Wading navel-deep in liberal feminism, it's difficult at times to remember the male portion of the gender pool has emotional depth and, sometimes more so than it's female counterpart. I plead guilty on at least 9 previous counts of judging-a-book-by-its-cover, as well as 3 1/2 counts of over-dramatizing a situation as a means of ignoring the feelings of a man. It's hard to raise yourself to be a compassionate soul, especially when bred from bra-burners. Though young, the experiences of my love life (from married at 17 to solo mom in a single bound!) have taught me many things. One thing I know is that a good man (I mean a good man) is hard to find; they are out there, just not in great number. Unfortunately, too many women think that since there did exist a day when the fairer sex could not vote that men should suffer, without complaint. Apparently, I missed the part of my history class where the teacher discussed the unjust oppression of women. I will probably get kicked out of the ol' maids club for this. They might even take away my Bedazzler.
I'll deal.
Showing posts with label stupid cupid. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stupid cupid. Show all posts
I murdered Vera Rivkin
When one meets a man worth blogging about, I suppose there's nothing else to do. Seeing as how I can't stop repeating the fateful story of Mr. Mysterious-So-and-So, I might as well get it out.
It's really not as interesting as it may seem. Except, of course, for the fact that I can't forget him. Attractive, young, and more interested in my son than me. My twitterpated little heart could contain itself all but for an embarassingly silly, and painfully wide, grin. My expression screamed with all blood that ran to my face, "Please ask me for my phone number!" He just kept talking to Richie, furthering my interest. Richie babbled back, an unusual act. If it hadn't seemed strange, even borderline crazy, I might have pinched myself. Instead I made a much smarter choice, I stared. I fully believe in the intuition of children. Absolute innocence lends itself, if to nothing else, than to alert of the slightest bit of evil. I know, evil is such a strong word; in times such as these is it that inappropriate? Richie's detection system sounded no alarm.
I did nothing to perpetuate any sort of future contact. I welcome this blissful memory into oblivion. I do not want to end up feeling so cold that I refuse the warm presence of another person. Yet, I am not willing to begin something I'm not ready to even think of. It is simply refreshing to know the possibility survives, when Nathan can not find the daddy desire for his own son. It's not that I believe the whole fate gimmick to be "real", but what more fitting name to such coincidence? You see, I met Mr. Mysterious-So-and-So while in San Antonio picking up Richie's new crib from Babies "R" Us. Richie needed a new crib because of the previously owned Jardine crib spraining his leg.
Like I said, fate.
It's a pretty idea anyway. Except that when you consider the true nature of "fate" it actually resembles more of a twisted conspiracy. Was Richie doomed to hurt his leg? Even before that, did I maintain the injury by purchasing a defective crib? Or was all this already set in motion the day I got pregnant? After all, babies need cribs. Although, Richie spent months in his crib with no injury at all. Is fate powerful enough to cause physical changes to a piece of wooden furniture? Maybe this began even before that.
Paranoia disguised as such a pretty conspiracy.
I take a peek, now and then, at a snapshot of this life. I look back at the carelessness and the ease with which I offered my heart, to find it twice broken. Everyone I know has a different story. No shock value there. I don't see the big picture as much as moments. They all have their moments. Of course, when the commodity is love and the price is forever, I find my scrutiny falling upon the married. Which happens to be all of my friends; married with children. I could have been like them. I could have married Nathan. I still can't blame him. All my expectations dissolved when I refused his proposal. I assumed so much when I made my choice. Am I smarter since the divorce or just sad? Sadder. It's impossible to say if I made the right choice. All it takes is a kind stranger and I sit alone at night to question a past I can not change.
It's really not as interesting as it may seem. Except, of course, for the fact that I can't forget him. Attractive, young, and more interested in my son than me. My twitterpated little heart could contain itself all but for an embarassingly silly, and painfully wide, grin. My expression screamed with all blood that ran to my face, "Please ask me for my phone number!" He just kept talking to Richie, furthering my interest. Richie babbled back, an unusual act. If it hadn't seemed strange, even borderline crazy, I might have pinched myself. Instead I made a much smarter choice, I stared. I fully believe in the intuition of children. Absolute innocence lends itself, if to nothing else, than to alert of the slightest bit of evil. I know, evil is such a strong word; in times such as these is it that inappropriate? Richie's detection system sounded no alarm.
I did nothing to perpetuate any sort of future contact. I welcome this blissful memory into oblivion. I do not want to end up feeling so cold that I refuse the warm presence of another person. Yet, I am not willing to begin something I'm not ready to even think of. It is simply refreshing to know the possibility survives, when Nathan can not find the daddy desire for his own son. It's not that I believe the whole fate gimmick to be "real", but what more fitting name to such coincidence? You see, I met Mr. Mysterious-So-and-So while in San Antonio picking up Richie's new crib from Babies "R" Us. Richie needed a new crib because of the previously owned Jardine crib spraining his leg.
Like I said, fate.
It's a pretty idea anyway. Except that when you consider the true nature of "fate" it actually resembles more of a twisted conspiracy. Was Richie doomed to hurt his leg? Even before that, did I maintain the injury by purchasing a defective crib? Or was all this already set in motion the day I got pregnant? After all, babies need cribs. Although, Richie spent months in his crib with no injury at all. Is fate powerful enough to cause physical changes to a piece of wooden furniture? Maybe this began even before that.
Paranoia disguised as such a pretty conspiracy.
I take a peek, now and then, at a snapshot of this life. I look back at the carelessness and the ease with which I offered my heart, to find it twice broken. Everyone I know has a different story. No shock value there. I don't see the big picture as much as moments. They all have their moments. Of course, when the commodity is love and the price is forever, I find my scrutiny falling upon the married. Which happens to be all of my friends; married with children. I could have been like them. I could have married Nathan. I still can't blame him. All my expectations dissolved when I refused his proposal. I assumed so much when I made my choice. Am I smarter since the divorce or just sad? Sadder. It's impossible to say if I made the right choice. All it takes is a kind stranger and I sit alone at night to question a past I can not change.
Heads California, Tails California
As of tonight, I am the proud owner of one round trip ticket to the Bay Area. Richie and I will be taking a non-stop flight out of San Antonio to Oakland. In order to spend two weeks with my family and friends, I am making compromise after sacrifice. Neither airport destination is ideal; my preferences are, respectively, Del Rio and San Francisco. My nature dictates that I will fuss, unnecessarily, over every detail of my impending vacation. My fret level has gone from tolerably frantic to insane in the mere hours since I received confirmation. Although, to be honest, I must admit that I am giddy about the whole trip. My bipolar relationship with my home-state has caused an anxiously joyous air.
In an unconscious attempt to ignore my aforementioned mild neurosis, my mind turns to deeper concerns. I have not had any contact with Nathan for less than a week. An eternity's worth of days, but mere days ever still. I hate the part of me that desires to reach out to him. I hate the part of me that cares about whether or not he is affected by my lack of response. I am famously hasty about my communication with him. Has he noticed? I must talk about him to keep from talking to him. My heart sinks with every word that doesn't come from his lips. There is definitely more than a metaphorical correlation between my desire to depart from the aching that keeps my world from turning and my precipitant escape.
In an unconscious attempt to ignore my aforementioned mild neurosis, my mind turns to deeper concerns. I have not had any contact with Nathan for less than a week. An eternity's worth of days, but mere days ever still. I hate the part of me that desires to reach out to him. I hate the part of me that cares about whether or not he is affected by my lack of response. I am famously hasty about my communication with him. Has he noticed? I must talk about him to keep from talking to him. My heart sinks with every word that doesn't come from his lips. There is definitely more than a metaphorical correlation between my desire to depart from the aching that keeps my world from turning and my precipitant escape.
I could hate you, but I don't want to
It's a not-so-typical night in May; the third, to be exact. I am summoning the courage to take a pregnancy test. I know I am not pregnant, but I need confirmation. So, why am I so nervous? I am in the bathroom at my (already pregnant) best friend's apartment, waiting the obligatory three minutes for a second line to not appear.
tick. tock. tick. tock.
No.
It can't be.
"Jennie, this isn't a line...right?" I wonder, now, if my best friend took the time to consider lying to me just before affirming that we were both staring at two pink lines. Yes, the man I had left in the dust of my hasty escape from San Diego, had impregnated me with his drunken sperm. Condoms, depo, alcohol, one man, and one woman; add those variables together, in the right order, and you get a baby. I was surprised at the joy he seemed to get from hearing the news that "we" were expecting. Considering all that had passed between us when we lived together, I decided my astonishment was misplaced.
Why wouldn't he be as elated as I?
One year and six days after the longest conversation Nathan and I had to date, I discovered that the answer would never be what I wanted it to be. Loving him was never easy, but always worth trying for. Eight months later, he still does not have the capability to shock me. As I over analyze the last words between us, I can't imagine how horrible it would be to have a son that I didn't have the chance to meet, as is the case since Nathan was deployed the morning Richie was born. I have to assume that he is afraid of being daddy to a son he's never known, otherwise I find it impossible to fathom his disregard.
Perhaps it was Nathan's absence that sent me into single-parent mode, but I doubt it. With him being enlisted, we were both realistically aware of the time we would spend apart. I don't remember exactly when, or why, I felt that I would be raising our son alone. We started out so right. We had it all figured out. Maybe it was our arrogance that led to this flaming downfall. I could muse about the ups and downs of our relationship until the end of time (and I probably will), but I doubt I will ever understand what actually happened. I doubt he will either.
I never had expectations for Nathan and I. Everyday with him, I felt blessed. I didn't know what could happen, or would. I did feel certain, however, that he would make a good father to our baby boy. My heart breaks in ways I didn't know were possible as I see Nathan throw money at Richie, as though that could somehow compensate for all that he lacks as "daddy". I find myself wondering whether or not men that father children feel any attachment to them at all, beyond obligation. Men (is it more appropriate to say "boys"?) seem to be oblivious to the true nature of creating life. I suspect women would feel a deeper connection as they do carry the child for nine months before the men ever get to meet said child. For all the excuses I can, and do, make for Nathan, I still don't come close to comprehension. My efforts prove to be a mere distraction from the reality that Richie's father is the type of man that demerits parenthood.
My son is barely fourteen months old and already I dread the day he will ask all the questions I will never be able to answer.
tick. tock. tick. tock.
No.
It can't be.
"Jennie, this isn't a line...right?" I wonder, now, if my best friend took the time to consider lying to me just before affirming that we were both staring at two pink lines. Yes, the man I had left in the dust of my hasty escape from San Diego, had impregnated me with his drunken sperm. Condoms, depo, alcohol, one man, and one woman; add those variables together, in the right order, and you get a baby. I was surprised at the joy he seemed to get from hearing the news that "we" were expecting. Considering all that had passed between us when we lived together, I decided my astonishment was misplaced.
Why wouldn't he be as elated as I?
One year and six days after the longest conversation Nathan and I had to date, I discovered that the answer would never be what I wanted it to be. Loving him was never easy, but always worth trying for. Eight months later, he still does not have the capability to shock me. As I over analyze the last words between us, I can't imagine how horrible it would be to have a son that I didn't have the chance to meet, as is the case since Nathan was deployed the morning Richie was born. I have to assume that he is afraid of being daddy to a son he's never known, otherwise I find it impossible to fathom his disregard.
Perhaps it was Nathan's absence that sent me into single-parent mode, but I doubt it. With him being enlisted, we were both realistically aware of the time we would spend apart. I don't remember exactly when, or why, I felt that I would be raising our son alone. We started out so right. We had it all figured out. Maybe it was our arrogance that led to this flaming downfall. I could muse about the ups and downs of our relationship until the end of time (and I probably will), but I doubt I will ever understand what actually happened. I doubt he will either.
I never had expectations for Nathan and I. Everyday with him, I felt blessed. I didn't know what could happen, or would. I did feel certain, however, that he would make a good father to our baby boy. My heart breaks in ways I didn't know were possible as I see Nathan throw money at Richie, as though that could somehow compensate for all that he lacks as "daddy". I find myself wondering whether or not men that father children feel any attachment to them at all, beyond obligation. Men (is it more appropriate to say "boys"?) seem to be oblivious to the true nature of creating life. I suspect women would feel a deeper connection as they do carry the child for nine months before the men ever get to meet said child. For all the excuses I can, and do, make for Nathan, I still don't come close to comprehension. My efforts prove to be a mere distraction from the reality that Richie's father is the type of man that demerits parenthood.
My son is barely fourteen months old and already I dread the day he will ask all the questions I will never be able to answer.
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