Mad Men finished last month. One of the greatest written television shows in history. He was always talking about moving forward, the universe being indifferent.
I have the sense that I should write something nice or funny after yesterday’s angry rage post. But a part of this experiment for me, since I don’t have any issues around publishing work, is to write freely about whatever is on my mind when I sit down in front of the keyboard and not to try and construct stories for the benefit of praise. What to say when I just write?
I had a dream about her last night, and not the vague kind of dream that you remember half way through the day. The dream where I wake up scrambling, looking for her in my bed, confused, anxious, and talking myself out of the kind of emotion that would birth an otherwise inappropriate text.
I invited her over, or she invited me I can’t remember, but it was my house and all the usual characters in my life were there in unorthodox dream ways. I was laying on top of her in my bed like I have done a thousand times and when I went to kiss her she screamed, “You can’t do this to me!” Her voice was desperate and broken, like she had no power over me. I remember thinking, “What the fuck, you’re the one that laid in bed in a dress and smiled at me.”
I essentially live through a series of experiments for set periods of times. All of it recorded in my backpack of journals. After we broke up I said 180 days without dating because I knew if I didn’t set a goal then I would chase the next cute girl I saw into a relationship. I was 26 days deep into my pure and strict no dating, no flirting, no fucking zone when she came down for a visit. She’s always been the exception. Will break all rules. Now I’m on day 21 of the second iteration.
There have been days when I thought I was going to be miserable and depressed for years. Days when it wasn’t possible to meet another human and love them. Laying in bed. Sulking. Calling friends just to talk about it, hear something that reaffirmed the decision to move on. Sick moments thinking about her being with another guy for the sake of torture. All leading to the same inevitable chest bombs.
Then there’s a sunset, a bike ride, an eye contact exchange, hot babe friend request, a good night’s sleep, an unexpected conversation, and I’m light and smiling, like nothing ever happened. Repeat cycle to the bottom and the unexpected top. Which seems like it’s redundant because it’s just spinning in circles but it’s not. I’m not a stationary rock. Time is putting space between us. While the emotional cycles are always going to repeat themselves, the potency of her memory is diminished by time and space every day. The smell of her mouth fades from the senses. Her skin on my body could be anyone’s. The lows become less low. The potentials more evident.
So many things to consider in one day, like standing up straight. It’s a hard thing to remember on top of other things like doing your homework and calling your parents. But when I see myself in pictures I always notice my head drooping forward. And if I look at my dad he has permanent forward head. So add that to the list alongside the dentist, toenails, dog food, probiotics, and cleaning the floor boards.