Or at least it has been associating with some odd ducks.
Or some strange fucks.
Or some hard lucks...?
Nah, make that hard fucks.
I had an epiphany last night.
I think I need to jumpstart my brain using...
now, don't freak out--
Or whatever the kids are calling it these days.
Some black-eyed peas, or something.
Something totally outside my realm of comfort.
I mean, hell, if my 5 year old can say, "Oh snap!"
I suppose I can listen to some...crap.
I usually like it ok when it's playing.
I just don't find it very...thought-provoking.
And my thoughts seem awfully over-provoked at the moment.
Or revoked, perhaps.
So maybe that's the answer.
The problem, of course, is that I would rather just go buy some of the CDs I used to have...
I love music I know.
It warms me from the under-side of my skin, and sometimes it sends me to places I can't reach any other way.
I'll probably forget all about it before I get around to doing anything about it.
it was only an epiphany.
So I was prowling around Classmates dot com recently,
and sent a little message to my first boyfriend.
I won't bother with the details right now, but the gist is this:
(switch the order of that, would ya? thanks.)
first...crushing death of my heart, my hopes, my dreams...
we were together for 2.5 years, which is an enternity for teenagers, n'est ce pas?
He joined the Marine corps,
and was living in DC;
a year later I went to byu, in utah.
At that point, we decided I should date other people for a bit, before we got married, since I had never dated anyone else.
It was probably time for us to move on, anyway, but it's hard to do when you're in love and far away.
So, through a series of horrifying phone calls to the group phone at his barracks, I discovered (by accident) that he had gotten married.
He never even admitted he was dating anyone else the whole first semester.
At Christmas he was supposed to come to my house, since his family had moved to Seattle.
(great, I just erased the rest of this. stupid laptop mouse.)
It was February or so when I made the call and was met with his wife's voice.
Ok, I lied...I had my friend call.
It was the most devastating moment of my life.
I cried until I puked.
I cried myself to sleep for months.
I cried at every love song--
they had all been written for us.
I was convinced that I would never be loved again (as are we all after the first breakup, and possibly more...i never recovered enough to feel that deeply again)
and when the guy I was dating a few months later said he only slept with the girls he loved...
It just clicked.
If I could get him to screw me, I would know I was loved.
So I did.
and I was.
He worshipped the ground I walked on.
He loved me so much, and I just smiled and gave him someone to love, but returned his feelings with emptiness.
I remember running into him a couple of years later at a bar.
We sat and had a drink.
He told me that he kept breaking up with girls because they weren't me.
he kept dating girls named Lisa, but they weren't me.
He still loved me.
"I'm sorry," was all I could muster.
I felt like such an asshole.
He played Live that summer...but I didn't like it.
We drove to Syracuse, NY to see the Fleetwood Mac chick...I'm blanking on her --
But when we got to Vermont, to crash at his friend's place, there was lightening, and thunder,
and we called the venue and it was cancelled.
We were disappointed, but came
to heaving my virginity out the window of that beautiful old home, surrounded by trees and green mountains.
I'm rambling now.
The point of this.
The whole point was to say that:
The boy--the first love--we got in touch about 3 years ago, and caught up on each other's lives and he offered a vague apology for how he had handled things.
It was nice.
And felt like closure.
But a few weeks ago I sent another email.
He's in Iraq right now.
Has been there 20 out of the last 36 months.
I'm experiencing a whole bunch of strange feelings, emailing with him.
The prominent one is that I'm so glad I didn't marry him...
because of this war.
I doubt it would have made me as happy as I am now, anyway.
I wasn't ready to get married at 23 (even though I did) let alone at 18 or 19, as we were planning on.
I have mentioned before how much I wish I would have had sex with him.
How amazing it would have been.
It is one of two regrets I have in my whole life.
Both of them romantic-type, too.
The night I tried to heal a heart I had broken, residing in the crushed and torn spirit of a boy...who looked like a man, but wasn't ready to be treated like one.
Dammit, that night was just. it was just. I wish it would evaporate into the air of that night, but it was too cold...maybe that's why it stays frozen forever, reminding me of my poor choice.
Off the subject again. Sorry.
The first boyfriend.
He taught me to kiss, awakened every nerve in my body to the sexuality that I was so afraid of awakening.
The sex would undoubtedly have been phenomenal.
And we loved each other so much.
It took me a long time to forget him,
and an even longer time to heal.
Reading his words, about how strong his wife is and how well she puts up with his deployments...it hurts way less than I might have thought, but it does make me just the tiniest bit sad.
He sounds happy.
And that is so good...
But I guess there's a part of me that still wishes he would feel the pain that I felt.
That he would know what he did to me.
That he would suffer like I did and beg me for forgiveness for all those tears and all that he changed about my life by his choices.
But it's ok.
I will pray for his safety.
And send him braless you're-missing-out tuesday photos.
Oddly, that would embarass the hell out of me.
He knew me as such an innocent thing.
Thanks for listening.
Sorry for the tangents and the re-hashing and the memory lane waltzing.