The therapist made a number of comments today about thinking more actively about allowing myself to be loved, as to help steer away from the trend of relationships where I give too much and I’m actively loved for being who I am. I keep thinking about that and I want to be defensive about it. I guess I need to let it sit and stew for a while.

Too much judgment, maybe too much jealousy, I feel content about my place, but I’m pretty sure I need to step further back and let more lay where it lands without my influence.

So I go to a bar,
looking for that boy.
That’ll change my world,
but all I find when I get home.
I’m drunk and alone.

you left me to my lonesome self.

I was up too late last night,
with the lights down low with the lights down low and a bottle by my side,
wondering if you’d call me up to talk.

alone in the rain, and she never came.

And the time between at a barstool,
is the time that I like best.
My hellbound heart,
won’t give me rest.

That’s the key you know, going out of your way when you don’t have to. It is kind of funny when you can’t be bothered to go out of your way when you merely should.

Something about the chilly ride south to the Hurricane was familiar. Hard to tell. Probably from remembering riding here from the Monkey because she was grumpy, stubborn and selfish.

What do I want? I’m just being, I’m always okay. It keeps me safe and everyone wins. Can’t get the eye to stop twitching. I really should quit drinking and take a vacation.

Here I am, 1am on a Monday, alone at a 24 hour diner, drinking coffee and whiskey, waiting on food. Something feels right about it though and I wonder how much is pre-written. Another drink, ready for more heads down at work. This is it for now.

Fucking eye.

Back to finishing up Love and Limerance now that I’ve finished This I Believe. Chapter 7, “Limerance and Biology” begins with a few quotes throughout time commenting on the object of Love not being one that you get to choose. This should be a pretty meaningful chapter, specifically with my more recent ruminations of leveraging love or limerance to kick off a relationship and then using companionship and/or attachment in second gear. There exists this [social?] implication that eventually all relationships come to a point of “true love” where ones care for another motivates them rather than attraction or limerance.

She was definitely scared that I had fallen in love with her, and uncomfortable with the word “love” being used. I can appreciate that, I think I’ve been there, but it wasn’t anything she wanted to talk about. I’m still sort of dumb-founded when people ask if I’m willing to talk to them about a subject. I feel inside like I have a giant open sign blinking on my chest at all times and that it’s obvious that I am.

Events of late give heed to the need for some restorative introspection. I was thinking I was going to make it to a Tuesday without feeling like I broke down: wishful thinking.

Too many topics for pronouns today. That’s okay, I’ve got a whole fucking alphabet; I realize there are a half dozen close M’s in my history now alone. It was funny the last time I heard through the grapevine that one of them was told I was writing about them on assumption, now it’s absurd. I’m concretely at the point where there is no time of day for those who are more interested in scandals of others than their lives.

Showered and wearing the jeans S gave me. They’re a tad large, like most of my pants as of late. Is that far enough back? No, of course not. I can’t help but feel like I was care-free then, even though the circumstances of our break-up assure me I was the same as I ever was. Eons ago, so much life has been lived in Seattle. The last time I talked to M she still seemed to imply some credit for everything that I’ve achieved. There was another comment made recently that I have it well, and sure, I do, but I’m still really uncomfortable with the implication that I haven’t worked hard for and earned at least the difference between the years. Forrest Gump was wrong, life is a lot like Snakes and Ladders.

How am I? Struggling. So tired, worn, trying so hard, against my better judgement. The uneasiness is my experience speaking. But how to differentiate it from fear? I’ve been assuming all of the later for so long, sticking my neck out, telling myself someone has to. No, telling myself that is what I have to do. I feel like I have so little left to give and I need to take shelter beneath what I’m good at and shield my heart from the beating it receives when I find I have once again stepped out into the weather under-protected.

I’ve had everything with L sorted out for some time, at least the best I could be expected to achieve alone. A asks if being hurt so badly is affecting other relationships and I honestly deny it; I don’t hold the transgression of trust against anyone else. She also offers a new angle, one of being punished for being vulnerable. Certainly not consciously, but I can see that. And what of the trust? Like I said, two burned bridges. My human decency keeps me in line in person, or maybe it was the whiskey. No, the latter only reduces my own anxiety. Discussion forces me to compare relationships, but there isn’t a common thread. I don’t know what else to say about that without unintentionally sounding reminiscent.

Not too long ago I mentioned cautiousness. I wouldn’t say my mind has changed since then, perhaps refined. This experience reminds me to trust my instincts more in the future.

When L e-dumped me, I looked back to the end of times with M. I recalled how hard I tried and how much pain I bore to try to make everything right by her. I also thought about how with no effort any longer on her part and the distance, without the opportunity to love her, the damage done settled on her like dust. The feelings, special that they were, stayed, the trust left over time. I tried to communicate to L that this would happen. She missed my efforts entirely, saying during round two that she figured we’d date other people for a while and then date again. For near a half a year I’ve been quoting “I’ll let it pass and hold my tongue.”

I gave up dating a week or two ago. I don’t know, time, I’ve had no sense of it for a while now. I don’t expect it to ever come back. The hurt is at a totally manageable level, but I’m out of steam. M keeps bringing up that we should be dating with a question mark at the end, and I feel like I’m doing everyone a disservice by not completing that conversation but I simply don’t have that much to give.

Per the recommendations of J, I’ve explored breaking the relative mold with dating A. While much care and concern… empathy, have developed, I feel like I’m spending more time uncomfortable than comfortable. Part of the mold was dating outside my usual type, and thus further exploring the angle of starting a relationship without so much infatuation. Conversation cornered me, as I mentioned, into delving into the course of my relationship with L. Somehow I had forgotten about my caution of taking the relationship slow, and how she had eventually commented on that door remaining shut only of my own volition. Apparently I should have continued trusting my instincts and not my desires. Which just goes to show that excluding the fears of being burdensome, I had another opportunity to trust myself and remain on track and on pace with my instincts. It’s clearer now I’m looking for a relationship more particular than I once thought. More identity has also been outlined and some cancerous portions tagged for manipulation, particularly spending my time-product with more meaning, even if it is does sound less fun.

More comments have been made by A, J and others about my heart. Some comments were made about lamenting the situation, which is not a comment L made but for some interesting reason keeps feeling like she did. My gut reaction is one of feeling tired of being a nice guy stereotype. That’s unfair of me.

So I’m laying low as best I can. I’m leveraging a crush from a distance because it’s low-impact and helps keep me up through all of this. It’s great to feel like I can be appreciated without feeling like I’m consistently failing someone’s expectations, feeling like perhaps, for once in my life (shut up), that they’re more worried about me than I am about them. As I attack the FOMO, focus on work, reading, and creating, I rebound from the feeling that the last six months have been a consistent failure at being a positive influence on the life of anyone special.

Since I can’t change her, and I can’t move to a different internet, sometimes I think I should write some L7 ACLs so I don’t get shit like:

30 weeks ago: grumpypants has added you as a friend.

a: I am going to go and see where we go
a: if we go 10 blocks away I am cutting off
b: [snip]
b: which is to say, if you’re willing to stop by create:space for 15m
b: i’ll ride anywhere with you.

I guess that time has come.

a: Have time to talk tonight?
b: I’m four drinks in, probably not a good night.

And when we meet, which I’m sure we will
All that was there will be there still
I’ll let it pass and hold my tongue
And you will think that I’ve moved on

I’ve quoted that before, but it struck me again on the bike ride in this morning. She once stated that she didn’t understand why I listened mostly to pop music and not local artists, and compared that how I felt so adamantly about open source and diy should mean I’d understand why the latter is so important. The trouble is that I’m not an artist. While on some level I appreciate art, and it’s existence, I have no appreciation for the academic qualities of art. My appreciation of art is how it resonates with me, and when it comes to music, I appreciate when something touches me and I can identify with it. Which is why I tend to prefer music with lyrics, and particularly non-cryptic lyrics, over music alone. Although I’ll definitely admit some music can strike a chord with emotions, the music in my social circles tends not to be the kind to strike deep [positive] emotion.

Whenever I read a poem that moves me, I know I’m not alone in the world. I feel a connection to the person who wrote it, knowing that he or she has gone through something similar to what I’ve experienced, or felt something like what I have felt. – Gregory Orr

In my search for what is important to me, what my priorities are, how my time should be spent, I’m often find myself comparing myself to that which is “normal”. I recently offended someone by telling them my first impression was that they were normal. “In behavior, normal refers to a lack of significant deviation from the average.” I think for me, normal refers to a significant deviation from my lifestyle with any other deviations from what feels like a [television induced?] social norm well hidden.

Back to the endgame: “My endgame is finding a cohort I can love and support who wants to do crazy things with me, live according to our ethics, and have a positive impact on the parts of the world that around us.” Recently, this means being open and communicative. Past experience with others has underscored that I want to have a positive impact on the people I touch, and as such the ends do not justify the means. Which is to say that I aim to not sacrifice others in the pursuit of the self. Where I will be years hence simply can’t make up for self-centered living now. I often have wondered why you didn’t watch Kenshin, but it’s clear now that you either only cared about how I made you feel (and not about me), or you couldn’t deal with the burden of being loved.

It doesn’t feel like it’s coming, but I feel like I’m entering a suitable holding pattern. “Plus, having a crush on her is totally helping me disassociate my loneliness…” and  she says “Don’t get hurt son… I’m worried about you… Just as long as you’re not getting emotionally manipulated.” to which I get around to responding with “I just want a cute shy girl to snuggle, hold hands with, be mutually excited to see each other. Like her, but nice.” I’m willing to allow my heart the luxury of having made mistakes and poor choices, it meant well by me.

Of course I still care. I sent her something special recently, but via postal mail as to prevent a response… anonymously, as I later realized probably wasn’t necessary. As always, seemed like a good idea at the time. But there’s nothing left to be said. The second chance burned down what was left of the bridge and left me still standing where I had started, unsurprised. Nobody was surprised. He said not to follow through with it, but admitted he would himself. You are “demonized” by your own actions, and all your supporters (myself included) can do is stand by and watch. I told the counselor today I expected to run into her twenty years hence and high five… she laughed.

I spoke to you in cautious tones
You answered me with no pretense
And still I feel I said too much
My silence is my self defense

Rode across town last night to see friends, make dinner, comfort each other about heart transgressions. I saw this quote on a sign along the way: “In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life — It goes on” — Robert Frost. As I’ve spent much time lately trying to describe to who I am and how I want to live; first to myself, and then to those close to me. We speak of bike club: assholery, leadership, relationships, friendship…

I can’t help the way that I feel, but I can change my life and over time leave behind those who cannot be a part of it by their own accord.

I feel I spoke my truth about thinking you were afraid, and that I didn’t want for you to push me away because of it. It seems to me that you are bolstering your lifestyle-as-identity partly out of fear of losing yourself in a relationship with me, or with anyone, that resembles a normal, or unintentional, unoriginal, should-ed life. If that is the case, then I wholly understand the fear.

As Shatner says, “What are you afraid of? Failure?”. I’ve officially had enough dating. I’m exhausted from the continual outpouring of energy to be let down so quickly. Some new relationships have developed, and those will go on, but I’m definitely heads-down. This doesn’t mean I don’t want a relationship right now, I just can’t find something that feels right. Feeling-sidebar: The old line used to be someone who shares hobbies or someone who shares personality, but now my own feelings have shown themselves to be the capstone. I’ve dated a handful of awesome people, some among the best people I know, who I’ve had less feelings for than much more self-centered girls. This is likely totally unfair and unreasonable, but somehow a part of reality.

The simple answer continues to be that I’m afraid of ending up where my father is. Somewhere I have a comment or an email from mother saying it’s not going to happen, but you know, it’s the easiest answer to put my finger on. Very few of you know my father. The relevant portion is that between his health issues (drinking + smoking) and his depression (life didn’t turn out how he thought it would) he spends most of his time alone, watching sports on TV, in a small town in Maine.

If I keep pushing, forever, failure will be always be behind me. Right? Lifestyle-as-identity… Much time has been spent contemplating and I clearly don’t get my identity from my social groups. Everyone has to get it somewhere, what’s wrong with getting my identity from how I choose to live rather than who I belong to? I find it much more appealing to defend my lifestyle than geeks, bikes (messengers…), as a whole. Unlike some, I can usually separate myself from these groups and move along, sans the “fear of missing out”.

I am someone who thinks, feels, builds, and lives.

That’s who I am.