-Last night you made love in your new house. It’s not possessiveness that I’m feeling, but an envy that it should be and hopefully will be our house and our love-making. I don’t even know if you’ll read these, but they’re here and they’re a tortuous record.
-Fuck you
-Nothing from the peanut gallery again today, eh? Perhaps tomorrow.
-I went for a walk down on Main Street for lunch, and saw a 40-ish guy and his reasonably younger wife holding their little baby, and the thought sprang to mind that I don’t want to create a child, a life, with anyone other than you. What smart, extroverted, introverted, and silly kids they would be.
-I have a not-so-small request… If all goes well, the house should be done in early-to-mid January. I would love nothing more in this world (other than marrying you) than for you to be the first woman I make love to in my new bed, in my new house. Though I’m laughing at the absurdity of this request, as I’m sure as shit it’s futile, I at least wanted you to know that I think that honor should be yours. Incidentally, I could swear that I saw on some website that Moksha or Modo is having a three-day seminar around that time on tantric ass play or proper breathing techniques during pooping, or something like that. You really might want to look into it, lest you miss out on some very important things. Good night.
-And what the heck will you do when this boyfriend of yours proposes to you? And you know he will if he’s got any kind of mish-mashed brains in his Canadian cranium. Do you make a decision only then? Do you say yes half-heartedly and possibly end-up like you did before, or (worse) like your sister(s), stuck in small, one yogi town (not that that’s a bad thing), knowing your could have done so much more with your life? Aaaaand… you’re off the pill!!! Cheese-and-Rice!!! I can already see it… One cold, winter night, you’re going to back that beautiful, buff booty into his groin (vomit) to spoon, and some horny accident happens. Then you’re truly stuck. If your feelings were as deep for him as they are for me, and you didn’t have any desire to leave KW, then sure, why not. Make a go of it. But from what I’ve heard you say, and from what I know about you, and I know a lot God damnit, that just doesn’t seem to be you.
-Now that I know you’re reading this, I’m imagining in the mornings you hunkering-down at your desk in your office with a freshly whipped-up (insert favorite coffee/tea substitute here), firing up the office computer and reading this like the daily news paper. Maybe I’ll start to format it that way. However for now, a word from our Spanish sponsors… “Te quiero, te quiero, te quiero. No puédo imáginar un futuro sin ti, sin nosotros. Eres todo que yo sé que quiero en el mundo (aparte de el éxito, un lindo cobrador dorado, y paz en el Oriénto Médio). Dígame que me regresa a mi. Regresa… Regresa… Regresas a la vida que empezamos. Regresas, mi amor.
-A weekend of packing and budgeting. How exciting. I will squeeze-in some yoga, as I have this past week. If anything, you are inspiring for me to further pursue my practice. Besides the obvious physical benefits, I can more-or-less tune-out erratic thoughts and focus, at least for the hour. It’s going to be redonkulously warm here this weekend (26!!!). I’ll put on my Chinese rice paddy straw hat and roll with the top down. I can’t put my face in the sun because of the chemical peel. I don’t know if you’ve ever had one, but the results are nice, but my skin is coming off in sheets. It makes it interesting to go out when your nose skin is hanging in your cocktail.
-I used to be a believer, like you, in that somehow, some way, when we got through whatever it was we needed to get through, or when we grew up, that we would wind-up together. I always believed that. That’s why I am fighting so hard now, because I’m starting to doubt.
-Am I being a hopeless romantic or just an idiot to think that you will find your way back to me and to us? I know that I’m a romantic (remember your car stereo), but I also know that I’m an idiot (too many to list), and in this case I feel like I’m starting to lean towards idiot. If I look at the chronology of the past 12 months there is a case for both romance and idiocy:
-By the way, I don’t know where any of this shit comes from. I just start writing, and it flows from somewhere. If I were a country singer, I’d probably have a few hit songs out of this.
-The smell of you is now overwhelmed by the combination of body odor and farts. It’s time to wash the sheets.
-I am a fool, of that I am sure. I have stabbed my own heart.
-Thanks for letting me know that you’re reading this. I must sound completely deranged.
-As I chow-down leftover Thai green curry, I’m pouring-out my thoughts and my feelings onto a sheet of virtual paper in cyberspace without knowing if you’re even reading any of this. This is definitely tougher than I imagined it would be. If a monologue is written in cyberspace and no one is there to read it, did it mean anything at all? Is this the way it is to be? Never a word or a thought from you? No insight into what you’re thinking or how you’re feeling. I certainly can’t keep up this lopsided love affair for very long, so baby, my love, my beshert, before I possibly take a break from my rants, here are the strait facts as I see them:
-One week and I already feel like I’m pissing into the wind. I can still feel you across the distance. We really do know each other too well. I can feel your heart, but I can also hear your brain. I hear the thoughts, the conflict, the rationales… When you’re with me your heart is the President, a democrat, full with purpose and all-powerful. But back in Waterloo your brain is the Prime Minister, a conservative, pragmatic, and in streamlining the country has drastically cut funding to the heart department.
I suppose I should at least be content with going from about 1% chance of winning you back to (I estimate) 17.6%. But I know those numbers are dropping with every passing day. I would make you happier. Do you think I would do this, ANY OF THIS, if I didn’t mean it? Why do you melt when you’re with me? Why do I long to crush you in my arms and never let you go? Because you stubborn fucking woman, we’re still in love.
-It was around the beginning of June of this year, close to the end of the TV show I was working on (“XXX and XXXXXXX”), when I started to think about a summer vacation. You had said that you were going to Eastern Europe, and me being the fool for you that I am (and I hate being anyone’s fool), was thinking to meet you over there somewhere, then go to London for a bit. But before I booked my tickets I called my agent to ask if there was any work on the horizon. He said at the moment there wasn’t, so I should go ahead and plan my trip. “Are you sure?” I asked him. “I don’t want to make all these plans, purchase tickets, and wind-up having to give it up and eat the money if I a great gig comes along.” After a momentary pause he replied, “Look, what can I tell you? Just book your trip, and more than likely as soon as you do another great gig is going to come along. That’s just the way it works.” So thinking that nothing was on the horizon, I booked my trip, partially. I made hotel reservations and booked tickets in London for Secret Cinema. Five days later I got a call from Warner Bros to come out to LA and do a film. And there it was… the universal law in action. So I cancelled the hotel reservations, but had to eat the Secret Cinema tickets. Thank God I hadn’t booked airline tickets yet. It was then that I realized that life or fate doesn’t care about the plans that you make. Almost as if the physical act of making a plan is enough to anger fate into altering it. Does that mean that we shouldn’t make plans? Of course not. But though we still must continue to make plans in our lives to keep the semblance of control, it doesn’t at all mean that’s the way it’s going to unfold. You have to make plans for plans to be made.
-One of the things I do to make myself feel better is shopping therapy; a new shirt, a pair of shoes, a jacket, whatever… It usually makes me feel better. How do you think I got so much stuff? I’m sure it’s rooted in something deeper, perhaps my father’s guilt and shopping sprees when my brother and I were kids. In this case, with the strong possibility that you may decide not to have a life with me and to stay the course in Waterloo, I went out and bought a car, if that gives you any sense of scope.
-What life do you really want? What laughter, what adventure, what cock, what shoulders, what kiss, what fun, what love, WHAT?
-I got a car yesterday. It temporarily takes my mind off of you. Of course I assumed you would be driving it if you came here, so I tried not to get anything too big.
-I had dinner with AXXXX last night, who owed me for having her rep me on the purchase of my house. Sushi, of course, and I tried to break the bank. I told her the story (minus the dirty parts). She was very misty thinking about the parallels between her and GXX. She had wished and wished for years that he would come back, declare his love, and offer to make a life together, but he isn’t a romantic, like some.
-People have told me that I should stop pursuing you and let you go. How and why could I ever do that? You’re the love of my life as I hopefully am yours, and I will give everything I have to get us back on track and finish what we started.
-I got your email about only communicating via Dropbox. Did that mean one-way communication; i.e. from me to you, or will you reply or can we talk at all?
thehopelessromanticdotnet 