i have a bad habit of falling madly in love
tallahassee, florida
—-
Dear You,
I purposely took the long way home tonight, just to avoid driving by
your house, even though it would have saved me a good three miles. I
accidentally drove by it earlier tonight, but I pretended I had never
been to the house and didn’t know who lived there. I didn’t even look
at it.
I drove around blasting Dr. Dre, hoping intensely that I was
irritating the people in their homes that were having their romantic
Valentine’s Day dinners. The anger and cavalier attitude about all
things morose in the music fit my mood. I was feeling very numb. Numb
to the biting cold, I wasn’t wearing a coat. Numb to the traffic, I
pretty much just followed the person ahead of me and hoped I was
making the correct maneuvers to get me where I needed to go. Numb to
my crumbling emotions, that were by the minute shutting down more and
more my exhausted core.
It isn’t your fault you don’t feel the way I feel about you. I have a
bad habit of falling madly in love with the very people who would not
have me in a million years. Maybe I do it on purpose. I think you do
it too. Therefore I cannot be angry with you. But right now anger is
the only emotion I’m having that’s actually having an effect on me.
I had to stop at CVS to buy cat food, because there was none at home
and I did not want the cats to in fact eat ME. I pulled into the
parking lot and there was a black Impala with the darkest tinted
windows I had ever seen, and it hesitated for a moment as I got out of
my car, like they were watching me. I literally rolled my eyes at the
car and thought “I’d really like you to try and accost me for any
reason. I have some anger I need to take out on someone.” But they
drove away.
I walked inside and headed directly for the cat food. A couple was
browsing the Valentine’s candy (at 11:30pm, yet one more slap in the
face on this wretch-inducing holiday) and a weird man was browsing the
isle next to mine. He immediately looked up as I walked past, his eyes
got large, and he fumbled with whatever he was holding. He walked over
to my isle and looked at me, eager to say something. I shot him the
dirtiest look I could muster and I thought, “Buddy, if you talk to me
right now you’re going to get an earful. I don’t care what kind of
insightful sagacity you have to impart on me, I will slice you from
your throat to your groin with a letter opener from the stationary
isle.”
I paid for the food and got into the car. My mind had a brief flash of
the black Impala, and I turned to the back seat to make sure one of
its occupants wasn’t waiting for me with a Valentine’s Day gift. I
imagined what I would say had there been such a person behind me, and
after another eye-roll and a long sigh it would have been “Oh just
fucking great. A wonderful end to this day. And what the FUCK do you
want? You do realize that the victim you’ve chosen for robbery or rape
and possibly murder is an overweight hairdresser with $400 in the bank
and a waning fear of death and whatever you have in store for me
tonight would probably be great entertainment compared to how my life
has been going thus-far…”
My imagination is one of the things that keeps me going. Instead of
having to face this drab reality at a constant measure, I am able to
imagine the wonderful things I’ve written about tonight. I’m so glad
that to keep me from growing tired of a lonely, love-lorn life of
solitude, I am able to visit my friends like the rapists who wait in
my back seat for me to belittle their choice of victims, and the weird
men in CVS who probably wouldn’t talk to me if I were their mother. I
just love my mind, it really helps when times are bad.
I don’t blame you for not giving me a chance. I wouldn’t give me a
chance. I wouldn’t let me cut my hair, even. But if you think I’m
going to want to hang out with you all the time and be nice to you
constantly and jeopardize all my fucking time, you can forget it.
Would you want to spend all your free time with the object of your
adoration, if that object only thought of you as much as he thought of
an ACTUAL object, say, a tea kettle. Or a pencil. Maybe even a wire
hanger?
I’m going to get over this. It won’t be easy. Not because of you, but
because I’ve repeated this pattern a hundred times and every time I
think I’m out of it… Every time I think I actually like someone who
might have the slightest chance of feeling the same way about me…
Every time I think I might be on the right track to feeling better
about my life and having someone there to care for me and having
someone to CARE for… It goes nowhere. Straight into the crapper.
Besides, you’re just a poor imitation of your brother, who isn’t
interested in me romantically either, but at least I already knew that.
Sincerely, XXXX
(p.s That’s how I actually spell my name. You couldn’t even get
it right in my REJECTION LETTER.)