Two weeks ago, I met Melisa.  One week ago, we began spending a lot of time together.  Here, now, she’s in an airport in Houston, heading to Vegas for the weekend.  I’m moving, in process of divorcing Cynthia.  And I’m amazed, and overwhelmed, and scared, and happier than I can remember being in who knows how long.

Note the parallels between this and L.A. Story, as far as the endings and beginnings and closures.  Note the weird parallels between the opening scenes of me and Melisa, and me and Melissa, with the immediate attraction and the weekend trip.

(Both are very minor in connection, but worth mentioning, if only for hte sake of appreciating synchronicity)

Two weeks ago, I was ready to be a bachelor in the most vile sense of the word.  Now, I can stop imagining possible futures and the vast potentials I see with Melisa.

Of course, there’s reason to question and doubt all this.  My history is littered with this exact line of thinking, with intensity, with me letting my heart take the wheel.  And while I might deserve criticism for such (and, at least at this moment, I look back on some of the past and wince; the words alone make me feel like, even at this age, I’m trapped in the thought processes of a 15 year old), I don’t regret it. I suspect that most people are lucky to feel once in their lives, if at all, what I’ve allowed myself to experience repeatedly.  And sure, as Stacy says, it’s the mindset of a lust junkie.  But you know, that rush is pretty heady and wonderful. Why not allow yourself to give in?

The answer to that, of course, is found in a trail of broken hearts.  Fortunately, people heal, and I like to think that, over time, whatever pain I’ve caused, on top of being temporary, was tempered or perhaps even balanced out with contributing to their lives, to enriching their thinking, to opening doors or helping to heal wounds — something positive.

But — and I’ve not looked back to ensure that I’m correct here, but I’ll go with my gut and trust my self-awareness — Melisa is significantly different from the past women (and girls, to be honest).  Notably: she and I are, from what I can see and as much as I would ever think it possible, kindred spirits. It’s eerie, frankly, the parallel thinking and history and outlook and perspective.  And I’ve spent so long learning to love and appreciate and enjoy being myself, it’s not hard at all to understand how I feel about her.

For the second time ever — and this is after consideration that I say it (the only other example in my head is Melissa, though I could imagine that, if my memory was worth a damn, I might see Maria in this as well) — I’m attracted to / falling for someone who doesn’t need me to save them. I think  that my hero complex (I need to remember to look that up; there’s gotta be a term for that) has served me well in the past, and helped me shape a lot of myself as well as help others, but it has left me carrying too much weight, in relationships.  As much as my little martyr complex likes the idea of being to carry to weight of two people on my shoulders — and I do believe that I’m more capable of doing so than most — I can’t keep doing it.  I’m nowhere near where I think I should be (and I have no idea where I should be in this life, but I instinctively feel like that place is way ahead of where I am), and I’ve started to resent people around me for it.

Melisa is different because I view her as an equal.  I don’t know how long it’s been since I viewed anyone around me — male or female — as such.  And there’s arrogance there, okay, but maybe deserved?

Hello, me.  Shut the fuck up. I’m working shit out here.

She’s passionate about music like no one I’ve ever met. She’s funny, and she laughs with me. She’s intelligent. She’s absolutely beautiful. Laid back. Honest and open and communicative. She mysterious without being so intentionally.  She’s amazing in the bedroom. I feel challenged with her. We talk without any end in sight, and without the need for distractions (has that ever happened?  Again, falling memory, but I don’t think so). Looking into her eyes is like looking into the sun, and her kiss is like the moment between a breath and a scream.

I’m losing thoughts.  I really wish my brain didn’t work this quickly, or that I could type 18,000 words a minute…

I think that maybe the timing of all this — not so much her weekend away, though certainly that on a microcosm; but with the divorce, the fact that we have to take it slow[er than usual] is maybe the universe’s way of assuring me that this is everything that I think it is. Or maybe ensuring that I appreciate it all, that I take it all in, that I remember all the lessons of the past 37, almost 38 years.

I questioned the timing — how can I possibly jump from Cynthia to Melisa with such intensity, over such as negligible time frame? — but then I realized that, for all intents and purposes, Cynthia and I have been little more than roommates who once shared some interest for a year or so.

I’ve not felt this alive in — how long?  Everything seems so much more intense: smells, sights, the sound of music, the feeling of fall air, the buzz that comes with too little sleep, the touch of her hands on me, the excitement of the now and the curiosity of the future.

And maybe, too, the fear, that feeling that I haven’t felt in a very, very long time. Had I shut myself off from the rest of the world, to protect myself, and in doing so cut off some of my senses? Or was I just not so attached to the ideas and souls around me?

On one hand, the answer matters, for my curiosity and passion for knowledge. On the other, it doesn’t matter at all, because when she’s near me or in my thoughts — which is most of the time — I feel like everything is finally falling into place.  That I’m finally getting the rewards that I’ve worked and suffered for.

What happens next? I don’t know.  History would suggest that there’s a period of intensity followed by contentment followed by a strong sense of “time to move on”.  But there are already cracks in the foundation of “going by experience” — some utterly minor, some overwhelmingly huge — that I’m not afraid to ignore those thoughts.

It all feels, whatever else, real and right.

Of course, if we are as much alike as it seems, then she’s having the same thoughts, and the same fears.  So does that make it more likely to work out, with double the awareness? Or do we double the odds that one of us will get bored?

I suppose I owe it to myself to consider these things, if only to avoid getting blindsided. But I’m also determined to feel hope, because I can see us as unstoppable, the envy of anyone who’s ever dreamed of an ideal love.

And, too, there’s this, perhaps the most important part of the equation: I’ve found someone who could, very easily, end up being the best friend that I’ve always wanted to know existed. And maybe that’s all that really matters, and the rest is the most excellent icing on the perfect cake.

It’s time to stop listening to the voices inside that other people have put there, the voices that talk about what should be done, the rules, the right way.  Those voices have never in my past worked for me or made me either happy or who I am.  It’s time for me to give the wheel back to my gut, my instinct, my heart, and revel in all of this. The over-analysis will continue, I’m sure, because that’s me, but that’s okay, because the little discoveries tucked in the folds of our conversations and my considerations of her have already surpassed any other person’s in my life.

Too good to be true?  I think maybe Melisa might be proof that there’s no such thing.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cMU316ixzc0]

You’re just too good to be true.
Can’t keep my eyes off you.
You feel like heaven to touch.
I wanna hold you so much.
At long last love has arrived
And I thank God I’m alive.
You’re just too good to be true.
Can’t take my eyes off you.

Pardon the way that I stare.
There’s nothing else to compare.
The sight of you makes me weak.
There are no words left to speak,
But if you feel like I feel,
Please let me know that it’s real.
You’re just too good to be true.
Can’t take my eyes off you.

I love you, baby,
And if it’s quite alright,
I need you, baby,
To warm the lonely nights.
I love you, baby.
Trust in me when I say:
Oh, pretty baby,
Don’t bring me down, I pray.
Oh pretty baby,
Now that I found you, stay
And let me love you, baby.
Let me love you.

You’re just too good to be true.
Can’t keep my eyes off of you.
You feel like heaven to touch.
I wanna hold you so much.
At long last love has arrived
And I thank God I’m alive.
You’re just too good to be true.
Can’t take my eyes off of you.

I love you baby,
And if it’s quite alright,
I need you, baby,
To warm the lonely nights.
I love you, baby.
Trust in me when I say:
Oh, pretty baby,
Don’t bring me down, I pray.
Oh pretty baby,
Now that I found you stay
And let me love you, baby.
Let me love you…

Don’t be afraid
Open your mouth to say
Say what your soul sings to you

Your mind can never change
Unless you ask it to
Lovingly rearrange
The thoughts that make you blue
The things that bring you down
Will mean no harm to you
And so make your choice joy
The joy belongs to you

And when you do
You’ll find the one you love is here
You’ll find you
The love yeah

Don’t be ashamed no
To open your heart and pray
Say what your soul sings to you

So no longer pretend
That you can’t feel it near
That tickle on your hand
That tingle in your ear
And ask it anything
Because it loves you dear
It’s your most precious king
If only you could hear

And when you do
You’ll find the one you need is here
You’ll find you
Love you

–What Your Soul Sings, Massive Attack

When good things happen to us, we become suspicious, questioning the veracity of the moment.  We wonder if what’s in front of us is too good to be true.  We seek out the catch, the fine print, the hidden price for what’s being offered us.

When bad things happen, we may question, “Why me?” but we accept that the bad things happen.  It’s an every day occurance.

I lost my wallet.  Damn it.  I guess that’s just the way it goes.

You want to offer me a great deal on the car that I want — in fact, need, as my old beater finally gave up the ghost?  Okay: what am I not seeing? What are you going to pull on me here?

Why do we do this?  Do we not deserve the good things in life?  Do we bring so much bad on ourselves that the good seems undeserved?

I’m as guilty as anyone else of this, but I’d like to not be. I don’t want to be suspicious of the good things in my life.

It took me a long time and a fair amount of effort to get past the point of stressing about things I can’t control. I realized that I was missing out on a lot of the present by either obsessing about the past or worrying about the future — one which I can’t change, and one over which I have very little control — and so I fixed that.  But now I wonder how much I might be passing up in the world because I think I don’t deserve it, or that it goes against the rules and expectations set up by society-at-large.

Especially given my proclivity to ignore those same rules and expectations.

Little by little, I’m learning, I think, how to make a world that is, if not better, then at least a little happier.

What would you do if you met yourself?

Would you like yourself?  Would you be interested in hanging out with yourself, having a beer?  Would the conversation be fascinating, or would you be bored in minutes? When the night was over, would you hope to see yourself again, or would you give anything to avoid that awkward situation?

Yes, I’m aware of the stunning amount of narcissism inherent in this line of thinking.  Shut up.

After my first divorce, years and years and a lifetime gone by, I realized that I had a tenuous grasp of my own identity. I had spent so much time trying to make other people happy (thinking that that was the key to my own peace of mind) that, when left alone with no one else to please, I didn’t really know myself at all. I’ve spent the last fifteen or so years trying to understand myself — not just knowing who I am and what I like and don’t like, but the underlying reasons and causes for why I am who and what I am.  I’ve tried to figure out the pieces of myself that I don’t like, and to discard those pieces.

And contrary to my above statement, I don’t really see this as a mark of vanity.  I think understanding yourself, a sense of self-awareness, is incredibly important to understanding those around you, and your interactions and relationships with them. Of course, as always, the more I learn, the more I know I don’t know shit.  Mileage may vary.  Caveat emptor.  Slow: falling rocks…

For me, over these past years, this self-examination has been largely key to my happiness and optimism (cynical though that optimism may be colored).  I’m perfectly content being alone, which means that I’m not constantly on the hunt for validation through attention from others.  When alone, I have plenty to do, and I enjoy my own company.  When not alone, I don’t have to question the motivations of others, or of myself.  There’s an honesty to my own behavior (and I think of those I choose to be around) that I can distinctly say was not there in my “other” life, pre-questioning.

They say that opposites attract.  I get that, to a degree.  There’s a lot you can learn (and I do so love learning, often) from someone different than you.  But it seems so much more obvious to me that — in the long term, at least — having friends and lovers that are alike would make more sense. Not identical, obviously — you’ve already got one you to hang out with, from here until the day you are no more.  But identical enough that there’s an inherent understand, shared passions, similar belief structures; a foundation upon which you can explore your differences and learn new things and experience the unfamiliar and (hopefully) unexpected.

Real self-awareness — the kind that is meaningful to yourself — requires that you ditch the rose-colored glasses. The side benefit of that is an ability to view life the same way, to admit that things aren’t perfect, to see the flaws.  The important follow-up is realizing that, in your acceptance of your own imperfections, you can find the ability to accept and even embrace the imperfections of those around you.  You become aware from the beginning that this isn’t some mirage or illusion, and the early acceptance of reality can keep that same reality from making a sudden sharp intrusion into your fantasy.

Kurt Vonnegut’s Timequake deals with the idea of having to relive, moment for moment, action for action, the past ten years as a passenger in your own body.  Just as he posits that you might consider living your live in such as way that the unpleasant moments you would have to relive are kept to a minimum, it seems important to me that you become the kind of person you would be okay spending an evening, a week, a year, a lifetime with.  Because that’s the reality of situation: no matter how much you may (even successfully)  distract yourself, eventually it’s going to come down to you, yourself and you. Shouldn’t you be okay with that thought?

I know I’m not there, yet, but I’m getting closer every day.

Sometimes, writing very angry things down on paper is all that you need to do.  Sometimes, typing them onto a screen over the course of two hours — two very bitter, angry, black-metal fueled hours — and then re-reading your words, and then highlighting them all and hitting delete is all you need.

Rather than go over the same ground that I’ve beaten into a concrete floor, I will simply say to the people in my life that have never taken me for granted, or tried to make me feel guilty for their self-imposed problems (knowing full well that I feel in no small part responsible for the well-being of those around me, for better or worse), or lied to me to get their spoiled bitch way: thank you.

To the others, who probably don’t think this applies to them: I know who you are, even if you don’t.

——-

On a lighter note: if you really want to drive your blog’s traffic up, post a topless picture of Phoebe Cates (specifically, from Fast Times at Ridgemont High) in one of your rants.  (The daily traffic here — or more probably, just to that one post — has gone up, I shit you not, about 3000% in the past few weeks, and after eight years, I’m pretty confident that it’s not my writing.)

From the BBC:

Imagine if you could see time laid out in front of you, or surrounding your body. And you could physically point to specific dates in space.

Important dates might stand out – birthdays, anniversaries. And you could scan a visible timeline – to check if you were available – whenever you made plans. No actual diary necessary.

Most people dont wish for any more mental anomolies than they already have, but I wouldn’t mind having synasthestia.  If anyone knows where I can pick some up…