Namaste, motherfucker!

(Before I officially head into this blog post, I'd like to acknowledge how phenomenal my two [active] blog mates are. Sabrey and Therese, I love you more than life. Transcendent, enlightened, willful, powerful, beautiful, visionary women! I'm happy to be stuck in R(HELL)ationshit County with you, haha!)


I am learning to surrender. And I am learning to let him go. Can I repeat that? LET HIM GO?! Slowly, for effect and emphasis?

I. LET. HIM. GO. Hallelujah! Amen!

It's an active process. Therese has to check me every once in a while. And yes, he's still around. I'm not weak or flighty. It's just that we work together. I have to see him on an everyday basis in a professional setting, so I can't just be like, "Adios, motherfucker!" But I can be polite... and distant. Distant as in I'm-moving-to-New-York-in-two-months-so-from-now-on-I'm-3000-miles-away distant. What?! I can't hear you as you're right in my face in the bakery! Why?! Because I'm 3,000 miles away in mind, spirit, and being!

I wanted to end it by being really close friends, if not best friends. But shit... I can't do it. I am saying no. And I'll keep on saying no, even if it's new to me. Even if it's uncomfortable and I might regret it. No regrets. Faith in God, surrender to Spirit and Life. And I am free!

He nearly got me, too. Sent me some left-field text message. I had less than a 24-hour period of grandeur imaginings of his "true" feelings. (I still believe they're true; nigga will regret letting me go.) But then I realized how annoyed and frustrated I get with him. "Love is..." not that. I doubt when you meet your soulmate, they put you at the risk of hypertension. I can feel the veins in my neck popping out. I'm still somewhere between ripping him to shreds and ripping all his clothes off. I settle for neither. It's taken me this long to realize that I like my IDEAS of him more than I actually like him. And oh, of course I like(d) him. Love, even? And we had some GREAT times together.

But Jesus, I shouldn't have to tell myself "Namaste..." when he walks out of a room. Yes, that's how frustrated he gets me. So frustrated, I still have to blog about it. And I don't mind. I may sound like an incessant, obsessive, bipolar, dumb, guy-crazy bitch. Whatever. I own mine. But the truth is: I'm just not that into him... as much as I thought I was. I still get that feeling a few times a day. You know, that mournful, heart-fractured, woe-is-me feeling. Mostly when I see couples or am horny or whatever... but then I move past it. I can still eat, shit, breathe, talk, laugh, live, love without him. I'm okay.

I'll never make it as easy for another man as I made it for him. Ever. Again. But I don't give up, lose faith. I know my man is out there somewhere. As fine, funny, wealthy, intelligent, and talented as he wanna be! Sophisticated, spiritual, good. And all mine. And I know this present shit will work itself out, mend, and resolve. I need not do anything but smile, wink, keep going, and do my thing. There will be moments, hours, days where I might hurt. And then I'll move past it. Just like I did today. In the midst, everything feels so final and impending and larger than life. Well, nothing is larger than LIFE. And nothing is final... except for the fact that I respect and value myself so much more than to ever let myself do what I did for him.

I'm sorry that I hurt his feelings. And I'm sorry that I flip-flop and/or seem to villainize him. I'm not a victim. He's not the enemy. But he brings MASS confusion into my life; he's toxic -- a motherfuckin' problem. And that's real talk. He's not a bad person. He's actually a really good person... who sucks at being what I need/want him to be: a good friend, a good boyfriend, a good communicator, a good, permanent influence in my Life. I made some mistakes. I atone for them now. And I give up.

NAMASTE. Amen!

Adios, motherfucker!


P.S. I apologize for the many "motherfuckers" in this post... kinda. It's 1:30 a.m. What do you expect from me?!

How much of life is spent W A I T I N G

More specifically, exactly how much of my life will I spend waiting on men. Men, boys, guys, dudes, players, sweet-talkers, users, abusers, bullshitters, cheaters, etc... See how the list kind of goes downhill as it expands. Why is that? And why is it that the longer you wait on your "guy" of the moment.. he begins to take shape as one of the latter man-labels.

We wait in line at stores, movies, amusement parks, schools, banks, EVERYWHERE!! I shouldn't have to wait in line for each and every guy who pursues me and then decides he wants to change things up (or worse, wander off). At first, its fun and exhilerating waiting for that first phone call.. Now we have to wait for that first text, and as if thats not enough we find ourselves going mad BETWEEN texts because somehow his *instant-response-mechanism* has some sort of glitch and it now takes a minimum 30mins maximum WEEK at a time to respond...

Meanwhile, we have our men-in-waiting. The guys that are actively pursuing us but just dont get us going quite like that guy that has us waiting in line.. Sure I could go and explore that option and see where it leads me but HEAVEN FORBID I lose my spot in line for Mr.Wonderful! I mean, what if I get so bored from all the waiting and lonesome from all the wanting and agree to go out with Mr. Man-in-waiting and Mr.Wonderful calls!! Finally ready to acknowledge me as the lady in the FRONT of the line.. and i'm off covorting with his stand-in. No, I can't have that..

So... I'll continue to wait for the calls.. wait for the texts.. wait for the not-so-instant Instant Messages.. wait for him to not be so busy with work, school, and home.. wait for him to chill with his boys.. wait for him to get his heart broken.. wait for him to be "ready to commit".. wait for him to grow up..

With every moment they keep us waiting they're breaking us down. It starts to eat away at our self-esteem and we begin to feel like we should be waiting. Next-in-line becomes less far-fetched and we stop believing we deserve more. In the beginning we're RED HOT and in disbelief he could be so disconnected. We wash our hands of them time and time again. But then the waiting takes its toll and our minds start to make excuses for them (maybe he's busy.. maybe he's going through a tough time.. maybe..) and just when we've convinced ourselves he's NOT a neglectful tool-- HE REAPPEARS! Out from the darkness.

And now we've got his full attention. And now we're in the front of the line. And now we feel vindicated for wasting so much of ourselves in the waiting. And now we've got our man of the moment. We welcome him back with open arms. Nevermind the wait, i'm so glad you've called! We're eager and emotional and receptive. He's back in where he left off there's no waiting period for him (doghouse? WHATS THAT!) Oh but its just as short lived as the last go round. Spectacular and fleeting. We are both satisfied and unfulfilled. Because all we can think of is the next time we will be together like this, and he's already got us back on the wait-list..

And before I know it, here I am again...
"Waiting, and fading, and floating away" from where I want to be
...with you

Well call me a witch and burn me at the stake...

Turns out he did go and find himself a new lady friend. I log into facebook last night and am greeted by this little gem: "Hands McCoy went from "single" to "in a relationship"." Wow. I'm not angry at him for the new girlfriend, heavens no, I'm glad if she makes him happy. What I'm upset about is how I had to find out!

Jeez, six months and I don't get a heads up? No. I don't hear from him for a week and then TA-fucking-DA! Hm, he better grow up if he wants to keep this girlfriend around.

I went to bed a little frustrated but I woke up feeling fantastic. I've made my peace, I'd like to be friends with him, but there's no way I could possibly to this to myself again. In a few days I'm headed to the Mecca of half naked hot guys-- HAWAII!

Breaking my own heart.

It just doesn't get any easier. No matter what vague advice or psuedo-fortune cookie like bullshit I feed myself. I can blame timing, hormones, and fucking Nicholas Sparks for all I want, but it won't change the fact that I'm hurt.

I'm hurting. I'm breaking my own heart. I'm a million and a half things, all just boiling over under the air tight lid of my facade. But in truth, I'm crushed. I don't know how long this will hurt-- there's never been a formula for it. And it certainly doesn't help that the guy, who stomped on my heart, wasn't even a boyfriend when he did it.

No, I'm practically obliterated over someone who I wasn't important enough to to get him to commit. That's a stupid mistake on my part, and I'll accept my part of the blame there. I'm a fool who hoped that this...this, whatever "this" is, would be something to change my life. And for a time it was.

He changed my outlook, my self esteem and my aversion to intimacy. I won't hold it against him-- my good riddance list for him isn't a great thing any how. I'd like to look back fondly, and wish him well. Not a single part of me wants to wish him ill, on the contrary, I hope and pray he finds a woman who he cannot live without, a woman who will appreciate everything he has to offer. I hope he and this woman life happily ever after.

He's a fantastic guy. He makes me laugh, he makes me feel feminine, he never allowed me to think less of myself. He is the third love of my life. I believe in "one person for everyone", but I'm a realist. A single person changes, or should change, over the course of their life, so wouldn't it make sense that what their "soulmate" would entail change with them?

I've changed, and for a time he fits in the LOML [Love Of My Life] position. I didn't, don't and probably won't fit into his, but that's not a requirement for it. I loved and gave whole heartedly...I did everything I could do. Everything I would've wanted done for me.

I love you, but I can't keep breaking my own heart. If I ever fit into the LOML position for you, let me know. Who knows, maybe in the future after you've grown, we'll be what each other is looking for. I wish you laughter, love and a long life.

Shoes don't stretch, and men don't change.

I know he's not going to change, he's practically grown now, and nothing but a huge effort on his part will bring that change about. I'm letting go and letting God; God's got a better idea of what I need right now in my life.

Whether he wants me in his life or not, I'm done making my effort to fit into his life. He can now make the effort to fit into mine, if he wants me so bad. I'm going to be his friend and not let my hopeless romantic heart take me for a free fall any longer.

I'm going to make an effort to channel my unrequited and now cancelled affections into positive things for me. This is the beginning of the rest of my life, so we're going to go full out.