Sunday, December 17, 2006

"He's Not Over Her....you IDIOT"

Ladies, listen to your Mando Mama, now. (And fellas, look, nothing personal. This one is mostly for my sistahs, but if you’ve got anything helpful to add, don’t hold back. After all, we’re all in this big adventure of life together, right? Ok, then.)

Back in July, I met someone wonderful. He is funny, very bright, highly creative, passionate, adorable, extremely individualistic, musical, intuitive, and, I’m guessing, still in love with his last girlfriend. Always a bummer.

Men who seem to like you don’t tell you stuff like that on the second date. Or the third. Or the sixth. Or any time during the two hour phone conversations over the course of several months. Funny how it slips the mind.

There were, of course, any number of opportunities I could have taken to avoid this last debacle. The signs are more than a little obvious, and I had a few in particular.

The first one was my big chance to get away while I still could. After dinner and a stroll, we sat in a park and talked for almost two hours. During the course of the conversation I asked, “So would you go back to her?” The answer: he probably would.

HELLLLLLOOOO.

Right then and there, I should have thanked him for dinner and headed to my car like my butt was on fire. But I didn’t. Instead we spent another five hours hanging out and talking over glass after glass of wine.

HELLO.

But things were cool, going kind of slow, and I grooved on that. He seemed like a good friend and genuinely supportive. When things picked up a little I expected some backsliding because he's a student in an accelerated program. I wasn’t asking the guy to move in with me, call me every day, spend every free minute with me, marry me. We just hung out when we could, and talked a whole lot. And it was cool.

Then sometime around Thanksgiving, he had visitation with his two border collies, whose primary residence is with his ex, who from what I can determine, is a very talented artist and teacher. It would be easy to understand getting over a wonderful person like that.

I sure would like to know what went on that day, because after that point, that’s about all there was. Offers to hang out were ignored, albeit apologized for, and then, the grand finale, The Big Shove, the Sylvester Plath approach (the breakup by poem previously referred to).

Fellas, let me be clear. I do understand how painful it can be to try to forget someone. This person spent a lot of years with an exceptional woman who I personally would be thrilled to know, and would have recruited had I known she was out there. I spent less than two years in my last serious relationship, and even though the guy lived 350 miles away it was still hard as hell to get over it. But I knew it was over, so, I chose to move beyond it and to keep moving forward.

I also read recently that the experience of rejection actually has a physical impact on us, that it is physically painful. I believe that, too. And if all that weren’t bad enough, it can take one year of healing for every year a person was in the relationship that’s being grieved over. So, for a relationship that lasted say, 12 years, it can take, um, 12 years. For some. I’m just sayin’ for some. Lucky for me, this one only lasted six months--well, my part of it, anyway.

I wasn’t looking for Any Big Deal. I’m not looking for some damn Knight in Shining Armor to ride in on a fancy horse and fix anything (although I do have a busted drawer in my kitchen). I hate that kind of attention. In the last week, my car busted an axle on the way to drop my daughter at school, my computer died at work, there was a death in the family, I had to send back a brand new computer I'd gotten for the kids for Christmas so I could pay for the car, and right now, the City of Cleveland Department of Water is across the street fixing a main break and I have no water. Now, the ex did coincidentally score a decent computer from an office lottery and that's very helpful. Other than that, I'm not laying in traffic or pining away for a partner when life gets a little tiresome. I love my life, the space in it, and the fact that I’ve made it this far with little help aside from the generous attention and support my ex gives our kids. (And let’s face it, that’s also exceptional in this day and age, and I do not take it for granted one bit.)

Now, if some guy stumbles across my path who’s an intellectual equal and can make me laugh as hard and smile as much as this last guy did, but who isn’t afraid of my life or my zeal for living and giving, I hope he sings and plays an instrument. We could have a real fun time. Real human love? That would be ok, too, after a while, and I have it in me, I guess. It seems I’m really built to take a lot of crap, and for a good man, I know my heart will find a way to open up.

Meanwhile, I learned a lot. For example, turns out that anxious little feeling inside wasn’t a flight response emanating from a fear that I’d disappoint him, or some other deep-rooted psychological issue. More likely it was my gut trying to tell me, “CRIPE, are you even LISTENING? He’s still in love with the mother of his dogs. Honey, you better run like your butt is on fire.”

But I didn’t, and I’ve now paid the devil with the love that went wasted.

So we’re even.

As I’ve wandered through the fog of what I’m supposed to be doing with my life on a musical level, more and more I am turning back toward my primary instrument, voice. I’m a singer. And I need to tell myself that being a singer can be enough. Somehow I feel like I’m not enough if all I do is sing. If I’m not also a multi-instrumentalist then I’m falling short somehow. Not true.

This ballad is a classic tearjerker country blues ballad and it’s really quite fun to sing, stylistically speaking. It just oozes heartache. Every time I’ve heard it over the last few months I’d brush it aside, kind of like that beautiful “High Hill” I posted a couple nights ago. I wasn’t brave enough to do anything about how I felt, but I always knew somehow that there was never any room in that heart for me. I’ll never ignore that little voice again. In fact, when I get a chance, I’m gonna let her sing through this tune with everything she’s got, and break every heart in the house. I'm sorry you don't get the killer chorus in this clip, but you do get most of the first verse. I highly recommend a visit to iTunes or of course the full-blown Sugar Hill Retrospective featuring this recording by Carl Jackson. (No, I'm not over the Sugar Hill thing. There are 81 songs and I've only hit on about five of them in this blog, so deal with it.)

Though this post was my friendly advice to womankind, I dedicate it to the emotionally unavailable men I’ve loved, and the women they just can’t seem to leave behind. Here’s to ehhhhhhhhhvery body moving on already.

I’m Not Over You

Tonight the rain that’s fallin’ only adds to my heartache
It runs quietly down my window, like the tears upon my face
And each time the lightnin’ flashes, and I hear the thunder roll
I’m reminded of the closin’ of the door

I’m not over you
The storm still rages
The waves of pain remind me that we’re through
I’m slowly drowning
In a sea of endless heartbreak
I’m going under
‘Cause I’m not over you

I keep holding to your memory, but my hopes are sinkin’ fast
The chance that you’ll come back to me, now fades into the past
Can I find a way to let you go somewhere down deep inside
By reaching for the healin’ hand of time

I’m not over you
The storm still rages
The waves of pain remind me that we’re through
I’m slowly drowning
In a sea of endless heartbreak
I’m going under
‘Cause I’m not over you

I’m goin’ under
‘Cause I’m not over you

1 Comments:

At August 29, 2008 3:24 AM, Blogger hurtingheart said...

same situation as me, though i was fool enough to stay with him, even marry him. he still has pics of her, and her and him on his computer, just yesterday i found he had pics and a short vid of a porn start that looks almost identical to her, she even has the same nickname he had for her. (had to double check to make sure it wasnt the same person). poem couldnt be truer.

 

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