind.

Karaoke was so much fun. I can’t believe I’m saying that and I was off the charts nervous, but being around that group with him was the best. I even sang. He said if I ever recorded with him he could make me sound amazing. And he asked me, “So where do you sing? In the shower? Your car?” My car. I think he thought I didn’t suck. It was a really awesome night with him.

Then he drove me home and dropped me off. I got the message about half-way back to my place. He wasn’t gonna come upstairs. When he pulled over he called the evening a “date” and said that we probably shouldn’t sleep together. Because he said, I had talked about being friends. That was three e-mails ago. He’s told me he’s, “dying to work you and get you to flower,” since the whole “let’s be friends” discussion. We’ve HAD SEX since that. But whatever, he said he really wanted to but that we should have at least one night where we don’t bang, we just try and get to know each other better. I was disappointed but I said I understood and he assured me this was a “good thing” and looking back on it, he was right.

The next night he’s at his old apartment partying with that whole group. They were holding a birthday celebration for L with impromptu acapella singing and group graffiti painting on huge hanging sheets of canvas. So, the usual. His cousin had come by and they split an E pill. Aha. So that’s why when I texted him his responses were fast and full of exclamation points. When I got there he was starting to roll.

What a shocking surprise! We slept together! I guess if we’re just at one of his parties then it’s not a date. So we can have sex. When it’s not a date? I’m so confused. Yes, of course, he was on E so I should and did assume that sex was a given but is that the only reason we had sex? Because he was fucked up? Does he only want to sleep with me when he’s on drugs?

I took the next day off work so I could sleep in and hang out with him. And we went to brunch with the gang and chilled at the neighbor’s for a bit. And then he took off. He had some work to do scoring his sister’s documentary (which I really wanted to ask him about but never got the chance) and so I walked him to his car and asked him if this was the last time I’d see him before he left. He said it might be. And it was.

That was Sunday. He left on Wednesday. He told me he was all booked up Monday and Monday night but that I should hit him up on Tuesday. I also heard him mention a “late night crash out” and invite several of his friends back to his old apartment Tuesday night. I hit him up Tuesday evening. He said he was crazy busy running around trying to see everyone but that he’d keep me posted. Like an idiot, I waited for him. I texted around 11 at night “wondering if he was chillin” but got no response. I even called him. No answer. After crying my heart out (AGAIN) he finally texted me at 2:45am saying he was so sorry. How his friends had stopped by and then he spent “quality time with the neighbors. Sorry I missed ya. And I will miss ya.”

Um, he deliberately ignored me all night, right? “Sorry I missed ya?” Apparently not too sorry because he fuckin did it on purpose. I fully understand I am not to be included in his “quality time” but I can’t even stop by with friends to say goodbye? He made an effort to see and say goodbye to everyone he cared about. So I guess that puts me in my place.

I waited until the following evening to text him back, “Yup. I’ll miss you too,” to which he replied, “Xoxo.” What. The. Fuck. He’s NEVER texted that before. I almost think it was sarcastic. And then the next day, I’m getting ready for work and I hear the stupid text chime and like a slobbering dog I check to see who it is. Shit! It actually IS him! I see he’s texted me a picture and the words, “This is you.” I immediately get all sentimental and gooey assuming (from the thumbnail) that it’s a candid shot he took of me and I look ethereal and beautiful and he’s saying that this is how he sees me like he can see my beauty where others can’t and he likes me he really likes me! And as I’m dancing round my living room I take a closer look. It’s actually a picture from the 1950’s of Sandra Dee looking frighteningly insanely adorable. And exactly like me. Oh. That is what he thinks I am. Cute.

I make a comment like “She must’ve used the same photographer lol,” and he texts back, “Do you know who it is?” I guessed maybe a young Shelly Winters but when he didn’t text me back right away I got scared an thought maybe it was an old pic of his mom and I just insulted him or something. HAHAHAHAHA!!! NO! It was Sandra fuckin Dee. When he told me I got snippy and said, “As if I couldn’t be any more depressed,” and he said, ‘Wait, why is that depressing?” and then I knew that he believed he had given me some sort of great compliment. I tried to say how I don’t like being called cute all the time, but it came out wrong and bitchy so I just gave up and apologized and said I should’ve taken it as a compliment that I remind him of someone who is talented and successful. To which he replied, “Well yeah!! Derrr.” Nice.

I texted him the next day because a friend of his was randomly at the restaurant, “He didn’t even know I work here lol!” Trying to keep it light. He didn’t reply and hasn’t said a word since.

I’m so confused. I mean, he is really treating me like crap and I feel like I should just get the message and let him go…but I can’t. My terrible mind keeps finding excuses to keep hoping. Like oh, the email where he says we have compatibility and chemistry? And how he’s thinking of me while he’s on the road and at the farm? Or the time he told me he was lucky to have me here? But then what about the time he told me he’d probably be 40 before he’ll settle down with someone to make a home. And how she’d be “just like him” a gypsy wanderer who can’t be content without novelty. Why do I keep hoping that he’ll change his mind?



Why do we love people who don’t love us back? What’s the point in that? What’s the wasted effort and energy for? Sure, you can have well-meaning love towards your fellow humans and they might not love you back. You can love a celebrity and they sure as fuck don’t even know you let alone love you back. But why do we fall hardest for the one who…god dammit. I’m writing about this again. Ugh.

I was talking to a friend today and he was telling me about his lover and how this guy can’t commit to him even though he says he loves him back. Now, this lover dude has a wife and a child and another on the way so it would seem he’s got some very good reasons for his decision not to be with my friend. And my friend knows that he can’t be with this guy but he’s still in love with him. He tells me he’s tried going out with other guys and it just doesn’t work. He’s just not attracted to them. Because he’s already in love.

It struck me how similar I feel. Though [     ] doesn’t have a kid. But that doesn’t make his decision not to commit any less serious or truthful. He can’t love me the way I love him because he already loves me as much as he can. Which is not very much at all. I am simply not a priority in his life and I need to process this fact. I need to stop hoping. Now. Not just because I already told him I have.



The tissue I grabbed this morning is now soaked and shredded. Yup. That’s what I’ve spent the most time on today so far; crying my eyes out. My heart is so scraped. That’s always what it feels like. Not broken, just a skinned knee burning in my chest.

This is about letting go. Letting go of my grandparent’s house, letting go of my childhood possessions and letting go of him. I don’t want to do any of it but the signs all tell me that I have to. That doing this will allow everything I’ve always wanted to come flooding into my life, all I have to do is let it all go.

I’m afraid of hurting my computer. I’m reaching my arms out to type because I can’t stop the tears from falling all over my hands as I tap tap tap. I can’t see what I’m writing.

I don’t want to let him go. I love so much about him. I want to see his naked legs walking towards me. I want to hear him sing and make music. I want to watch his eyes and how they play with his smile when he listens to a song. I want to read what he writes and always be inspired by the man I love.

I want to feel the minnows nibble my feet. I want to build a drippy sand castle. I want to watch the ants crawling all over the sea wall that my cousin and her mother painted with color and life. I want to dig up clay on the beach and hear classical music playing in the caledonia room. I want to go upstairs and try to avoid the creaky places on the floor so I can take a late night bath. I want to say goodbye to my trees.

I want to keep all of my books and toys and share them with my children. My children I don’t have. I want my mom to look at old pictures and paintings and toys and treasure them fondly. I want her to keep our family photo albums instead of taking them apart and sending us the insides.

I guess I want all this but it is not meant for me to have. Maybe it’s good for me to not have these things anymore. Maybe it’s good to release all ties to my childhood. Maybe it’s good to forget all the things I love about him.

But yes, it hurts.



Today I am overwhelmed with sadness and depressive feelings. I don’t know why but I have a few theories. Because I hafta go work tomorrow when I haven’t been in a week? Because of not knowing how much time off I should ask my manager for? Because of him?

Part of my lesson in life is to learn how to cope and live with the disappointment of not getting something I considered vital to my happy existence. I wanted a best actress Academy Award (nothing too big). That was my dream. I practiced my speech so many times. It’ll probably never happen. It’s a crazy dream to have because of the sheer statistics running against me. Math and science say I’m pretty stupid for pursuing a dream like that. In the last few years I’ve had to completely change what I want for my life because I’ve been realizing the unlikelihood of receiving a best actress Academy Award. Unlikeliness? Practical impossibility. I don’t know if I still want to be an actress. I don’t know if it’s possible anymore for me.

I know I know, I’ll always be an actress and one is never too old to act. Damn right! And no matter how hard I try, there’s always still a sliver of sneaky hope that I may one day still achieve my goal. But what I mean is, my dream is gone. I don’t know if I still have the heart to pursue such a difficult career in such a nasty business. I’m a shy person. It takes a lot for me to perform. I love it and I know I’m very good at it but I’m not the type who jumps up at parties and grabs the spotlight. I’m a natural introvert. Maybe acting isn’t right for me as a career choice anymore.

Everyone says don’t give up, but these are the people who have “given up.” They gave up on their dreams when they realized how much smarter it would be to make money. They stopped fooling around taking acting classes and going on auditions years ago. They’ve chosen their lucrative stable careers and now have homes and spouses and children.

I feel like I’m late on giving up and now that choice to hold on to my dreams may prevent me from having children. It may never let me stop living paycheck to paycheck. I feel pressure to find something ANYTHING else I could love as much. Something I could love to do that would bring me income to live comfortably. I feel like a whiney privileged single person.

I want so badly to be that man’s wife. That’ll probably never happen. I sneak in “probably” due to those sly slivers of hope. What an idiot. Maybe in time that feeling will go away. I’ve felt strongly about men in the past and…feeling change. Right now, I can’t imagine ever wanting to be married to anybody else but the key word there is “imagine.” I imagine too much about him, hoping and fantasizing the truth away. Because the truth is so hard to face in this situation. The truth that he will never marry me. It is impossible. A dream too stupid to be worth having.

I haven’t even told him I love him. That’s how false I’ve been. I’ve assured him I understand that he can’t give me the things I want from a romantic relationship and that I don’t expect such things from him. And I don’t. But I want them so badly I’m willing to trick myself into imagining that one day he might change. That’s disrespectful to him and a disservice to us both. And every time I have a moment of clarity such as this I remember what can never be and it rips me up.

How terrible that I’m clearly doing this to myself.