Romance? Ha!

When we first reconnected (that is after he realized who I was), Charlie asked me a series of questions about Bridget. He was trying to flesh out her character, and on some level, I think he was trying to figure out my motivation to open communication with him after all these years. Were my intentions devious? Was I trying to trap him in some way? What exactly did I expect?

The honest answer: I didn't know. 

Maybe it was more of that self-sabotage stuff. I thought he would confirm what Todd had told me about him (and about me) for all these years -- that he had just been playing a game to get in my pants -- that the intense connection I thought we had was just my once over-active imagination, delusional thinking. I thought he might negate that sliver of a belief that we had shared something real (and that it therefore might be possible again with another someday). Maybe he would prove me to be the fool once and for all -- put me in my place as an unlovable joke, and cause me to never again waste a moment on unrealistic desires. 

One of the questions he asked to figure out the Bridget character was, "Does she read romance novels?" Since I am Bridget, that was an easy one to answer. I told him of my disdain for romance novels -- they only set us up for disappointment. And that old adage: "Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall not be disappointed," is the easy way out, so I take it again and again. Lower the expectations, numb the heart so it cannot be broken.

As I'm attempting to learn more about myself through Bridget, however, I continued to consider that question. The immediate answer that had popped into my head when asked if Bridget liked romance novels, was, "No, unless by 'romance' you mean..." And then I ran through a string of unlikely titles, like "Fight Club," "The Hours," "Fried Green Tomatoes," "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," and "The Shining." What started out as a bit of a joke of a list, got me thinking about what I did see as a romantic story. I started to realize that the only romance I could believe was tragedy. "Romeo and Juliet" and other such stories in which the characters realize too little, too late.... 

Last night I was in one of those hopeless places. The riff between my eldest daughter and I, although cordially "okay," continued to bother me. And then her boyfriend (fiancee, actually) made a comment that was meant to be helpful, but just ended up compounding my stress level (which was already teetering on edge of sending me to the ER). I just wanted it to all be over with. 

Thinking of how all the times I had been tempted to "off" myself, I had fought the urge for the sake of my kids, I now found myself dwelling on all the ways my "trying" to make things right failed and fell short, on what a disappointment I was even to my own kids.... The effort I had put into sticking it out now seemed as ridiculously insufficient as my efforts to move forward.

Romance? Ha! Unlikely. The last thing I wanted was to be with anyone. I'd rather be alone, numb, but free from pain. Free from feeling. 

But that's not entirely true. That sliver of hope remains, mocking apparent reality, peeking through the crusted scabs of slashed wrists (metaphorically speaking).

This is as romantic as I can get for the time being (and even this is a stretch)...

Mommy, Can I Keep Him?

Those stories about kids who bring home stray animals are so romantically charming to me. I used to fantasize about being like that, but in reality I was always a bit of a fraidy-cat.

In junior high, however (having wasted away my childhood years when such behavior would have been more understandable), I found a baby field mouse in the middle of the street, and rescued the little darling. I named it "Tucker," bathed it in a Dixie-cup, and held a funeral in the backyard the next day when my dear personal pet passed away. Yes, I was aware that it was not normal for a girl my age to even think about touching a mouse, let alone bring one home, swaddle and sing lullabies to it... but that was all the more reason to do it. I delighted in being a bit odd.

So, even though I never had the guts to be a St. Francis of Assisi (and in reality, I don't like having to deal with the messes animals make), I've still managed to do a bit of collecting that fulfills that romanticized ideal.

My most recent collectible is my "therapist." Why the quotation marks? you may ask, thinking it fairly logical that a nutcase like me would have a therapist. Well, perhaps I should, but I can't afford one, and I'm too lazy to go out and get one, and I could go on and on with excuses. But even if I don't have a therapist, that doesn't mean I can't have a "therapist." Let me explain what difference the quotation marks make:

myspace. It's a virtual world where I suspect an awful lot'a people do an awful lot'a things they wouldn't necessarily do in the real world. It's also a wonderful place to become intimate "friends" with people we don't even know. I don't accept friend requests from people I haven't actually met or had "some" connection with in the real world, but sometimes the definition of connection gets a bit warped. I've accepted a lot of requests from old classmates simply because we have friends in common and I don't want to be a snob, but some of them I really don't remember.

One particular request came from Dirk. I didn't remember him, so I looked him up in the yearbook. Okay, the face was familiar. I'm not sure I EVER spoke with him in college. He was cute, cool, talented... and I was shy. But he was requesting me now, so maybe he really did remember me (or maybe he was just requesting all the fellow alumni he could find.) Either way, I saw no harm in adding him to the collection of distant acquaintances (most who just remain silent and weirdly "there" on my friends list). In that manner, Dirk and I became "friends."

It wasn't long before I learned (from his frequent myspace posts) that he was a psychologist. Cool. He posts a lot of self-help, reflection type stuff. I'd read, but I didn't comment on it because I figured we didn't really know each other... but then one day, he posted a comment on an old photo of me, indicating that he found it... um, attractive, I guess... and wondered why we didn't know each other better then. That conversation kind of broke the ice, and I started reading and commenting occasionally on his reflections.

He also posted music videos and through some of the things he posted I learned that we had a little bit of a rebellious streak in common. He took note of some of the poetry I posted and through all of this, I learned that he had an understanding about relationships that has actually helped me sort through some of the struggles I have in my marriage. His self-help was helping me mainly by letting me know that I'm not alone in the struggles. He's had quite a few of his own (being a divorcee) and had even more of others (his clients) to observe and learn from. I made a joke once about "using" random encounters with him on myspace to elicit free therapy. He chided me for that, yet has continued to dialogue with me.

myspace is weird though... things aren't always as private as a person might think, and one day, Todd noticed a comment I had made on one of Dirk's posts, and since Dirk's profile is public, Todd saw it there and HE posted a comment on it, too. Then Dirk friend-requested Todd (Dirk's a bit of a friend-collector.) Not that I was doing anything wrong, but it was a little weird--like a line of etiquette had been crossed that left me uncomfortable. My husband and my therapist (I mean, "therapist") -- isn't there a conflict of interest there? I guess there wouldn't be if we were "in therapy" together (couple's counseling--which I know we probably need, but Todd's clueless and I'm too non-confrontational to suggest it.) So, did I feel like my "client confidentiality" was in jeopardy? or did I feel like Todd might interpret some of my banter with Dirk as flirting? I mentioned it to a friend, and she said, "Maybe you need to find a new therapist."

"No!" I thought, "I want to keep this one!" And suddenly I felt like that silly girl bringing home a field mouse, just because it remotely resembled something she romanticized about (like I often think I *should* be in therapy), and because it was a slightly weirder version of the normal ideal (like Dirk is a little too much the "bad boy" I would be tempted to flirt with to really be a 100% trust-worthy counselor.)

So, I'm thinking, I guess I just like playing with fire (or mice?) I should probably just take Dirk to the side of a wide open field and say, "Run, Tucker, run!" But, I want to keep him. I like having my pet "therapist" and I fantasize that he's actually helping me, when in reality, he's probably just entertaining me.