Maybe I Grew Up After All

Craziness is going down the same road over and over expecting a different result each time. So, within that context I must be crazy. Because I recognize with my now ex-beau that indeed I ran down the same road.

The way we met was so entirely fucked up, so convoluted that even my friends, all two of them, were shocked. With this guy, I managed to surpass all others. This was the icing on the cake. At least in this post I have discretion and won't disclose the salient details. But they are JUICY! Let's just say he forfeited his dignity with someone else. Afterwards, I got to know him and saw goodness, so I chalked it up to stupidity. I've heard this story before. I just never interacted with someone who underwent it.

That, in and of itself, should've, would've been for anyone else the reason to flee for the hills. But not me. Not me. I give people wide berth because I've a penchant and an aptitude for dealing with aberrant behavior.

"I heard you got a new beau," states a woman late one afternoon. She and her husband as well as other people congregate at The Bake House for a late afternoon snack. The conversations mostly center around local and national politics, lively conversations as we rarely agree. The good part is that the banter, shouts and disagreements are never personal. Even though we never sway each other's point of view, we have a great time sharing food, thoughts and vitriol. It became something of a late Sunday afternoon ritual to cap off the weekend. My non-sequitors are a great hit with this crowd.

"Yeah," I said. "It's at the beginning stage. Except for a few large bumps, it seems to go well."

"How did you meet?"

I squirm. "Well..." and proceed to tell her the story.

She interrupts me halfway. "Is this the truth or are you making this up like one of your books?"

"It's the truth."

The woman turns to my friend. "Is this really the truth? It doesn't sound real - scandals, cops, newspaper headlines. Isn't this the book she's now working on?"

Haughtily, I say, "That book's about spies, cartels, international finance and a vampire."

My friend nods. "Yeah, she's telling the truth. I've been following this from the beginning."

The woman stared at me and shook her head.

Needless to say, my friend later pointed out, "He sounds exactly like your ex-boyfriend. You've all the ingredients including his inability to keep his word and his excuses. The only difference is the way you guys met..."

That floored me for she was right. What I did, in essence, was upgrade the young model to an aged and employed one. Oh boy. Oh boy.

He knew how to play me: when you read someone's blog, their books, their tweets and FB comments, you get a good sense of their inner dialogue. I pretty much gave him the keys.

Things came to a head the other day while firming up plans to get together. That was a promise he kept. Everything around that, though, mirrored the ex-boyfriend with story after story about why he couldn't do something. The something then became something else which became another thing. And it built and built until I realized this was not a budding relationship; it was a quasi-friendship with sex. Where the person kinda had your back if it suited him.

It also lacked one important ingredient: passion.

You can't create passion. It has to be there or not. He didn't have passion for me. Not a scintilla. He had passion, yes, he loved the life out of his pets, his friends, his ex-whatever, but not for me. That was a bitter pill to swallow.

At least the ex-boyfriend had passion for me. Wild passion. Mad passion. Crazy-assed passion. At first, I welcomed the tepid emotions, grateful to get off the rollercoaster I usually ride with my young men. I believed it was the way mature older people enter into a relationship. What do I know? He was the oldest guy I ever was with! All my men were considerably younger than me and the passion was white-hot on both sides. I could've contended with some of the shit thrown at me, but the lack of passion was the death knell. If he had passion for me, he'd have my back.

Plain and simple, I just couldn't continue.

When it hit me that I gave him excuses to be the way he is with me, to act the way he acts with me, that's when I knew I'd never be happy. It felt lopsided. I've been down this road before; it never ends well. For me. I could continue the charade, hoping things'll change, but that's delusional.

What drove me up the walls is that I told him from the start what I wanted and what I didn't want with him. We had long conversations about it so I knew he knew. I KNOW what I want. And what he gave me I didn't want. Not at all.

I took the step last night and ended it. It was a painful thing to do as I really liked the guy and thought we had something special going on despite my reservations. I explained in a heartfelt manner how I can't do this again. As an adult, I took responsibility. Okay, I did deviate at the end of my diatribe and pointed fingers at the lack of passion. That stuck in my craw. Still, it wasn't anything new that I wrote; the only thing new was that I stood up for myself at the beginning and not allow this to continue.

All this in a text message.

Well... THAT got him passionate for the first time. I couldn't get that passion in bed! He was offended that I gave him a Dear John in a text message. What the fuck did he expect? A Dear John phone call? Dear John email? Or, what he wanted - a Dear John video chat so he can then manipulate me and give me more excuses to appease me, knowing I'd capitulate.

Moments later, I received an email from him. In a clear, concise way, he upbraided me about the way I broke it off, something he could NEVER contend with as I clearly offended him. In shock, I sat back and wondered about this guy.

Did he forget HOW we met? After all he went through, a humiliating experience with someone who stripped him of his dignity and he's offended by a polite and sad Dear John text message?

Once again, that's where the lack of passion kicks in. All I know is any guy who had passion for me, who believes that I'm tantamount to their life would move mountains to remedy the situation. For it could've been remedied if he wanted it. That's the sad part. Yet, to read his email, I knew there and then I made the right decision. Especially when he ended it with: Believe it or not, I will always be fond of you.

Fond? FOND?


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