Dreams.
Right now I am stuck in an unhealthy and unbearable relationship. It has been full of deception, self-pity, manipulation, and pain. Read my last several posts to get an idea of what it is.
I've always been given to daydreaming. When under stress I lose myself in a world of dreams from which the real world so full of sorrows is absent. This makes me distant and unresponsive which can be very frustrating for those around me. Lately I've tried to avoid this tendency with my therapist, anyway. But is difficult to avoid in my current relationship. I set myself apart and when not blogging about my feelings I sit quietly, listening to music and daydreaming.
I was very much in love with my last and third wife. Fifteen years of complete harmony ended in a ferociously acrimonious divorce that left me reeling in despair. In many ways I have always carried a torch for her. Now, as the bitter memories of that separation slowly glide into oblivion, in its wake are only the good parts of our marriage in my memory. What would happen if we were to meet by chance now?
I don't think that meeting would be filled with the horror of our separation. Surely that pain has subsided in her as it has in me. I wonder if she is left with only memories of the good things. Does she miss me? I don't know if she has or doesn't but I don't like to think that her trysts and love life after us have been filled with as much mishap as has mine. Perhaps she would be willing to share war stories.
I bump into her on the bus. There is an awkward moment when we both recognize each other. But the acrimony that once existed between us is a faraway memory so we tentatively begin to chat. How's it going for you? I've been fine. Yourself? I'm OK. Are you still living in San Francisco? No, I've moved to Livermore but commute into the City to work. Yourself? I still live here. I've retired from computing and now devote myself to art. Oh really? Yes. Hey, maybe we should get together for coffee sometime and talk. OK.
Dreams.
We get together at the coffee shop across from the building where I meet with my therapist. We meet at 12:00 because that's when my therapy ends and her lunch hour begins. We give each other friendly, tentative hugs the first time we meet. We order our coffees together in awkward silence and then move to a vacant table. Each is afraid to break the silence first so I do. I ask her how she has been. How's her job? Does she like where she is living now?
She quickly picks up the thread and engages in conversation. She tells me what's been going on in her life since we last were together. She steps carefully around mention of the divorce. Just as well, I don't want to churn up any dark memories, either. I tell her about the end of my career as a computer programmer and how I took up art. She smiles and oohs appreciatively and asks if I am showing my art anywhere. I wistfully reply that I am still getting my portfolio together but plan to show soon and (hopefully) start selling it. I make no mention that I am on full-time disability for bipolar and psychosis and she does not probe into how I make my livelihood.
She's moved on from the job she had when we were together and now has a new career that brings her a lot of satisfaction and more money to boot. She is trim and pretty and even though she is now past forty looks more like a twenty-something. I mention this and she is flattered. I ask her if she is still working out and she replies that she is. She remarks upon my good health and my trim figure and, like her, I am flattered. Some ice has broken and a cautious comfort level achieved.
The conversation reaches a quell as we exhaust discussion about our material lives. I tentatively ask her if there is a flame in her life. This outreach to a new level of intimacy is a little awkward for us and I fear that I have gone too far. But she takes it with aplomb and replies that she ended a relationship with a man who cheated on her. I am aghast. She is downright beautiful and intelligent and I would do almost anything to have a woman like her. I don't say this, of course. I respond with shock and dismay and sorrow to this news. But she's tough, always has been. She sees it as an unfortunate event but one to move forward from.
She asks me the same question. I am privately desperate. What to say? What to say? That I am in a dead-end relationship marked by abuse and pain? There is so much to hate about it and I dare not let the vitriol I have for it spill over into our warm conversation. I tell her that I am in a relationship that is, "Coming to a close." How delightfully diplomatic of me. I hate where I am at in regards to my love life. But there's no need to cry on her shoulder.
1:00 is approaching and it's time for her to get back to work and for me to return to the dungeon that is my love life at this point in my life. We tell each other that we have enjoyed our conversation and should get together again. I don't let that "together soon" glide into non-committal oblivion. I tell her that I will be downtown again on Wednesday and ask her if she would like to get together again at 12:00. I don't force the issue, and I am not needy, but privately I hope with all my heart that she will say yes. She says that she would very much like to do that and so it is a date. She gives me a little peck on the cheek and we part ways.
Wednesday rolls around and she is waiting for me at the coffee shop. She gets up from her coffee and gives me a hug and a peck on the cheek. The hug is sincere. I excuse myself and go to order my coffee. It dawns on me that she was waiting for me, and not I for her. I don't make much of this but it encourages me in some small way. I pick up my coffee and return to her table, sit down, and start talking merrily. We pick up where we left off the last time.
She's not happy as it turns out. Her love life has been in shambles since we broke up. Tears well in her eyes as she admits to having had an affair near the end of our marriage. I reassure her. I tell her that it is a well-known fact that women will more often run to the comfort of another man's arms when the relationship they are in becomes dysfunctional. I understand this and bear no ill will towards her. She doesn't actually cry but it is apparent that a huge weight has been lifted from her shoulders. She shudders a little and regains her composure.
She repeats that the man she left me for turned out to be a philanderer and she caught him in bed with another woman shortly after she had fallen in love with him. She was heartbroken but, "got back up on her feet." I find this utterly delightful. How typical of the woman with whom I shared fifteen years. Always strong and brave and not easily given in to despair. She's been dating occasionally and clubbing but hasn't found a special partner since. She tilts her head to the side and smiles ruefully.
She doesn't ask but I offer up a little of what has happened in my love life since we broke up. I tell her that I am stuck in a dead-end relationship. I tell her that my companion is abusive and clinging and weak. The part about weakness strikes a chord with her; she has always been a very strong woman and stoic under duress. God how I miss her! I go on to say that my relationship is something of a quagmire from which I feel I cannot escape. I tell her that I have recently come to realize this and am taking action to move on with my life.
She congratulates me and offers up words of encouragement. She tells me that she wishes me well, adding by the way that she never really wanted to harm me. Some long-forgotten spark lights up deep inside me along with the slow realization that there might actually be a chance of growing much closer to her. I keep my composure. But some Rubicon has been crossed. We have shared intimate details of our lives together. We are in fact good friends. Two people who have shared a greater portion of their lives together and do not want to see all of that simply fade away.
We continue to meet at the coffee shop every Monday and Wednesday. Our talks grow more lighthearted now that we have dispensed with the gloom of our respective love lives. We laugh at shared experiences and revel in fond memories of our former relationship. I come to enjoy these trysts immensely and eagerly look forward to them. There is always something new about them. Whether it is acute and cynical observations about politics or things we have done and still hope to do. I come to realize that she, too, takes great pleasure from our time together. We remember that we have very much in common. Much that made our marriage so successful for fifteen years.
My partner in my current relationship notices that I am late coming back from my therapy sessions. I tell her that I have been having coffee with an old friend who I bumped into on the bus one day. What's his name she asks. I am not one given to lying these days but what can I say? I have been having coffee every Monday and Wednesday with my former wife. Sweet Jesus. I am on the spot and horribly aware that I have only seconds to respond. I lie. I tell her that he is an old buddy who she doesn't know. She asks me to invite him over. I reply rather vaguely that I will. She senses this vagueness. She asks if she can meet me downtown and join us. Oh horrors. I reply that we just talk guy stuff and she would be bored. She replies that she doesn't mind guy stuff; she likes to be in on it. With just a touch a gruffness I tell her that this is something I do for myself. She backs off but suspicion seeps into her eyes like a black oil spill.
One day as I rise to say goodbye and leave for home she says that she has taken the afternoon off and wonders if I'd like to take a walk down Market street to the Embarcadero. I am a little taken by surprise but tell her that I'd love to. We leave the café and walk out onto Market street. She takes my arm as we chat together and stroll leisurely down to the Embarcadero. We reach the fountain at the end of the street and sit down to watch the children play in the water. It's a quiet moment together. I look over at her and I see she is staring directly in my eyes and has moved her face close to mine. She gently closes her eyes as I bend down to kiss her. That kiss pauses a moment and then I grab her passionately and kiss her deeply. She grips me tightly and trembles in that embrace.
The kiss ends. I look down at her and see the love that has been welling up in me since we first met mirrored in her eyes. I throw away all cares and worries to the wind and kiss her again. The world stands still.
Neither of us really knows what to do after all of this. We just sort of sit there dumbly looking at one another. Finally I get up the courage to tell her that I love her. I have missed her. I want her back. She replies meekly, "Me, too." This strong-willed and intelligent and mature woman is helpless before me. The pure intensity of my love for her fires up and vitalizes me. I am once again the strong man I used to be. I am once again a man.
She says, "Let's go somewhere private." My mind is still reeling from the deluge of emotion and power that has flooded into me. It is now long past 1:00. Like two little schoolchildren dashing behind the barn to play naughty we hurry into the Hyatt-Regency hotel nearby and book a room. Once in our room we tear the clothes off of one another and fly into the bed. Our love is wild and crazy and passionate as it ever was. It seems to go one forever as we love and love and love one another. I bring her to orgasm over and over again. I finally reach a peak from which I do not return and let go with all the wild power of the lust within me.
Exhausted we both fall back into the luxurious sheets and pillows of the bed, staring up at the ceiling. She snuggles up to me and lays her head on my chest with my arm around her silky neck. I hold her tightly. She sighs contentedly. I do not want to let her go. I never want to let her go again.
Cold hard reality suddenly grips me. What have I done? What have I done? I let her slide down to the bed as I raise myself up on one arm. I look down at her and ask her, "What now?" "You belong to me now" she says in that straight-forward, no-nonsense way of hers that I have always adored. "Yeah, and you to me. But what am I going to do about it?"
"You are going to leave her, that's what." She's right, of course. Now is no time for the emotional cowardliness that has characterized my current relationship. I once again feel the surge of strength of my manhood and the acuity of my mind. She always had this effect on me. The ability to make me realize my potential and to live up to it. "Yes," I respond. But oh God what a shit storm that's going to be. Nevertheless my feelings harden to a pure crystalline epiphany in me. The hateful person has to go.
In all my life I have never cheated on the woman I was with, even as far back as high school. I have been a bastard at times but always a faithful bastard. I have loved women in my life and experienced the sorrow of the end to those loves. I have experienced a love that withered on the vine. I have felt the tearful farewell of a love as I left to live and work abroad. I have seen the disastrous end to a long and happy marriage. I've watched the slow descent of my current relationship into a reeking and poisonous cesspool. But never, ever, have I cheated on my love. And now I have done so and not only that but with my former wife.
I know the havoc that awaits me. I am scared but resolved to weather the storm that will ensue when I tell that hateful little person that it's over. A cruel part of my mind wants to lie about how it ended. Not by the slow degradation of my personality at her hand over the years but rather by a fling with my former wife. God how I hate her. But no matter the price I will not let go of this newly re-discovered love with my former wife. It is too precious a thing to me. It's as though all the hopes and dreams of my life have come true.
I glance down at her, lying there in so much lovely splendor and beauty. She looks back at me with those soft blue eyes signaling that she has read my mind. "I will do it for you." A huge sigh of relief ripples its way from my head to my toes. But no. This is something I have to do. "I will do this," I reply. "I can help," she says. And now I see that feminine demon staring up at me which is a woman who knows that she has regained her man and has no intent of losing him. She was always fiercely protective of her relationship when we were together, instilling fear in the hearts of other women who thought they might have a pass at me. Privately I tremble at what she will do to my current partner. Dressed to the hilt flashing those golden legs and drop-dead figure and wearing that impassive and resolute half-smile with obsidian eyes bordered by copper-bronze hair she will destroy her. I am sad.
Dreams.
Right now I am stuck in an unhealthy and unbearable relationship. It has been full of deception, self-pity, manipulation, and pain. Read my last several posts to get an idea of what it is.
I've always been given to daydreaming. When under stress I lose myself in a world of dreams from which the real world so full of sorrows is absent. This makes me distant and unresponsive which can be very frustrating for those around me. Lately I've tried to avoid this tendency with my therapist, anyway. But is difficult to avoid in my current relationship. I set myself apart and when not blogging about my feelings I sit quietly, listening to music and daydreaming.
I was very much in love with my last and third wife. Fifteen years of complete harmony ended in a ferociously acrimonious divorce that left me reeling in despair. In many ways I have always carried a torch for her. Now, as the bitter memories of that separation slowly glide into oblivion, in its wake are only the good parts of our marriage in my memory. What would happen if we were to meet by chance now?
I don't think that meeting would be filled with the horror of our separation. Surely that pain has subsided in her as it has in me. I wonder if she is left with only memories of the good things. Does she miss me? I don't know if she has or doesn't but I don't like to think that her trysts and love life after us have been filled with as much mishap as has mine. Perhaps she would be willing to share war stories.
I bump into her on the bus. There is an awkward moment when we both recognize each other. But the acrimony that once existed between us is a faraway memory so we tentatively begin to chat. How's it going for you? I've been fine. Yourself? I'm OK. Are you still living in San Francisco? No, I've moved to Livermore but commute into the City to work. Yourself? I still live here. I've retired from computing and now devote myself to art. Oh really? Yes. Hey, maybe we should get together for coffee sometime and talk. OK.
Dreams.
We get together at the coffee shop across from the building where I meet with my therapist. We meet at 12:00 because that's when my therapy ends and her lunch hour begins. We give each other friendly, tentative hugs the first time we meet. We order our coffees together in awkward silence and then move to a vacant table. Each is afraid to break the silence first so I do. I ask her how she has been. How's her job? Does she like where she is living now?
She quickly picks up the thread and engages in conversation. She tells me what's been going on in her life since we last were together. She steps carefully around mention of the divorce. Just as well, I don't want to churn up any dark memories, either. I tell her about the end of my career as a computer programmer and how I took up art. She smiles and oohs appreciatively and asks if I am showing my art anywhere. I wistfully reply that I am still getting my portfolio together but plan to show soon and (hopefully) start selling it. I make no mention that I am on full-time disability for bipolar and psychosis and she does not probe into how I make my livelihood.
She's moved on from the job she had when we were together and now has a new career that brings her a lot of satisfaction and more money to boot. She is trim and pretty and even though she is now past forty looks more like a twenty-something. I mention this and she is flattered. I ask her if she is still working out and she replies that she is. She remarks upon my good health and my trim figure and, like her, I am flattered. Some ice has broken and a cautious comfort level achieved.
The conversation reaches a quell as we exhaust discussion about our material lives. I tentatively ask her if there is a flame in her life. This outreach to a new level of intimacy is a little awkward for us and I fear that I have gone too far. But she takes it with aplomb and replies that she ended a relationship with a man who cheated on her. I am aghast. She is downright beautiful and intelligent and I would do almost anything to have a woman like her. I don't say this, of course. I respond with shock and dismay and sorrow to this news. But she's tough, always has been. She sees it as an unfortunate event but one to move forward from.
She asks me the same question. I am privately desperate. What to say? What to say? That I am in a dead-end relationship marked by abuse and pain? There is so much to hate about it and I dare not let the vitriol I have for it spill over into our warm conversation. I tell her that I am in a relationship that is, "Coming to a close." How delightfully diplomatic of me. I hate where I am at in regards to my love life. But there's no need to cry on her shoulder.
1:00 is approaching and it's time for her to get back to work and for me to return to the dungeon that is my love life at this point in my life. We tell each other that we have enjoyed our conversation and should get together again. I don't let that "together soon" glide into non-committal oblivion. I tell her that I will be downtown again on Wednesday and ask her if she would like to get together again at 12:00. I don't force the issue, and I am not needy, but privately I hope with all my heart that she will say yes. She says that she would very much like to do that and so it is a date. She gives me a little peck on the cheek and we part ways.
Wednesday rolls around and she is waiting for me at the coffee shop. She gets up from her coffee and gives me a hug and a peck on the cheek. The hug is sincere. I excuse myself and go to order my coffee. It dawns on me that she was waiting for me, and not I for her. I don't make much of this but it encourages me in some small way. I pick up my coffee and return to her table, sit down, and start talking merrily. We pick up where we left off the last time.
She's not happy as it turns out. Her love life has been in shambles since we broke up. Tears well in her eyes as she admits to having had an affair near the end of our marriage. I reassure her. I tell her that it is a well-known fact that women will more often run to the comfort of another man's arms when the relationship they are in becomes dysfunctional. I understand this and bear no ill will towards her. She doesn't actually cry but it is apparent that a huge weight has been lifted from her shoulders. She shudders a little and regains her composure.
She repeats that the man she left me for turned out to be a philanderer and she caught him in bed with another woman shortly after she had fallen in love with him. She was heartbroken but, "got back up on her feet." I find this utterly delightful. How typical of the woman with whom I shared fifteen years. Always strong and brave and not easily given in to despair. She's been dating occasionally and clubbing but hasn't found a special partner since. She tilts her head to the side and smiles ruefully.
She doesn't ask but I offer up a little of what has happened in my love life since we broke up. I tell her that I am stuck in a dead-end relationship. I tell her that my companion is abusive and clinging and weak. The part about weakness strikes a chord with her; she has always been a very strong woman and stoic under duress. God how I miss her! I go on to say that my relationship is something of a quagmire from which I feel I cannot escape. I tell her that I have recently come to realize this and am taking action to move on with my life.
She congratulates me and offers up words of encouragement. She tells me that she wishes me well, adding by the way that she never really wanted to harm me. Some long-forgotten spark lights up deep inside me along with the slow realization that there might actually be a chance of growing much closer to her. I keep my composure. But some Rubicon has been crossed. We have shared intimate details of our lives together. We are in fact good friends. Two people who have shared a greater portion of their lives together and do not want to see all of that simply fade away.
We continue to meet at the coffee shop every Monday and Wednesday. Our talks grow more lighthearted now that we have dispensed with the gloom of our respective love lives. We laugh at shared experiences and revel in fond memories of our former relationship. I come to enjoy these trysts immensely and eagerly look forward to them. There is always something new about them. Whether it is acute and cynical observations about politics or things we have done and still hope to do. I come to realize that she, too, takes great pleasure from our time together. We remember that we have very much in common. Much that made our marriage so successful for fifteen years.
My partner in my current relationship notices that I am late coming back from my therapy sessions. I tell her that I have been having coffee with an old friend who I bumped into on the bus one day. What's his name she asks. I am not one given to lying these days but what can I say? I have been having coffee every Monday and Wednesday with my former wife. Sweet Jesus. I am on the spot and horribly aware that I have only seconds to respond. I lie. I tell her that he is an old buddy who she doesn't know. She asks me to invite him over. I reply rather vaguely that I will. She senses this vagueness. She asks if she can meet me downtown and join us. Oh horrors. I reply that we just talk guy stuff and she would be bored. She replies that she doesn't mind guy stuff; she likes to be in on it. With just a touch a gruffness I tell her that this is something I do for myself. She backs off but suspicion seeps into her eyes like a black oil spill.
One day as I rise to say goodbye and leave for home she says that she has taken the afternoon off and wonders if I'd like to take a walk down Market street to the Embarcadero. I am a little taken by surprise but tell her that I'd love to. We leave the café and walk out onto Market street. She takes my arm as we chat together and stroll leisurely down to the Embarcadero. We reach the fountain at the end of the street and sit down to watch the children play in the water. It's a quiet moment together. I look over at her and I see she is staring directly in my eyes and has moved her face close to mine. She gently closes her eyes as I bend down to kiss her. That kiss pauses a moment and then I grab her passionately and kiss her deeply. She grips me tightly and trembles in that embrace.
The kiss ends. I look down at her and see the love that has been welling up in me since we first met mirrored in her eyes. I throw away all cares and worries to the wind and kiss her again. The world stands still.
Neither of us really knows what to do after all of this. We just sort of sit there dumbly looking at one another. Finally I get up the courage to tell her that I love her. I have missed her. I want her back. She replies meekly, "Me, too." This strong-willed and intelligent and mature woman is helpless before me. The pure intensity of my love for her fires up and vitalizes me. I am once again the strong man I used to be. I am once again a man.
She says, "Let's go somewhere private." My mind is still reeling from the deluge of emotion and power that has flooded into me. It is now long past 1:00. Like two little schoolchildren dashing behind the barn to play naughty we hurry into the Hyatt-Regency hotel nearby and book a room. Once in our room we tear the clothes off of one another and fly into the bed. Our love is wild and crazy and passionate as it ever was. It seems to go one forever as we love and love and love one another. I bring her to orgasm over and over again. I finally reach a peak from which I do not return and let go with all the wild power of the lust within me.
Exhausted we both fall back into the luxurious sheets and pillows of the bed, staring up at the ceiling. She snuggles up to me and lays her head on my chest with my arm around her silky neck. I hold her tightly. She sighs contentedly. I do not want to let her go. I never want to let her go again.
Cold hard reality suddenly grips me. What have I done? What have I done? I let her slide down to the bed as I raise myself up on one arm. I look down at her and ask her, "What now?" "You belong to me now" she says in that straight-forward, no-nonsense way of hers that I have always adored. "Yeah, and you to me. But what am I going to do about it
"You are going to leave her, that's what." She's right, of course. Now is no time for the emotional cowardliness that has characterized my current relationship. I once again feel the surge of strength of my manhood and the acuity of my mind. She always had this effect on me. The ability to make me realize my potential and to live up to it. "Yes," I respond. But oh God what a shit storm that's going to be. Nevertheless my feelings harden to a pure crystalline epiphany in me. The hateful person has to go.
In all my life I have never cheated on the woman I was with, even as far back as high school. I have been a bastard at times but always a faithful bastard. I have loved women in my life and experienced the sorrow of the end to those loves. I have experienced a love that withered on the vine. I have felt the tearful farewell of a love as I left to live and work abroad. I have seen the disastrous end to a long and happy marriage. I've watched the slow descent of my current relationship into a reeking and poisonous cesspool. But never, ever, have I cheated on my love. And now I have done so and not only that but with my former wife.
I know the havoc that awaits me. I am scared but resolved to weather the storm that will ensue when I tell that hateful little person that it's over. A cruel part of my mind wants to lie about how it ended. Not by the slow degradation of my personality at her hand over the years but rather by a fling with my former wife. God how I hate her. But no matter the price I will not let go of this newly re-discovered love with my former wife. It is too precious a thing to me. It's as though all the hopes and dreams of my life have come true.
I glance down at her, lying there in so much lovely splendor and beauty. She looks back at me with those soft blue eyes signaling that she has read my mind. "I will do it for you." A huge sigh of relief ripples its way from my head to my toes. But no. This is something I have to do. "I will do this," I reply. "I can help," she says. And now I see that feminine demon staring up at me which is a woman who knows that she has regained her man and has no intent of losing him. She was always fiercely protective of her relationship when we were together, instilling fear in the hearts of other women who thought they might have a pass at me. Privately I tremble at what she will do to my current partner. Dressed to the hilt flashing those golden legs and drop-dead figure and wearing that impassive and resolute half-smile with obsidian eyes bordered by copper-bronze hair she will destroy her. I am sad.
Dreams.
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