Sex dreams and secrets

I woke up this morning, gasping for breath. I didn’t know where I was or who I was with. I opened one eye, then two and surveyed my surroundings.

There was my clock, ticking away obnoxiously on the wall.

There was my laptop, perched on my dresser, begging to be opened.

There was my window, the blinds of which I’d left open last night to watch the snow falling as I tried to get some kind of happiness from it.

I was under my pink comforter, laying on my pink and brown sheets in my room.

And I was alone.

Phew! It had just been a dream.

Albeit, a sexy, hot, toe curling dream. But a dream, nonetheless.

Then I remembered who it was about and I groaned.

Oh noooo… I thought to myself. Please do not let him be creeping back into my thoughts.

But he did and he is. He is there like this fungus that I just can not get rid of no matter how much lotion I put on it or pills I take. And he’s itchy. Like a rash. He’s an itchy fungal rash that creeps up on me when I least expect it and completely throws me off of my game.

Now I have thoughts of The Fling running through my head . . . and I really don’t know what to do about it.

For three months, he consumed the majority of my thoughts. We met, we both got a crush, it took awhile but we finally got together, it was great for awhile and then BAM! We cut communication and I forced him out of my mind. For the most part.

But now he is back. And stronger than ever. Which is really weird and unfortunate, because I  have no idea what to do to get him out of there. It’s also unfortunate because I never even thought he’d be in there in the first place.

You see, when I first met him, I didn’t even like him. Mostly because I felt that someone like him would never like someone like me. But he did. And for a short moment in time, I could have sworn he liked me far more than I liked him.

While I was in it, I thought to myself that it would never amount to anything, so I tried not to get attached. But despite our differences, we worked. And I, against my better judgment, fell for him. I couldn’t help but be sucked in by his rough exterior and caring heart. I fell for his crooked smile and kind eyes. I loved the fact that I made him nervous. That he stammered when he asked for my number the first night we met. I made him nervous but the truth was that he made me nervous too. He was a blue collar mountain man. He was new and fresh and exciting. And for some reason, we just made sense.

One day, we were driving in his truck, trying to find a place to eat. He grabbed my hand as he weaved through cars and I let in a sharp breath. I felt electricity. Sparks. It had only happened to me once before, and I never imagined it would have happened with him. But it did. And I knew from that moment on that no matter how much I didn’t want to get in deep with him, my fate was sealed. I was doomed.

The last time I saw him I was leaning against my car. He was kissing me, asking me to call him later on that night.

Everything was fine for the next few days until he began to blame being busy on not being able to see me. Conversations got weird. Mainly stemming from the fact that I wouldn’t accept being busy as a valid reason for not being able to see me. It just didn’t fly with me. I’d ask him to get together. He’d evade the question. Say he cared about me. I’d drop it.

I began to get nervous. Was this already the end? It wasn’t fair! I had just admitted to myself that I had fallen for him, and now it was going to be taken away?

There was nothing I could do. I tried to make contact. He told me the first free day he had would be all for me.

And then I didn’t hear from him for a month.

When he contacted me back in September, I thought that he may have had a change of heart. That he really had just been too stressed out to be with me and take care of what he needed to do in his life. But I was completely fooled. And it hurt. More than I ever expected it to.

So I tried to REALLY move on. I went on dates. I had sex. I worked out. I changed my hair. I went shopping. And for awhile I thought the itchy fungus had left the building.

It did not.

The last time we talked was a very brief text in October, just checking in with each other. When I never heard from him after that, I deleted all traces of him from my phone.

Be strong! I told myself. Like bull!

Well, I call my bullshit. I’m not strong. I’m weak. But I do have my pride. And someday I will have to see him again. And on that day, I do not want to be known as the girl who wouldn’t let it die. So I let it die with him, but not in my mind.

And I guess the only thing that really matters is that he doesn’t know…

…right?

Right?

Help?

The great “move out” debate

“I need to move out so I can date,” my friend L said.

We were standing at a table, in a small, dimly lit pub in Dublin. This was two and a half years ago, but I remember the conversation like it was yesterday.

My friend A and I tried to intently listen to her over the music session going on in the corner. We strained to hear as she explained herself. We weren’t exactly convinced of her reasoning. Why was it so hard for her to talk to her parents about who she was dating? Why did she have to sneak around? Why did she feel like she had to move out to find her mate?

I didn’t completely understand it then, as she tried to sell us her point, but I get it now. Totally. As much as I love my parents and try to be honest, it’s so hard to date while living with them. It’s difficult telling them I won’t be sleeping at home, or even just telling them I’m going on a date in the first place. I think that it’s a main factor in why I’m so nervous dating to begin with. When my mother knows I’m with a guy, she starts calling my phone at midnight and won’t stop until I set foot back home. On the other hand, if she knows I’m on a date and I come home too early, she feels bad for me. She’s a great person, she just worries so much that it’s making me start to resent her.

Take this scenario, if you will (and I wasn’t even on a date!!)

I was out for the night with some friends and was just dropping the last person off at home (around 3:00am) when my mother began to call me. I was literally 15 minutes from home and decided to just drive and not return her call. I would be home so quickly, there was no need to risk getting caught driving and talking on the phone. When I pulled up into our driveway, I saw my mother walking around aimlessly. The scene was so humorous to me that I couldn’t even yell.

I got out of my car, looked at her, and burst out laughing.

“Mom!”

She looked like a lost puppy dog. She held her bathrobe around her as her fuzzy slippers shuffled on the ground.

I thought back to that moment in the pub years before and had an epiphany.

I need to move out.

I love my parents, I do. They’re great and amazing and would do anything for me. But I now know why I go so crazy when I go away on vacations.

It’s because, for that tiny moment, I’m finally free. I finally don’t have to answer to anyone.

So here’s the proposition I pose to myself.

Self, by October of 2011, by your 27th birthday, you will have a job. You will be able to move out of your parent’s house.  You will be able to pay your car bill, health insurance, apartment and utilities without throwing a tantrum. You will be able to go out with anyone you want at any time you want without having to let anyone know. You will be able to have sleepovers with the opposite sex without feeling like your parents are looking down on you. You will host dinner parties for friends.

Self, you will be free.

Until Sundays, which is when you will bring your laundry over to your mothers and sweetly smile as you ask her to wash your darks.

Snowboarding fail…

My instructor was cute and flirtatious.

I felt super comfy on the board.

I actually made some good turns.

I really felt like I found my winter sport.

Until it all went to poop.

After my lesson, I decided to continue on my own.

Hit a patch of ice, went way too fast, tried to turn, landed on my butt…

…and my wrist.

Snap, crackle, pop.

 

Now I am casted for 6 weeks.

The doc said I was super close to needing surgery.

Fail. Big time.

 

The new kind of hate

“Have you ever cared about someone so much, but hated them at the same time?” a guy I was once dating asked me. He was telling me about a phone call he had received from his ex-girlfriend the day before, and felt the need to divulge that he broke up with her because he realized that he didn’t like her.

“I don’t hate anyone,” I told him.

“Even your ex’s?”

I thought about it for a moment, “Even the man that I fell in love with that broke my heart.”

He shrugged as he took my hand. “I guess I don’t hate her, but I really can’t stand her. That’s why I broke up with her. She wanted to marry me. I couldn’t marry someone I can’t stand.”

I was trying not to think about why he was telling me this. I hadn’t even asked about his ex-girlfriend. I mean, isn’t that something that’s supposed to be saved for awhile? Aren’t you not supposed to really talk about previous relationships until you are at least an official couple. And, even then, isn’t it just supposed to be something you say in passing? Like, “Oh yeah, my ex lives in (insert town here) and always hangs out at that pub. I really don’t feel like running into him so maybe we should go to a different bar…”

Anyway, a few weeks after that conversation, I found a picture of his ex-girlfriend and him hanging up on his bedroom wall, hidden behind a photo of his friends. It stung. The pain sliced through me like a knife, even though I had only known him for a few months.  I knew then that even though his relationship had ended years before, he still wasn’t completely over her. That that picture resembled much more than just two people who used to date.

People fall in love for all kinds of reasons. You see something in someone else that pulls at you. That attracts you mentally, physically, emotionally. You grow together. You learn together. You change together. Sometimes it’s for the better. Sometimes not. If it’s the latter, then you may break up. But the fact remains that you once were in love with this person. And even if they have turned crazy, psycho ex on you, can you really say that you truly hate them? Wouldn’t that, in a sense, be saying that you never really loved them in the first place? That you were wrong?

This situation made me realize that I don’t think I will ever be that girl for someone. The girl that the guy will always have somewhere in his heart, and always feel some connection with. The girl he will compare all other girls he meets to. The girl he will keep a picture of in his room, because it would feel like a piece of himself was missing without it.

I hope to God that someday someone cares about me enough to think that they hate me.

Lonely??

“I’m so lonely, Amanda! I mean I have a lot of people around me but I’m still so lonely. Are you in the same boat?”

I woke up to the above text message from my dear friend, H, who I wrote about briefly in this post. She is currently going through a tough time. She is in complete and total love with someone whom she can never, ever physically be with for religious reasons. She’s currently trying to put space between them, but it’s hard because they work together. They used to speak on the phone every day after work (usually starting as work conversations, but then going into other life topics).  I feel for her because I know all too well what it’s like to want to be with someone so badly, but not be able to. It’s a terrible feeling.

It makes you feel lonely.

I looked at my phone for a few moments as I sat at a traffic light on my way to work. And I thought to myself. I really thought to myself.

Am I lonely???

Would having a boyfriend make me feel like I was wanted? Desired? Yes, of course. I always enjoy going out more when I know that I’m not looking around the bar at possible love interests. It makes me a bit lighter on my feet to know (or. . .think) that there is someone who wants to be with me just as much as I want to be with them. I love the whole courting process. The butterflies, the first kisses, the dreamy-eyed stares. Yes, look up cheesy romantic in the dictionary and you will find me! But, does not having those things at this moment make me feel alone?

I’m surrounded by amazing friends who are just as frustrated with dating as I am. I have just as many single friends as I do attached friends.  I have a loving, supportive family. I have a full calendar and wonderful opportunities coming my way.

So, after debating about it for awhile, I realized that, no. I’m not lonely per say. Okay, maybe I don’t have someone to cuddle and watch movies with. Maybe  I still have to look around nervously while at weddings, wondering who I’ll dance with when a slow song plays. This Valentine’s Day I will probably once again be going out with girlfriends, drinking wine and eating chocolate.  But, I’ve been doing this for awhile. I’ve kind of got it down. My flings and relationships have never stood the test of time, so I’ve learned to become a pretty good single girl. I just smile when family members ask me if there is someone special in my life. “Sure,” I respond as I rattle off my parents or friends. When my grandmother tells me it’s time for me to get married, I pat her hand and say “Someday, nonna. Someday.”

I’m not lonely. I’d love to have a guy in my life. It would make me happy. But I can’t define my loneliness by if I have a male in my world. It can affect my mood and make me sad from time to time, but it can’t and won’t change the fact that I’m already surrounded by love.

And when you’re surrounded by love, how can you be alone??

Funky McFunkster

I’ve been in a funk.

There, I’ve said it.

It’s the funkiest kind of funk. It’s the kind of funk where you’re not exactly sure why you’re in the funk to begin with. The kind of funk where people ask you what’s wrong and you just shrug and say “I honestly have no idea.”

I mean, I guess I have a little bit of an idea, but to type it or say it aloud feels silly.

Maybe I’ll say it anyway. Maybe I’ll just write and get it out and it’ll be free and open and out there and, hopefully, I can get some advice. Some words of wisdom. Some “there there’s.” Because, really, who doesn’t need a “there there” every once in awhile?

I’ve been in love once. But I’ve truly cared about a handful of guys. I’ve never been in a relationship lasting over a year. Truthfully, my longest one lasted eight months. It sounds so pathetic to admit when I have friends who have been in relationships for close to five years or more. Every guy I get close to, cuts it off with me in one way or another. Here’s what I know. I know that I can attract a guy. I know that I can physically present myself in a way that gets a guy looking. I know when to smile cute and when to tease and pull back just enough so that they are interested in knowing more.

In the beginning, it usually works something like this. I’m not sure about the guy for one reason or another, but I spend more time with him because, for some reason, I’m intrigued. Then, it starts. He’s paying me attention, and I like it. He’s interesting and new and different, and I like it. I’m attracted. I get excited. I can’t sleep. I step over the bridge from not being sure about someone to admitting that, yes, I do like him. (Once I step over that bridge, I never, ever go back.) I talk to him frequently, but don’t suffocate. When I feel like suffocating, I talk to friends, instead. I show my affection for him, I let him talk, I answer his questions, I tease when I feel appropriate. He usually talks about the future and what we’ll do together. And then, just when I feel like I can trust this person. Just when I think that I may have found something real, it vanishes. Sometimes instantaneously. Sometimes slowly fizzling. But, the fact of the matter is that when I finally let myself fall, it has always, up to this point, led to my feelings being hurt.

I don’t mean to sound all sorry for myself. I don’t mean to make myself out to be the victim. I know that I have definitely broken a heart or two in my 26 years on Earth. But I also know that I would never let myself get to the point that many of these men let relationships get to, if I wasn’t truly invested in the person. I know that to be invested you have to get to know the person, but if I went on, oh let’s say six or seven dates with someone and then decided that I really was not interested, I would talk with him. I’d explain why I no longer wanted to see him in the romantic capacity. I wouldn’t just simply stop talking to him, leaving him to wonder what he could have possibly done wrong.

Because now, here I sit. The one left alone. Wondering what the hell I am doing wrong. Wondering, am I just . . . unlovable? They’ve called me gorgeous and amazing and unlike any other girl they’d met before. They’ve said they get lost in my eyes and that I’m smart and sassy and they like it. But they don’t stay. They never stay.

I feel like, if I was in a long-term serious relationship that broke up because both partners were in mutual agreement that it wasn’t working out, I wouldn’t be feeling this kind of hurt and confusion. Even if I got dumped years into a relationship, at least I’d know that I had been loved for more than just my body or the way I look. I would be such a damn good girlfriend, I know that I would.

I have been.

I want to be again.

I’m rambling and probably sound pathetic, but I can’t help it. These are my feelings and if I can’t be honest in my journal, then where the hell can I be honest?

You can’t always get what you want

First off, thanks for the birthday wishes, girls! I had a lovely weekend spent with great friends and family. (And, yes, too much wine.) Anyway, on to my post for the day; the topic of which is:

Why do we always want what we can’t have?

It’s the question that haunts many — otherwise rational — human beings. It keeps us up at night. It has us hitting our heads against a proverbial (or, maybe not so proverbial) wall. Sometimes it’s a life situation we wish would happen that we’re fairly certain we’ll never see come to fruition. Maybe we want a new job, a fancier car, a bigger house.

Maybe life just has other ideas for us.

In the case of  people who seem to find themselves single more often than they are not (I being one of them), what we want is usually a certain person. Often, this person is one of the following:

1. Already attached

2. An ex that left us broken

3. Someone who has a different lifestyle from us that makes it impossible to be together

4. Or…someone who is just not interested in being with us

I’ve wanted them all. But, alas, I could not have them.

It hurts.

It hurts and it sucks.

It hurts, it sucks and it’s bittersweet. You know how us romantics love to use the word bittersweet. It makes the pain seem a little more . . . bearable. A little more like it’s happening because the ending of the story requires you to go through some rough patches before you can reach the beautiful place where you get the thing (or person) you want. Where you’ll, for once, be able to stop wondering “When is it going to be MY turn??” and start realizing “This is it, for real this time.”

During these rough patches, you tell yourself that you’re learning lessons. “Everything happens for a reason” becomes your mantra.

A friend of mine is going through, what I would classify as, a VERY bittersweet situation right now. Without going into too much detail, I will say that she really cares for someone who, in turn, seems to really care for her. But, they cannot be together. They cannot be together because their beliefs and cultures are not the same. However, in each other, they have found something real. They’ve found attraction on multiple levels. It’s so sad for me to think about, because I know how much it hurts not to be able to be with someone who you care for beyond measure. To know how happy you’d be with this person. It’s hard to think past them when you know that they are everything you want. And nothing that you can truly have.

It’s torturous when you can’t get someone out of your head. When you know that they shouldn’t be in there in the first place, but you refuse to fully let them go. My friend who is going through the above situation is having a tough time with this, and I really don’t blame her in the slightest. You remember The One? It took me exactly a year to the day I last saw him to get over him completely. To stop having him be a thought in my head every single day.

What I do know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, is that when someone comes into your life that you click with, that you’re interested in, that you’re attracted to . . . the person you’re holding onto slowly starts to fade away. You no longer think of the old person as you lay in bed, because you have someone new to think of. You stop looking at your phone in the morning, wondering if there will be a random missed call or text message from the old person. You smile when you see a message from the new person.

To answer my original research question (Why do we always want what we can’t have?), I will give this answer.

Because, it’s better than wanting nothing at all.

We tend to hold onto these people and these unrealistic hopes, because at least then we know that we are capable of feeling. And, when you feel, at least you know that you aren’t numb.

This post has gone in a completely different direction than I originally intended for it to go, but I think I’ll just keep it as is and see what you all think. Do you have your own answer for why we always want what we can’t have? Mine seems a little . . . obvious.

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