I recently found out a childhood friend of mine will probably die of colon cancer at the tender age of 28 (he won’t make it to his next birthday, which is only two months away). Paul has known me since I was three years old, and has been more of a brother to me than my biological one for the past ten years. The reality that he lives thousands of miles away in Budapest hasn’t changed the amount of love or support he has shown me, or I him. The past couple years he has had conventions in Las Vegas, and every time I drive up to Sin City to see him I leave feeling better (hungover of course, but my very soul feels better).
As I started digesting this news, it seemed the Grimm, who had been kept at bay for a few short months, had returned. But my grandmother was old, and my father, while not old, was able to have a wife and kids before he died. Paul will unfortunately not have the same opportunity, after he has met the woman of his dreams. I met her last February, and I didn’t have an unkind word to say about her, which almost never happens (I become a lioness when someone wants to date my friends/family).
So what exactly does Paul have to do with my current situation? Well, as much as I am “young” and should be having “fun”, my time with the screenwriter all the sudden stopped being fun. It actually started to feel more like torture – something I was dreading because I was perceived as a mere sexual plaything and not an actual human being. I am the only member of my immediate family who hasn’t had a cancer scare like Paul – it’s not IF I am going to get cancer, it’s WHEN. And WHEN I get cancer, do I want to be wasting my time with someone who won’t even deign to have dinner with me?
No. I would rather be alone. And that is what I chose.
Yes, the sex was great. Yes, he is well endowed. And I hate to quote Sex and the City, but Charlotte was right – an orgasm can’t hold your hand in a movie theater. At the beginning, I did just want sex (I had been celibate for over a year for Christ sakes!), but my desire for sex transformed into a desire for a relationship much quicker than I would have hoped.
I would love to pretend that I could sleep with more than one guy at a time, or sleep with one guy and date various others on the side, but that’s just not me. I am no player. Rather, I am the worst player in the history of players. I also cannot be cruel, most especially to men I like (which is truly unfortunate). I can get angry for a brief moment, but the second the pain I have caused spreads across my temporary adversary’s face, I cry on their behalf. It is for this reason that I cannot watch horror movies.
I am going to be alone for a while. Not that I wasn’t alone before, but I did have the illusion I wasn’t, and this illusion has served me pretty well these past three months.
The question I want answered is given my profound understanding of mortality at from age six on, why do I continue to waste my time on relationships that have no future? I would like to get married, someday. I talk a lot of trash about kids, but I would like to have kids, someday. However, I could only have kids with someone who’s good looking (I am incredibly superficial, and I may fuck up my children, but they shall be beautiful).
A coworker of mine exhorted me that from now on, I should only date men with whom I see myself having a future. I immediately snickered at the idea. She is a year and a half older than I, and she is getting married to a man she has been with for eight years (!). I haven’t been with anyone longer than eight months.
I would like to exist somewhere between being someone’s wife, and someone’s fuck buddy. There has to be somebody out there willing to take pity on someone who’s probably going to die soon…ish.