Life as an Extreme Sport

Do You Bleed?

Taxes. You wrote to me about taxes. No hello, no how are you. No I miss you, no sense that I am – was – anything more than the final stop in a line of Getting Things Done. The bitterness that welled up when you had the… audacity to suggest you were doing me a favour by having my taxes done for free; it was unexpected. As if you would have to come up with such a,.. a cheap reason for me to be agreeable.

People say it’s probably for the best that you weren’t nice, that you didn’t stray from a cold and clinical civility. I don’t know; they’re probably right. It probably would have yanked me backwards, and made packing up and saying goodbye even harder than it has already been.

But it still would have been nice. Been … something. I want to know you miss me, like I miss you. That you ache like I ache. That you cry yourself to sleepless nights. That you _bleed_ like I do at the razor sharp memories of our marriage.

Do you bleed?


I wake. You’ve haunted my waking, and now you haunt my dreaming.

I reached down from the bed, my parents bed, the bed we started with in the best tradition of stereotypes. I squeeze your foot. We talk. We talk about the last six weeks. We talk about why we can’t be friends. I ask the question I don’t want to hear the answer to – how many people have you been with since me, were there any sharing time with me? No to the later, many to the former. You tell me who, and why. All the details I don’t want to know flood into my mind. And I feel punched. I don’t have the right to, but I do. And I cry. And we know we cannot be friends because I cannot bear to share you with anyone else.

I wake. I am shaking, trembling. Is it because of my dreams – of realizing that you’re so likely no longer faithful to our vows? Is it because I am not? Is it because of the late night, the caffeine, something else entirely? I feel the ghost of sterling wrapped around my finger, and panic. Did I sleep walk? Could I have possibly dug my ring out from its hiding place? Has it all just been a bad dream, and you’re downstairs?

No. The ring is not there. Only a faint tracing etched on the inside of my finger; my only tangible reminder of what once was. Will this too fade? Will I have nothing?

It has all been a bad dream, and you’re not downstairs.

Melancholy As Fuck

Some of you may have seen this already, and I apologize – however, it came out well, and said what I needed to say, so it was easier to revise slightly and post, than try to rephrase and resay it all…

It’s been 6 months since he left. It’s been 6 weeks since we stopped talking. I guess in my head, things are rearranged a bit now; it doesn’t really matter that I saw him in between the 6 months and 6 weeks, because in that time, he didn’t see things the way I did. Now, when I look back, I really see that, and I realize that what hurts hurt before 6 weeks ago.

It’s hard. I can’t complain about friends; I have wonderful friends, online and offline, and I have what I think is probably the best of both worlds – friends that are both on and offline friends. My ‘real life’ friends are great, they don’t fill a gap that I *sort of * have with my online friends; I could really use expanding that to real life. (‘That’ being the ability to sit around for hours and have Deep Meaningful Conversations…) For over 3 yrs I had a lot more than that, all bundled up in one person.

Do you know, in that time, we didn’t spend more than a month, total, apart? We would have days on end where we had little to do with each other, but were still always there, especially at night. And it’s been 6 months, and then some, of not having that connection with someone. And more than that – not having that mental connection with someone.

I always laughed at Star Trek,… The Vulcans had this thing, when they were mated, a tangible link between minds. When I was younger (less experianced), I thought it was such cheesy anti-sexual revolution nonsense. Now, now I know it was just written by someone who wanted an entire society where people had that strong of a love. If you were pair bonded like that, and your mate died, you often died. And I understand that, too, now. It is a rather large gaping hole – where you could reach out and actually *feel* the other person, even if they were miles away. I know it’s the kind of pain that isn’t going to go away, and isn’t going to be gotten over…

But I *am* impatient… and I’d like to move on with my life; it feels like “sheesh, 6 months, and the only people who’ve begun to interest me are either too far away, which I’m so not into, or not available.” I also know I have terribly high ideals, and I’ve been spoiled by what I did have; I really do pity any other guy who’s going to have to take that on…

I come back, always, to a new (for me) truth – humans were never meant to be alone.