Where’d all the good people go?

Yep. It’s Friday evening and I’m posting. But before anyone feels sorry for me or imagines me in a lonely place, let me explain.

Once again, I’m reveling in the people I’m lucky enough to know, lucky enough to come from.

Going into a weekend, I’m completely aware of the subtle network that doesn’t want me to feel alone; is gently making sure I’m ok. There’s a web there, with silky soft threads:

Morning phone calls on my commute to work; allison’s one-year old just woke up and he’s fussy because he bumped his teeth again or something; he’s making a ruckus but she called because she wants to measure my tone, see if I’m ok, wants to remind me of the time in sixth grade when we decided to make our own haunted house on a Friday just like this one

scott on vacation, visiting high school friends; sending a message to say they’re thinking of me and how we used to go to breakfast before school on Fridays

My former boss, who called on her way to services to “check in” and see if there are any holes in my weekend, if I might like to see a movie, take her daughter clothes shopping, come over for dinner

My current boss, who carefully asks about my plans for the weekend; trying to decide if I need to feel some pressure to work, some grounded urgency, or if I’m better off thinking about haircuts and farmers markets

colleague who knows just when to send a stress-breaking laugh-out-loud one-liner

My best friend, who has a toothbrush and pjs ready for me whenever I want a sleepover. Who gives me fall recipes and makes itineraries for perfect Sundays of lounging and chatting. Who sent a package of apples and snacks to my office, carefully packed in a box for Friday delivery

My husband’s sister, who misses having me to squeal at her outrageousness, support her fast decisions and approve of her shopping addiction, calling to say let’s have lunch, we don’t need to mention my brother

Then, there are the people that don’t even know they are part of my halo:

Colleagues who make having pizza for lunch on Friday feel like a party, the day before Christmas vacation.

The guy at my gym who calls me miss jess, looks like a gazelle, is slowly becoming an anonymous friend who knows my hours and routines, what I wear every day, how long it takes me to get in and out of the gym, which candies I pick out of the pumpkin candy dish at the front desk, and that I don’t have a dog (but he has a golden retriever named nano); who isn’t aware, as I am, that I used to wear a ring on the hand that I use to hand him my id but someday might hear about it in passing; ‘I’m divorced’

The teen girls in front of me at cvs buying lipgloss and talking about Trevor.

The new girl at work who recorded desperate housewives for me because she knows I don’t have cable yet, who loves going to the movies and wants to see all the same new releases I do

Tonight I’m headed home to be alone. To burn pumpkin candles and make my apartment feel like home. To try my new recipe and see how it smells. To go through the mail. To wear flannel pants that have been boxed up for a year. To realize that a week like this one doesn’t have to end with my husband. I can be alone without being lonely

I smell sex and candy.

Background info, worth knowing before reading:

Bunny: a nickname. what he always called me. As in “hey, bunny” “where’s my bunny” “I love you, bunny”

I’m a little embarrassed, in retrospect, to admit that I liked it. born out of what, at the time, I deemed sweet and flattering.

He said “bunny rabbits are so fascinating because they have so many different modes, like you.” The cartoon ones are silly, one ear up and one down. Sometimes they have glasses on; that indicates brains, thinking hard. And sometimes, the wild bunnies, hold really still with their noses twitching; observing, aware, ready to run really fast when something scares them. He said that was “his favorite” me, the “scared bunny”—the one he said had her ears and nose twitching, poised somewhere almost out of reach, that he’d have to coax forward; get her ears to go from flat down (scared) to perked up; confident and “sexy” (think playboy bunny; sexy. Object. Conquered.)

So. With that context. Feeling like a shameful broken record for still having this same shit to report. I’m getting bored. Maybe this is getting boring?

Email number one today:

hey, you didn't respond to me.

but offer still stands... how about Sunday night?
don't we have one of those cerfificates for Joeys or Biasettis?

let me know..

awhile back, he bought, for $1 or something, online “certificates” for free dinners at a handful of struggling to survive in the city restaurants. One of his online shortcuts. I think the same website where he bought ten sets of sheets for $10. (which I debated about taking when I moved out and decided I deserved half of. After all, I no longer have free laundry…)

so. What to say about this. it’s multi-layered.

First, “the offer still stands.” As if I were threatened that maybe it had been rescinded?

Second, not only am I not worth a phone call, I’m not worth the price of a dinner? But I’m worth a Sunday night freebie?

And then there’s this, the text message that came hours later:

Bunny!! Where are you? I’ve got treats 4 U. dinner?

And finally, email number two:

I understand. My intentions were exactly as I said: just to catch up. I know you took a long trip recently and wanted to hear about it. I could tell you about my J-lo interview. I can understand, you probably don’t want to talk unless we have “something” to talk about…that’s not what I had in mind..i’m not ready for some big decision discussion or future talk..it was more or less a way to just catch up with how you are doing, what’s been going on, etc..but like I said, I understand your hesitance to not do that..i guess we can skip it on Sunday and just get together when we have more substantive things to talk about.

That’s his interpretation of my silence. I’m waiting. Like a bunny. Nose and ears twitching, waiting for him to reach out and scratch my ears with some “big decision or future talk.” Not a silly cartoon. Not a confident perky-eared playboy. Just a bunny in a field, hopeful and scared and waiting for him to approach with a juicy carrot.

Betta be street if he lookin' at me. I need a soldier

Clogged

I’ve been off the blog a few days and I’m itching. Funny how quickly it’s become part of my routine, how many thoughts spin in the form of ‘need to write this down’ I’m fascinated to learn that people I don’t know have actually read this. who are you? how does that work? It’s a world I’m discovering a few years after the explosion. I love it like reality tv. Only more, because here I feel anonymous, like I’m playing instead of watching in awed horror

Obsessive blogging

The blog that I read every morning before I do ANYTHING else has been blank since Monday. Where are you? what’s going on? Amazing how quickly someone I don’t even know has become part of my rituals, someone I miss without knowing.

Dreams

Lucio used to wake up from vivid violent dreams. If I caught him when he first woke, he’d retell stories of running from persecutors, sticking them with knives, jumping into ‘getaway cars’ and hiding in alleys, sweating; killing cops and hookers. I chalked it up to time spent playing twisted video games where dead bodies were chopped up in garbage grinders and high school girls were killed in locker rooms after basketball practice.

I have friends who wake up from textbook dreams: “I dreamt I was in a one-person kayak on the ocean, fighting giant waves, while a larger kayak, paddled by a team of three, passed me by with ease.” An easy read, full of perfect and beautiful symbols.

Friends who wake up fresh from dramatic chase scenes and heavy love triangles.

Two nights in a row, I’ve woken up (and not gone back to sleep) from a dream that my laptop shut down. What the hell does that say? That it’s time to step outside the world of analyzing phones, administering self-massages to my shoulders from tensely sitting at my computer until it’s too late to go to the gym, reviewing power point slides to make sure I haven’t made a mistake

Saturday sunday

The weekend is approaching and I’m laying plans, largely basing them around appointments for cable installation, a much-needed haircut (bangs or no bangs??) and a birthday party I’ve been invited to as an afterthought. Realizing I miss the days of a weekend that’s built around the absence of plans. A weekend that signals the end of a week like this one. Where waking up for a kickboxing class, a day of he and I running aimless errands, crashing on the couch and going out to dinner is unplanned but just right. A joint venture that isn’t worth retelling but still counts.

Settling and resettling. Constant shifting, highs and lows. it’s something, really, how every day brings at least three ranges of funks and soars. How sometimes it’s a thrill to wake up without knowing where I’ll shower for the day (at home? At the gym? At the office?) and sometimes that decision is paralyzing and worthy of tears.

Dating

The next thing to analyze: match.com. still gathering thoughts. I’ve been encouraged to think about it. I did some preliminary research, wondering how close to ready I am. NOT. I gotta say I don’t think it’s going to work. Profiles full of grammar errors and photos featuring teddy bears, muscle shirts; promises of “walks on the beach,” “cuddling on the couch,” and “moments of comfortable silence,” shit. I read that with a cynical churning stomach. Bring me someone with something harder to read, more spark to flame, something I can’t see for myself at the movies.

Fuck. You. You're gutless.

The last time he picked up the phone to call was about a month ago. The night before i moved out. He wanted to ask me to please not take the leather couch. or the flatscreen tv. and to tell me i could leave some clothes behind if i wanted.

since then, he's forwarded articles he thought i might like to read. he sent me a note to proclaim he's "lost without me to help him remember what nights 'our' shows are on tv" and today, he emailed to ask if i'm free for dinner one night this week. he'd like to "catch up"

I don't remember what his voice sounds like, exactly. But I do remember that one year ago, today, we were sitting in a lighthouse in vancouver, eating mussel stew and talking about the old couple next to the fireplace. honeymooners speculating about our future; wow. that'll be us someday.

Things I haven't had time to analyze as symbols but might when I'm finished with work deadlines:

that i dropped my ipod on the floor and it smashed to pieces. destroying my entire music library in one butterfinger slip. it was a wedding gift.

that i don't remember going to sleep on saturday night but learned in the morning that my mom tucked me in, asked me if i wanted a glass of water. that i think it's the only time in my life i've ever blacked out. it was our anniversary.

that my sister sent me a package in the mail today, goodies from target. she picked out things that complete the set i started for our home a week before i found out about the affair. the down throw i really wanted. a giant coffee mug to match. that we haven't seen each other in too long but she still knows how we'd shop together at target.

that two years ago, i got engaged on the jewish new year. one year ago, i got married on the jewish new year. this jewish new year, i got a kick ass pair of new boots and a new ipod. that technically my family just got smaller but i've never felt a bigger swell of love.

Something I wasn't sure of
But I was in the middle of
Something I forget now

I'm sorry that for some, the torrential rain this afternoon was a rude interruption of an otherwise warm, sunny, early fall Sunday. It came out of nowhere and without warning, probably soaking people on bikes, in shorts, walking dogs

I may be responsible for that. I wished for something that might clean out the corners of this day, cover the ground with a little wet mud.

i did wonder if he'd remember our anniversary. And he did:

Hi.

Hope all is well.. Haven't heard from you in a bit (not that I need constant updates) and just wanted to say something about this weekend.

I know this weekend is going to be weird.

Weird. the man gets paid to write, his words are worth money and the best he can come up with to describe this weekend is weird?

I have mixed feelings about what to do. Of course, I would love to see you but I think that would just be too weird. What would we do talk about what an interesting year we've had?

the whole email is wrought with issues but this might be the worst. mixed feelings about what to do? about what? my suggestion that we get together for dinner? my hopes to reunite and "talk about what an interesting year we've had?"


The timing of all this was pretty shitty.
"All what?"

But I dont want you to think that its not something that I am not thinking of or will acknowledge. I drive by Amalfi all the time and think of what that hotel means to me.

That's the hotel where we stayed on our wedding night. aw look. he's throwing me a bone. don't give up, jess. i'm still thinking about it; i'm still considering it.

I don't know how to be any clearer about this, but last Oct. I was sure of us. I wouldn't have done it if i had doubt.

uh. no.

sure: unquestionably real or true and not in doubt

if you were sure, we'd be crawling into bed together. Now. Celebrating our anniversary.

The way I felt Oct. 2 was very special. Seeing you that day coming down those stairs (thankfully, not tumbling) was amazing. You had to have seen it in my eyes.

Again. somebody pays him to write. this is funny? light humor?

Anyway, just wanted to say hello and tell you that I will miss you this weekend. It's going to be sad being apart.

gee. thanks for thinking of me. no, wait. thanks for thinking to tell me how YOU'RE feeling about the weekend.