From the archives.

dude, i have dated some crazy fucking girls in my time

believe me, the one thing that you will learn is that no matter how miserable and fucked up you feel when you split up

11:18 PM you will quickly discover that life can actually be pretty great, and that dealing with someone else’s nuttiness doesn’t have to be par for the course in a relationship

11:19 PM there are totally sane, amazing, together girls in the world

and as much fun as crazy can be

it is exhausting

and time consuming

Greenery.

The dream this morning involved a Wall Street business man, Superman skivvies, and an answer I did not want to hear. At all.

I’m enjoying drowning myself. It dulls the roar.

The best advice I’ve received so far.

When I was young and angry I would take an axe, fuck off into the woods and chop the shit out of everything.  its probably the most heavy metal thing ive ever done and i think about it a lot. id love to do it again. thats what i would suggest. or maybe you could barge in to one of her classes with an axe and just chop the shit out of the prof’s podium in front of everyone as they gasp in horror, without even looking at her or anyone, and her not saying anything to you because, then, she would know, she fucked up big time and there is nothing she could say to you.

It’s Friday.

But feeling like a Sunday.

drops

Yesterday, I received 2 12″ records in the mail: Plans by Death Cab For Cutie and Lucky by Nada Surf.  Given the gravity of the situation, I found this to continue the comedy of errors theme in which I am currently living.

The implications of these records arriving when they did are threefold:

1) These are both records we listened to together. A lot.  Plans especially…in fact, that record was the specific reason that we drove to Boston to see that band.  Lucky was a big hit in King Street for the summer of 2008 as well, and was played over and over on the iPod in the car.  There are memories tied up in these records. Documents.

2) A cruel joke of the universe: At the moment, I do not feel lucky. Nor do I feel as if any plans I had, big and small, are really plans at all…or perhaps plans are not worth having.

3) A nice message from the universe: I am lucky, and I have plans.

Sitting in my childhood bedroom, most of my thoughts lean toward number 1.

75A Rain.

While going through some old recording sessions, I found a folder called ‘75A Rain’.  The context quickly came back to me: We had just watched No Country For Old Men and were enjoying the pounding rain outside.  I was aware of the fact that our days at the apartment were numbered, and as such wanted some sort of document of our time there.  I hooked up a microphone, placed it by the window, and hit record.

For the next 8 or so minutes, a variety of sounds are captured.  Mostly the rain and the whirring of the hard disk…but also, her voice.  It almost sounds like a vibraphone by how soft and warm it is.  She is obviously sleepy.  I did not realize how much this seemingly random audio would affect me.  It is a profound burning I feel tonight.  She calls me Pecky, and asks if I still like her.  “Of course,” I say.  The answer was always, always “of course”.

It’s impossible to grasp the magnitude of what has happened today. At around 7:20 a.m., she came online.  Within seconds, she told me that she was being courted, that she had kissed another man, and that she didn’t want to be my girlfriend anymore.

A week ago, she was telling me that the only thing missing from the happy family (she, and our two cats) was me.  I have received various sorts of love in various ways from her in the past 2 weeks while she has been at university.  Needless to say, the news today came as an impossible shock.  I have no doubt that the kissing of another was less important than the outcome of being single.

For a long time, I had deduced that our relationship was best viewed as small pockets of time, because when I looked at patterns, I knew it was full of bad behaviour on her part.  Not to say that I was faultless, but the erratic behaviour was almost entirely hers.

Case in point: we left King Street on one of the last days in August and drove to Sackville to move her in to her new place.  It was a nice day, and the vibe was a good one.  When it came time to drive home, there was a teary goodbye hug and wonderful whispers.  There were plans.  This was two weeks ago. And the plans are gone.

I put 110% into this relationship from day one.  I carried heavy weight for a good portion of it.  But it was always worth it. ‘Passenger Seat’ by Death Cab For Cutie just came on, and I am reminded of the many, many, many drives and road trips we took.  It tears through me.  I do not know what else I could have done.

To have your love and best friend ripped from you in one fell swoop is nothing short of cruel. I don’t even know what to do with myself.  Bubbles of anger, relief, disgust, sadness and mourning come to the surface.  They take turns and make their presence known.

For the final minute or so of the recording, we are upstairs on the couch: giggling in the dark.  I can hear myself get up, climb down the stairs, walk across the kitchen, sit down, and the sound stops.  It feels the same way today.

The end.

Yesterday, she took the day off work to take the bus to Halifax to visit him.

She got up at 9 am to do this – she rarely wakes before noon. 

When she came home (with flowers), she tried to laugh about it and tell me I was just tired. She won’t speak to me now. She told me she didn’t see why it was a big deal and that I should accept it by now. She won’t speak to me now. She told me I was the most aggravating person she had ever met. <3.

Here it is.

So, no more secrets.

She hasn’t spoken to me tonight since we left my brother’s apartment, because I’m “so fucking rude.”  Selected quotations: “I don’t even know who you are when you act like that…let me out of the car…I’d rather be freezing in the cold wandering around Halifax all night than being in this car right now…your actions disgust me…”

All of this because I did not talk to the guy she is currently taken with.  In her defense, I did not talk to him.  In my defense, she gives her all to make their time together awesome.  I barely get an iota of effort.  I’m not sure if effort is necessary, but I’m not sure why I should feel like second best.

There are too many lies in this relationship, on both sides.  Her mind has wandered over and over.  I’m not sure why I care, sometimes.  My accomplishments and actions don’t have the potency they once did.  I’m starting to feel only slightly useful, and only in doing the mundane things: doing laundry, washing dishes…

When she had her encounter with Rainforest, she told me she didn’t think it was a big deal, and similarly to Adam, thought I was an asshole for not being extremely warm and friendly with him.  She almost kissed him, and I am the asshole for not being accepting.  This is logic.

She doesn’t realize that I always look out for her, always.  If I can’t ‘take’ what she gives me, I’m less of a man.  Now she is sleeping in our bed.  The last thing she said to me was “you are annoying me. Close the door.”

I know nothing is ever perfect always.  I never thought I would date someone who would meet her friend for late night cigarettes.  I hate cigarettes.  After Liz, I didn’t think I’d ever let someone push me around or fuck with my emotions again.  Now I am in the cycle again.  It’s not whiny bullshit; it’s simply a matter of trying to understand why I stick it out.  She’s stopped having sex with me.  She is sometimes nice to me.  She spends all of her time making sure she looks good for work.  She doesn’t do anything around the house. Sometimes she talks about what dog we are going to get.  This winter she tried to break up with me twice.  Sometimes she’d rather be hanging out with her friend Laura, the chain smoking stinky hippie.  I’m weird.  I don’t like Laura, at all.

Her consistent defense is that she shouldn’t have to reassure me. She also says my weirdness and insecurity is all in my own head (and that is true, to an extent).  But she knows how to push the buttons, and she likes pushing them.  It gives her power.  She likes the power.  It keeps me jumping through hoops to try and make things better and better – the small things are no longer enough.  Fuck that: the big things are no longer enough.  I am no longer enough.  Besides: I have light brown hair, pale skin, and blue eyes.  She has always preferred dark skin, dark hair, and brown eyes.  Doomed.

Footsteps

She has called me annoying for the past week or so.  I am completely aware of why she calls me this.  She is not aware of what she says. Patrick is her “male double” – but “I have no obligation to tell you about him”.  Clearly, divine.

I love her.  This has never been the question.  Maybe it is not meant to work? I don’t think that way.  I don’t want to entertain the thought.  I can feel her sliding away, in her usual nonchalant way.  I have to do something.

Sleeping in.

I took the day off work today.  I was up until about 4:30 am, trying to sleep on the couch.

The constant state of flux.