Author: Michelle

Consider this, the hint of the century
Consider this, the slip
That brought me to my knees, failed
What if all these fantasies come
Flailing around
Now I’ve said too much
–REM/Losing My Religion

Where you going…? Where’s everybody going…?
Rose/The Rose

When a relationship with someone ends, it doesn’t seem like I ever really figure out why. It has a more dramatic impact when it’s a lover, I suppose, but it could be a friend.

I don’t think I’ve ever had a dramatic falling out with anyone. The kind with slamming doors and shouting. I’ve had threats of suicides, Cara Michelle letters and my heart broken very unexpectedly in person. I’ve had friends and lovers just sort of fade away from me slowly.

Often, if there’s some sort of breakup event, there’s a reason given. But it isn’t necessarily an honest reason, I don’t think.  At least when I’m the one doing the breaking up. In my case I’ve always tended to attempt to be kind, which tends to make honesty difficult. I’m not sure that’s even possible. I assume that when I’ve been the one left, there’s been just as little honesty.

That bothers me.

I always wonder what it was. I always wonder what my slip up was. What I did. It must always be something I did, or that’s what my head tells me. Was there too much of something or not enough? Maybe if I knew, I could correct it.

Logically, of course, I know I’m being absurd.

What would I really do if someone said I was too fat or too needy or not good enough? Or if his friends didn’t like me? Would it serve any purpose?

Probably not.

Still.

I always wonder what really happened.

When I was younger, I wondered…excessively. Now it’s more of a passing wish

The most unusual reason I ever got for someone not wanting to see me again was when I was single in the late 90’s.  At the time, i belonged to an online dating site. One time, I exchanged about a million emails and phone calls  with a guy who it just seemed like a bad idea to go out with in person.  He wasn’t quite divorced yet. He had a little kid. He had red hair.  He was way too young. He was polyamorous.  Just not right for me in many important ways.  But, he was super smart, and really funny and we got along quite well on the phone. So we decided to meet for a drink and then go see a movie.  A Troma film, as I recall. We created a dating review form that we would fill out at the end of the date, and then open at home. Because we were both tired of not really knowing what the other person thought. We agreed that we would email each other the next morning with our verdict.

It was a great idea.

We gave each other excellent reviews.

We saw each other again, and had an amazing time. We arranged to go out again in a few days. He said he’d call and let me know  a specific time. I didn’t hear back. A girlfriend wanted to get together that same  afternoon, so I sent him an email to see what time he wanted to meet, and got the full “what date, there was no date, we said maybe we’d see each other on Saturday” treatment. I didn’t write him off entirely, but was very careful the next time we made plans to make sure it was definite.

Another amazing time.

We made plans to go on a hike the next weekend. Then I got an email indicating that he wasn’t going to be able to see me anymore because he was going to try to make things work with the hot lesbian girl he’d stood me up for previously. (Hey! You said we didn’t really have plans!)

I asked him if he had considered what it meant that she said she was a lesbian. He said she was pretty flexible. (That’s usually called bisexual–how old is this girl? Oh. 18. Are you sure she’s 18? Yeah, check her ID or ask when she graduated or something. I’m serious. I’m pretty sure your friend Christopher Robin’s date the other night was NOT legal.  Yes, I had a good time too. No, I’m not kidding about the ID.)

It’s probably the only time I’ve ever been given an honest reason for someone not wanting to see me any more. The lure of hot sex with a bisexual girl 20 years younger than me was irresistible. I always like him for it, even if it was a large-ish blow to my ego.

So, if we’re ever involved in a relationship which you want to end, please don’t tell me you’re leaving me for a lesbian. It’s already been done.

It’s also a lot better than the “it’s not you, it’s me” type of breakups.  I could have really used a post-breakup assessment form back in the day.

It would have saved me a lot of wondering.

 

Is all hope lost?
Is there only pain and hatred and misery?
–Elvis Costello/(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace Love and Understanding

Sometimes it is really hard to understand things. People. Things are easy to understand. People are hard.

What if you’re not supposed to have to try so hard? What if you should just get people a little more easily than you do? It seems bizarre to me that it’s so hard to figure people out. They are, after all, only people. We have language that should theoretically aid in the process. We have facial expressions. Human experiences in common.

I’m not talking about clearing up a misunderstanding. I’m talking about times when you just can’t relate to anything about another person. Times when there is an enormous disconnect. Times when you feel like someone must be from some other planet. Or you feel like maybe you are from another planet.

Or maybe you understand…mostly…but no matter what you do you can’t understand one particular thing. Something important to you.

Is it worth the time you spend, even if you will probably never understand each other?

Do you just let it go? When do you give up?

These aren’t rhetorical questions to me I’d really like to know.

Maybe it’s just me.

Clearly I’m not full of answers today.

Only questions.

His almost universal excellence
Is starting to disturb me
They asked how in the world he does all these things
And he answered “Superbly”

–Elvis Costello/My Science Fiction Twin

 

Accomplished people are annoying as hell, aren’t they? Even if they don’t say a word, they exude smugness. Or so we would like to believe. We don’t want to think that someone who is extremely  talented can also be nice. It seems unfair–the super-talented shouldn’t be nice, too. It’s just too much.

Except that a lot of talented people ARE nice. Bastards. Yes, Mollie. I am looking directly at you. Bitch. Beautiful, talented and nice. Funny, too.  Utterly impossible to dislike. You suck. How can someone who is such a total performer at heart be so…genuine? It’s a conundrum. No it isn’t.  I just like that word a lot. You aren’t nice because of your talent. You aren’t nice in spite of your talent. Your winning personality is a whole different thing.  Like your stunning physical attributes. Your kids are even cute. Sigh. Why can’t I hate you???

Oh, sorry. I got off track for a sec.

Ahem.

A lot of talent, physically expressed talent in particular, seems to go hand in hand with confidence. Sometimes an excess of confidence.  It generally seems justified to me. If you have a talent that you have really worked at, physically or intellectually, and if you’ve achieved levels that most people couldn’t get to, you should own it.  Maybe not to the point of beating us all over the head with it.  Not to the point of expecting special treatment in other areas of your life because of it.

What about talents that just sort of are there without requiring any special effort to cultivate them?

Those people shouldn’t be cocky about it. Pure luck of the draw. I’m great at learning languages, but it’s not like I have ever done anything to  earn it. It just is. It isn’t something to be proud of any more than the color of my eyes or my height.  Maybe if I spoke more languages I would consider it more of an accomplishment. Or if I busted my brain trying to learn Finnish, or Russian, or one of the other really hard languages. French or Italian? Not so much.  I don’t think of it as something I can really brag about, because I didn’t have to expend any effort to do it.

My main talent is learning things quickly. Anything. It is, sadly, tempered by a propensity to get bored just as quickly. I am awesome at diving into something for several months. I go a little obsessed around the edges and then..yawn.

Well, maybe I’m not bored. It’s more like I’m attracted by some other new thing, and then I flash on that instead. I have great focus in very short bursts.

Piano that’s fun! Oooh French lessons!  No, drawing! No a new book! Ooh, a new notebook to write in. Look, cashmere..maybe I should weave something pretty. No, knit!

Shiny!

The blog, I suspect, may be doomed…

 

Did someone mention learning to weld?

(No, seriously..who can teach me to weld?)