“I just wanna be somebody to someone” – Banners

The booty call, I don’t even think I can call him that since we only hooked up twice and it was several months ago, went swing dancing for 5 hours last night followed by an additional 2 hours of salsa at another club. I had considered going to both dances and ultimately went to neither. I was so anxious to get back from Montana to dance and return to a “routine” and yet I’ve been back for 3 days and have done Jack and Shit.

I purchased books in the airport, one on Winston Churchill (I’m a history buff and a closet fan of that complicated man and the era he led in) and another book of recently published scraps of stories and plots from F Scott Fitzgerald ( and it may forever remain unbeknownst us how much is plagiarized from his wife). I remember a time when I devoured books and now I can’t remember the last one I made through its entirety. It’s not that I’m disinterested, it’s that I struggle to focus. It doesn’t matter the content, my attention Trails off after a few pages and then I can’t recall what I read. As if I can’t even comprehend the words on the page. What is wrong with my brain? How will I ever find another decent job if my mind is mush? And I’m pretty sure I blew both interviews this week. One for saying the wrong thing out right and the other, the dreaded brain fog or hiccup, words escaping me all together. I used to be unfailingly articulate. Now, its as if English were a second language.

“Every me and every you” – Placebo

Montana was a bust. I spent my birthday and the following week trapped on a porch, breathing in smoke from the burning mountains and counting down the days and hours until my flight home.
I went to visit a recently retired Army friend-turned-frazzled mom. Her daughter adored me but the son was unfriendly and fussy. My friend was too exhausted and unmotivated to hike although she had the gear and her kids were perfectly content to ride on our backs. In 7 days, I may have spent a total of 2 hours on foot in the terrain. I was stir crazy, unaccustomed to being sedentary. I cleaned house (which made her mother uncomfortable, I learned), walked the short stretch of road to and from the local grocery store and lunged around the yard when no one was around. We did make it to a bar one evening and bored local cops stalked us as we walked home sober. Ive never been stalked by cops before. What option do bar-goers have in a town too small for cabs and Uber?
Although it was nice to discuss music again (I failed to agree that Ben Gibbard of Death Cab ripped off the sound of Placebo from the Cruel Intentions soundtrack). And it was endearing to meet a family with roots. Sisters, uncles, countless cousins…they were bickering, loving land barons with thick paper deeds dating back to the mid 1800’s. My friend has history. She can trace her lineage even without the help of the Mormons. I know nothing and can learn nothing beyond my Ashkanazi gypsy horse thief great grandfather.

But back to my friend. In her desperation for children, she compromised on love. Perhaps forfeited is a more appropriate word. A willful, independent, forceful personality saddled but not tamed by parenthood. She seethed resentment though dare not voice it because it’s hard to complain to a lonely, childless woman. My mother said “It will get easier in a few years when they get into school and she has a few hours to herself again”. But watching her struggle and I, bored to actual tears, wondered if this was a lesson for me, G-d reminding me to be careful what I wish for. What is worse? Living, sleeping, and dying alone or being trapped in an unhappy marriage and mommyhood?

“Give me 2 weeks, you won’t recognize her” – FKA Twigs

Like premeditated murder, the internal debate has intensified over the last couple of weeks. I’ve come to realize there is no hope of him coming home. If he ever has moments of regret about leaving, he gives no indication of it. So if warm water and palm trees year-round can’t tempt him any longer, maybe a taste of my kink can.
Although that hasn’t quite worked out for me in the past. Men who, to this day, reminisce that no one else in their lives has ever been better to them in bed or out of it, and yet still it wasn’t enough to make them stay, or keep them faithful, or to “Pick” me forever. Somehow “told you so” or “their loss” fails to achieve any sense of gratification when one suffers from loneliness.

And yet, I left an impression with them, didn’t I?

And that’s what I want to do to him. With me, he will experience something rare: uninhibited, sincerely enthusiastic intimacy.  Even if it doesn’t reel him in closer to me then at least I’ve doomed every woman he encounters from then on to comparison with me. If I let him go for a ride in the spaceship, he will never forget it and no one else will ever live up to it.

I’m also doing it because I want to. There will be consequences either way. Because I DO want him and it’s been two years since anyone put their hands on me. So there’s the consequence that I’ll regret not scratching that itch while the opportunity is there. The consequence of sex without the comfort of commitment is that physical intimacy will likely further cement the deep feelings I have for him already, and I’ll have to go through the motions of withdrawal and perceived rejection; the end of a relationship that never existed except in my head.

So I’m going to treat it like the Last Supper. If he offers me a piece, I’m going to take it and devour him like it’s the last meal I’ll ever have. I will wear him out like a puppy, suck him dry and then fill him back up with me.