Monday- 11-8-2010 6:15 after work burnt out my house Kailua

It’s funny- I struggle with letting anyone close to me. That’s not really a surprise- I always talked a lot but was unconsciously careful about what I revealed. I have always been a social creature, but have been burnt so many times early on that I became very cautious about who I let into my personal space, and how close I let them get. Today I struggle with the idea of a relationship- of that idea as something good- and of the realities that I’ve actually seen first hand.

The older I get, the greater the heartbreak takes a toll. Sometimes I wonder how many heartbreaks I have left in me. I think I can manage a long time alone, but I wonder about how long I can manage under that bleak, black cloud that follows disappointment, and how many more of those I can absorb. Sometimes I think that sounds so pussy- so fucking weak- but sometimes it seems so realistic and reasonable- I’ve always been really good at interpreting what I feel- and right now that logic seems very real.

I’m supposed to meet a girl for dinner this week. I’ve never met her- never seen her- nor she me. Type on a page, she and I. That isn’t a lot to go on. I write well- writers tend to look good in type. That always scares me- no matter how much they liked me on a written page, in person they tend to be either offended by me, or overwhelmed by me, or scared of me, or they just flat don’t like anything about me. In double-spaced 12 point courier font I’m a beautiful romantic, when I want to be. And sometimes I actually am. Rarely, these days- but it happens. In reality I am usually a cynic and a realist- I call a spade a spade, which never seems to be looked upon fondly.

I always struggle with the two ideals of men. The one is to play the game (which I’m not even capable of playing, actually- and for the most part wouldn‘t want to despite any fleshy rewards that might be offered) and telling them what they want to hear. The other is to just be me, and let the chips fall where they may. I always figure that I don’t want to be with someone who is attracted to the person I might act like I am- that’d be work. But truth be told there hasn’t been a lot of interest in a guy like me. Go figure, right? Girls don’t like guys like me who are honest. Guys like me are supposed to tell them all the things they want to hear, and when things fall apart we’re supposed to be real shit heads, and everything gets real ugly and dramatic for everyone involved.

I’m not really down with that. Call me fucked up, call me a dreamer- but I grew up with an idea of how this stuff might be, and I hang onto that naïve paradigm despite the harsh light of reality. Sometimes I think I’m a little like my dad- he was a dreamer, and he hung onto his principles to the bitter end, despite the realities of life- he hung on, no matter what. Maybe it was stupid, maybe it wasn’t- to me it was really good and right, for him- and I respect it. I wish I could be as trusting and loving as he was. Some large part of us is Scott and Irish, and at some point I figure we must make great martyrs. It’s in our blood.

So I guess I’d be a complete pussy if I didn’t go meet this girl. Funny- a couple guys can take the boots to me and I‘ll just curl up and survive- the bouncers can come drag me out in the alley and I will just be perturbed and upset and amused and a little worried- some meatheads might pick a fight with me and I’ll handle it with at the very least a little grace and humor and savoir fair- but make me sit at a table with a girl I don’t know who will undoubtedly expect something from me- now you have my attention, and I‘m completely phobic.

Of course I’ll go. Wish me luck.

This is me being honest about myself, and what I feel. Enjoy it- most of you wont get this all the time.


Aloha- TLH.