The Rebound

Lets be honest I think we all knew you were a little bit of a man whore when we met. At least at college age. You were pretty cute though, not that you need any more compliments. You were on your way to med school and fit all the bad boy requirements. You had the dimples, the motorcycle, and all the right moves. It was enough for me to over look the obvious sentiment that you would cheat on me eventually. I have to say I need to apologize to all the nice boys but when someone is as emotionally screwed up as I was I needed someone like you. I tried so hard to make us perfect. I even went camping with you in November! It was so cold. I drove all the way up to meet you. We packed everything up except as we soon discovered condoms.  We stopped at the last convenience store in the middle of no where. You told me to come in with you and I of course did as you had me under your finger. The store was disgusting looking. I think you described it as looking like a large outhouse. The man inside had such a strong accent I could barely understand him or the five people around him discussing what I believe was the best place to get your deer processed. You walked right in between them to the register with 2 packs of condoms and then turned to me(at this point I was across the store) and said, "hey you think this is enough?" Since I was raised in a good catholic home I blushed tried to pretend you were talking to someone else and got out of there. That night may have been even funnier. You forgot the sleeping bags and discovered that sex on gravel even on a tent floor was extremely painful. I still think we should have just gone to that redneck bar and had some whiskey with the locals. Then I left to take a shower. This actually meant I needed to drive around in the heat of  my car but I did not want you to think i had copped out since we were always competitive. You were supposed to be cooking dinner over the fire. This was a skill you had greatly bragged about however, I received a phone call 15 minutes into my drive saying the food was raw. I ended up back at the "outhouse" they called a store wearing my after sex clothes--a t-shirt that at the time I did not realize clearly showed all of my assets. I bought a honey bun and beer. The beer I refused to share with you in fact I stayed outside in the rain with an umbrella drinking it before entering the tent. I think that night when it was freezing without any sleeping bags and rain coming in our tent we should have realized we were a terrible couple. I have to thank you though because you magically helped me break out of my stepford wife "robo" me as you so lovingly deemed. Also making me realize the significance of sleeping bags.

To the Southern Boy..

Do you remember when we got lost? We got off the subway at least 10 miles to early and, asked that old man for directions. It did not take a translator for me to realize he found us entertaining. He told us that we were only a few stops away and we decided to walk. Then after walking two miles we realized how far away we were and upon venturing back to the subway we ran into the same man who was then openly laughing at us as he passed on his bike. You thought I would be infuriated but I was merely entertained. As much as I wanted to experience it all there was a part of me that wished we would get lost again so we could run into that same man. It was the only place that we ever really seemed to stop fighting. It is the only place after so many years together that I really felt like I loved you...maybe it is because we went through hell and back at that one temple. It is hard not to think about it. Did you think walking down those steps into the Buddhist version of hell, "hey I have been here, and I am pretty sure it was with her too."  There are times I wish I had never gone there with you. You know months later when we realized it would not work I had to sit there with my son the one who you made so many promises to. Who you talked to when he could not listen and was still growing in me. Whom you had come to know since before he was born and explain to him why you were no longer there. You would always say to me that I needed to be stronger. That as we went on dating I had come to be less of an amazonian that I had turned frail. I will never understand how you were so blinded to what was really happening.

Feather quills and inkblots...

I suffer from following a lost art. As a small child I owned a feather quill and an ink bottle. I would sit at my desk dip the quill in the ink and begin to write. I did not care that my entire hand would end up black or that I would have to stop to dip the feather because I loved the beauty within a letter.  With every dip into the ink I felt like my own blood was being taken from me and transferred to the paper. It was a life force being drawn out in front of me. It was for me a letter. A contract with another human being allowing them to hold onto this piece of my persona for eternity. I knew even as a young child that the letters would be like contracts for me. That no matter where I was in my life if someone were to present me with a letter I had sent them I would instantly remember and be brought back, at least in memory, and allowed a few seconds of time travel. At times it seems ridiculous to feel such  a connection to an object but, I think why should a letter be any different than a contract. This blog is not so much for any particular individual. It is for all of those people that I have written to in my life and, to those I have not yet or, cannot anymore. "This is my letter to the world, that never wrote to me..."