HEAD AND SHOULDERS

I’ve been scratching my head lately, and that’s not a good sign. No, it’s not dandruff. It’s women. When it comes to women, I have no fucking clue. None. After another huge misunderstanding, I sat there staring at my laptop, tears forming. I turned to my fiancée, and told her that despite it being 2 a.m., it was time for a workout and a 2-mile run on the treadmill. How *does* my iPod know exactly what to play?

When your day is long, and the night, the night is yours alone.
When you're sure you've had enough… of this life…well hang on.
Don't let yourself go, 'cause everybody cries. And everybody hurts, sometimes ...

Sometimes everything is wrong, now it's time to sing along.
When your day is night alone (hold on, hold on), if you feel like letting go (hold on),
If you think you've had too much… of this life…well hang on.
“Everybody Hurts,” by REM

Are you hanging on for hope? The clock strikes past the hour.
Is the pain enough to choke the life out?
You may never get to sleep. Your time is not your time tonight.
Her smile will make you weak and proud.

Do you ever miss her? Do you feel the cold wind whisper?
Is there anything more deafening?
“Hanging on for Hope,” by New Amsterdams

I have become cumbersome to this world. I have become cumbersome to my girl
Too heavy, too light, too black or too white, too wrong or too right, today or tonight,
Cumbersome

Too rich or too poor, she's wanting me less, and I'm wanting her more,
The bitter taste is cumbersome.
“Cumbersome,” by Seven Mary Three

I’ll be the first to admit, that I keep making mistakes. And I’m sure I’ll keep making them as I relearn how the hell to date women. So yes, I’ll share some blame, but I need to determine if I’m totally to blame? And yes, I’m cryin’ and whinin’ here, but I need some advise here. Hey, that’s what blogs are for, right?

Since last December, I have met some interesting women. You all know my carefree, fearless, go for it Garden State-of-mind attitude. And by all means, I have. But patterns are developing, and I am slow, as usual, to react properly or change behavior. I hate to cheapen these patterns to a poker game, but I feel it’s somewhat apropos.

So here’s the story. It started with Death Moves and has just recently boiled over into utter frustration. The good news is that women *are* contacting me. We email. We IM. We phone. Friendships are formed. And so the poker game begins. We get along. We get familiar with each other. The flirting starts, innocently at first, and then gets hot and heavy. Both sides are equally throwing money into the pot. Nobody is folding. We meet, more flirting, but ultimately she folds. Not even a goodnight kiss.

It starts again. She takes the initiative and finds me. I’m impressed. I return an email. We IM, we phone, a friendship is formed, we get along, we get familiar, we flirt. Once again, innocently at first, and then hot and heavy. The poker pot grows. The flirting grows intense. Dare I say orgasmic? Stakes are raised. I meet her. Her house. Alone. No kids. Wine, cheese, and fruit. There *is* a connection. We seem to hit it off. It gets physical, but ultimately she folds. I go home confused.

And then ultimate confusion. The pattern is similar to previous ‘mistakes.’ A comment. An email. And we’re off and running. Only this time, along with the orgasmic flirting, a serious connection is in the air. Strong bonds are formed. There is daily communication. Is Love in the air? Two problems. Long distance and boyfriend. Both repeat mistakes. True to form, there are serious boyfriend problems. I seem to be what’s missing. I cast my fate to the wind. I offer to fly her down and meet. My luck sucks. There are logistic problems. So I offer to fly and meet her. More logistic problems. We try to work through them.

As if on a tangent, the subject of ‘the sleepover’ is discussed. Her rule, no sleepover on ‘the first date.’ I’m dumbfounded. I’m shocked. I’m confused. I’m disappointed. I don’t look at it as a first date. To say we know each other well, in my opinion, is an understatement. To me, it’s a continuation. Yes, it’s our first meeting, but I don’t look at it as a first date. We don’t agree. She’s concerned with what her parents will think. I understand, but only to a point. It’s a tough choice. Meeting and being with what could be the man of her dreams at the risk of disappointing her parents. Choices. For me, there’s only one choice. I push all my chips into the pot and risk it in what could perhaps be a once in a lifetime opportunity. I hope for the same. I hope I’m a priority. I’m willing to fly, to meet, to spend 100% of my time together. Sleeping over? Yes. I want that. There doesn’t even have to be sex. I want to know what it feels like to simply be together and wake up together. I don’t want to say, “it’s been fun, see you in 12 hours.” I want to pursue a future. Future to me means more than flying thousands of miles for dinner and a movie. It means everything. It means sharing. It means wanting to confirm connections mentally and physically. It means priorities. Big stakes. She folds.

Will I fly? I dunno. The Fool folded. They all fold. I put myself out there totally and completely and they all fold. And this is why I scratch my head. Honestly, I thought this time it would be different. Patterns were similar, but I just thought *this* time, it would be different. I don’t know. Things are different now. Can’t explain it, but *something’s* missing. It’s me. I’m tired of disappointments and lack of reciprocation. I know I’m writing in fragments. I feel fragmented.

The worst part about ending up where I am is this feeling of emptiness. Greek calls it sublimation. I liken it to a diet. Before you decide to go on a diet, you eat what you want, you feel full and contented. When you start that diet, the hardest part is feeling hungry, feeling that emptiness in your stomach, wanting more. That’s what ‘alone’ feels like. Hungry, empty, wanting. OK. Bring on the criticism.

I’m ready for a break. I’m taking a two-week vacation from blogging and dating. More importantly, it’s Spring Break and that means I get to visit with my son. I fly out Wednesday and I’m bringing him home for 10 days. I can’t think of a better way to quell these feelings. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.

PT.