The Mad Ones

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing but burn, burn, burn like fabulous roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes 'Awww!"-Jack Kerouac

No one but Mister Kerouac could currently encompass the burning feeling within me that seems to radiate from the tips of my split ends to my "cajun shrimp" toenails.  Caught somewhere in the midst of stubborn laundry that won't just do me a favor, jump up and set itself to be washed...to watching my typically messy and lazy roommate scour pots and pans and clean her warzone room after an evening of sleeplessness brought on by a boy I told her (and have many times) to avoid--I am burning for a new set.  A new set of people, of problems, of favorite haunts, of weekend rituals.  After six years...(wow, how is that possible?) my current home's expiration date really has arrived--and I'm not feeling so nostalgic anymore.  I'm feeling restless.  As I strolled by the plantation style house, crimson and white tulips, and throngs of girls in sundresses and boys pounding beers I realized I live in one of the finest cities in the south.  That may sound contradictory to some--but this place is saturated in tradition, pride, and beauty--and simply being able to breath in that tar-reminiscent air makes you feel like you're someone a part of something greater and old and majestic.  There is something honest and magical about this small city--and I will probably miss it when the time comes that I am a visitor and not a resident--but its never exactly been the perfect haven for me, so its time to move on to potentially greener pastures so to speak.

I sat at Panera Bread this morning by myself--drinking a coffee, reading, and people watching; outside while the sun turned me into a legitimate redneck.  I thought about my time here and some of the decisions I've made.  I hope, even in my youth (because I DO still believe myself to be young--despite some friends who seem over-eager to jump into an 'adult game') that I have enough foresight to know that all of this is temporary and the way I feel on any given day will be gone and forgotten--replaced by happier or sadder moments months, days, or even hours from then.  That makes it all okay.  That's what we all keep telling ourselves.  "We'll be okay."  And we will.

I have made some mistakes this past year.  I'm glad for some of them.  There's no way to avoid being hurt--I've told people this before when they see me in pain.  I almost feel guilty at times for not always being sunny and radiant like people have come to expect.  "I hate to see you like this,"they say.  'Sorry,' I think to myself.  But if I never made mistakes or never got hurt...if I chose to protect myself at all times and never listen to my heart instead of my head...or the logic of a good friend, who probably is honestly just looking out for me, I wouldn't really be living now would I?

Tomorrow things will shift.  My roomate will find out if she got a job that will send her far away.  I don't plan to stay once she's gone for many reasons.  I have been job hunting and will continue to do so today.  I also have an interview on Thursday in another city...in another state.

Last weekend, around this time, I was crying.  I was terrified that my heart was breaking again or that it would be broken soon.  I couldn't believe I'd let myself get to a point where someone who had given me so little had so much control.  Mistakes...the people who would probably honestly treat me very well--may even love me--knew me at my worst, I had sabotaged all of that.  Or my heart had.  I couldn't and wouldn't find a way to spark a little warmth towards other more suitable suitors.  The ones who I never worried about doing what they said they were going to do.  I ones I never worried about seeking out another thinner, funnier, more capable girl.  Maybe it's because I cared less that I held all of the power and kept them hooked.  As soon as you start caring, that's when your hold really starts to slip and it suddenly matters that hours have passed and you haven't heard from him.

My resolve was pretty damn good after J told me friends with benefits was the way he was leaning.  I settled into mourning, anxiety pooling in my stomach when I knew he would be coming into work.  I had once so looked forward to catching his eye, his easy and awkward smile, our stolen moments in hallways or edit bays.  I had to put all of that behind me--but it was torturing me.  After our conversation in which I had told him we would just have to be friends I had receieved a very late night text from him--very simple, somewhat comforting.  I'm sorry.   Comforting: in that I could assume he had been thinking about me.  Frustrating: Sorry for what?  Sorry you can't give me what I want?  Sorry you feel guilty?  Sorry that you've caused me pain?  

I set out to take some control back.  J is the sort that follows my lead--insecure in a way that makes me guess he was dumped in his previous long-term relationship.  I was determined to be friendly, set his I'm Sorry Conscience at ease.  I grabbed him the first day I saw him after our Friends With Benefits Falling Out.  I showed him a huge bruise and jokingly asked if he knew where it had come from.  It worked and he physically relaxed.  Then he chased me out to my car.  Then he texted me.  Then he invited me to a movie.  Then he became consistent.

I was lulled right back in.  If I am an instrument, J knows how to play me.  Caution slipped away as I began to give in to the delicious theory...he says he can't date me...but his actions say he wants to.  Our "relationship" was back and more heated than ever before.  We spent countless hours together-every weekend.  Every night we talked.  My heart sang.  We were not friends with benefits.  Slowly but surely, we were moving in the direction I wanted.  The direction which would lead to a relationship.  Somehow, I had gone from wanting to kiss him a couple of months ago to wanting to hold his hand.  Silly girl.

One night I was tipsy with him on the phone.  He had been bragging for sometime that he was the rare form of male that actually knew how to cook.  I called his bluff and a challenge ensued.  A cook-off.  I volunteered to go first.  In an effort to not step on toes or keep things from being awkward (since we had still never actually used the "d" word...dating, that is) I mentioned that he could bring an unbiased judge to our little cook-off.  He called me that night, confused.  Did I want his friend to come or not?  I fumbled around the question.  My roomate, being her usual selfish, cock-block darling was refusing to leave...so it woudl be the three of us.  I told him to bring his friend on.  J seemed hesitant, but after hearing my Chastity Belt would be joining us he warmed to the idea.  The dinner was awkward.  We went to see a movie after and J was texting someone throughout it.  I felt paranoia creep in.  Who is so important that he would text through a movie?  Later, as we drove back Ol' Cock Block agreed with the theory I was fearing.  Had to be a girl.

He and his friend were leaving--and I was feeling as though I was nothing more than a friend, myself.  J hadn't so much as looked at me.  Panic that he might leave and not show me any affection led me to desperation.  I stepped outside and wryly shouted down. "You're going to leave without thanking me?"  J hustled back up the stairs--his misguided friend followed and I received a chaste kiss to the cheek.  No.  That wouldn't do.  His friend hugged me and headed back down the stairs.  I beckoned to J with a finger and he obdiently came to my arms.  I kissed him and he returned the favor.  When I came back inside my roommate launched into me--telling me that was the most desperate thing she had ever seen me do.  I scoffed at her, Hello--my name is Kettle.  But her words hit home and made me feel slutty and worthless.  I'm not like that...I should know my value better than that.  Why can't I be one of those people who can see a situation so clearly that when they are beaten down they can say, Nope--no more, and cut themselves off.  Here I was, glutton for punishment. 

J texted me that night.  Told me he wished we could hang out more. 

Somewhere in the weeks that followed, things improved dramatically.  We had a night one night that was the picture of innocence and purity.  I could tell when I left him that something had shifted between us.  His eyes shone with adoration.  I basked in it.  The entire week was flawless.  I had worried he may never hold up his end of the bargain and actually cook for me.  That week--he announced with three days notice--that we would be cooking for me that Saturday night.  He followed up each day.  Despite the fact that we still walked the tightrope of--what the hell are we actually doing--I actually finally felt very secure in my relationship with J.  I knew he would text back.  I knew he wanted to see me.  I didn't worry about the time that passed when we weren't together.

Saturday came around and I had to ask, though now I really regret it.  Were our two friends who attended the first cookoff invited to this one?

Him: I haven't contacted .....N.

Me: So will he be there or....?

Him: If they'd like to come.

Me: .....

I wished he would just tell me.  Is this a date, or do I need to bring the airbag?  I made the mistake of telling my roommate who became offended--if that's possible.  She insisted because she had helped me (peeled some potatoes...lord have mercy) with my meal, she would be insulted if she wasn't at least invited to the second portion of the cookoff.  However she wasn't interested in going if J's friend wasn't going to be there--no sense in being the third wheel.  I report this information back to J and he tells me he will invite his friend.  Our date is shattered.  That was the first mistake.

I stayed with him that night.  After everyone had finally gone their separate ways, we decided we still wanted to hang out.  I don't know if this was the second mistake or not--and honestly, it's not really fair to call it a mistake.  You'll see why.  Our conversation turned to other people.  I asked a bold question.  Was he "hanging out" with anyone other than me.  (we still couldn't use more obvious diction like "dating" or "seeing anyone".)  The answer was no.  Was I?  That answer was also no.  Next question: Would I be upset if he were?  (later, my doom-and-gloom roommate announced that this meant that he was considering seeing someone else and wanted to see how far he could push it and still keep me around for jollies.  This made me feel horrendous and I decided against confiding in her in the future, even if she was right.  What it felt like...at least at the time--was a test to see how much he meant to me...like a...would it make you jealous?  Do you really care?  My answer...yeah.)  I answered I wouldn't really have a right to be upset (we're not exclusive, afterall...in fact...are we even dating...?) but that I probably would be.  But you would hate me and never speak to me again, he asks, half-joking.  No.  I wouldn't hate you, I say...maybe honestly.  But we would have to stop doing this? He implies the fact that we are currently spooning in his bed.  Yes.

We drop it and he shows me his parent's house back in Arizona on google earth.  He wants to see mine.  He also wants to see our place in Florida.  He shows me his parent's other home in California and waxes poetic for awhile about growing up in the wine country.  I like to hear him talk.  I fall asleep, my back pressed into his broad, firm chest--he has one leg tangled around mine and his arm thrown over my waist.

I wake up and he's suddenly bipolar.  His back is to me, shut down.  His neighbors are blasting loud music from a backyard cookout.  I sit up and rub my eyes--immediately feeling nervous about his body language.  He turns to see me sitting up and offers water.  I except and he races from the room.  I wonder, as I block sunlight with the covers, if I should leave.  It's all part of being "the awesome girl"--trying to guess when you would be out-staying your welcome and keep them hungry for more.  He brings the water back and I politely gulp down a bit, trying to read the situation better.  I offer some water to him and he shakes his head.  My intuition is telling me he wants me out.  Or maybe that's my insecurity.  I begin to shift to get out of the bed and he throws an arm across my stomach and pulls me down next to him.  He's a lot bigger than I am and has a way of manipulating my body that I have really come to love.  He's obviously a guy that prefers a petite gal--because he is fond of picking me up and carrying me around.  When he wants me to go somewhere, he just grabs and moves me.  He tucked me into his body again and I sighed and dozed back off happily.  Guess he wants me to stay.

Wake up again.  Some treatment--back to me.  And this isn't just the--maybe he got hot and doesn't want to be cuddling variety.  Time to go.  I ask him what he's got going on that day and he says nothing but nursing the severe hungover that developed out of nowhere.  He didn't drink that much the previous night and I have no trace of a hangover myself.  I'm skeptical but try to be sweet.  Need anything?  No.  Can I get him some advil?  No.  Greasy food?  No.  Definitely time to go.  I'm weirded out.  I collect my things and straighten up a little.  He doesn't emerge from his room.  I pop my head back in and tell him I'm going to head out.  He motions me over to where he's still buried in covers.  He offers an awkward sideways hug and a kiss on the forehead.  My head is now reeling.  Whoa...I am feeling like such a friend right now.  I give him an opportunity to give me a little more of an explanation.  Is he SURE he doesn't need anything.  Nope.  But thanks.  Okay then.  I look at him searchingly.  I should have stopped awhile ago, save some dignity and resolve not to care about his moods and immaturity.  You okay?  Nah..that's not my style.  He's fine, his head is just pounding.  I try to tell him via eye contact that he should walk me to the door.  His eyes are closed.  Stubborn me.  You gonna walk me to the door?  Oh yeah, he forgot about that...Yeah, yeah.  He doesn't move.  Okay.  I'm out.  I get up and walk out the door--finally having had enough.  This has been an incredibly weird exchange following what had been a very comfortable and lovely week.  My storming out gets him out of bed.  He weakily follows me to the door but doesn't attempt to touch me again.  I give him a look that I hope says, "You are confusing the hell out of me.  Get your act together."  He winks.  Yeah...guess he didn't get that.

Later when I'm home, I feel kind of guilty.  Who knows why.  Hindsight's 20/20- and I have no idea now why I felt inspired to say anything to him at all after my bipolar morning of spooning mixed with a side of fuck-buddy.  I sent a text.  Something akin to, Sorry I was kinda bitchy this morning.  Hope you get to feeling better.

For two days, I heard nothing back from him.  This is the first time since...probably November...that I hadn't talked to him everyday.  That shift...yeah, it had shifted the other way.  Suddenly, unexplicably--we were over.  Without a fight, without a great moment--without any sort of understanding--we were over.  I was devastated.  I didn't get it.  What had I done?  I couldn't get it out of my head that I had done something...I replayed the night and came to focus in on our "exclusive" conversation.  Had that been the camel's big straw?  Did I freak him out?  Despite how silly it all sounds typing that--I mourned my stupidity.  I should have known better.  I never should have suggested that--now I was never going to get the guy.  

Believe me.  Now I see how silly this logic was.  If asking him if he was seeing anybody else was enough to turn him off of me...did I really expect that not talking about it and treading as lightly as possible would one day have us happy, holding hands and taking goofy pictures?  The truth is...I never had him at all.  Never had him to begin with.  It was never going to happen.

During one of our days in the cone of silence, I passed him in the hall and smiled.  He deadpanned.  Nothing.  That was when my old friend anger found it's way into my body.  Missed ol' anger.  I couldn't believe it.  He wouldn't even give me a smile?  What a piggly little asshole!  We went from spooning to ignoring?  Anger packed logic for this little trip...and suddenly I wasn't feeling so sad.  

My mom and I talked this one over and she made a very good point that should have registered with me long before now.  I just didn't see it because my version of things was a lot more fun.  J said to me, months ago, that he couldn't do more than friends with benefits.  I told him, in that case, that I couldn't do more than friends.  But I made the mistake of still kissing him, still seeing him, still spooning with him.  In my girl-head, I thought, He said he couldn't be in a relationship with me...but look at this...a relationship!  Actions speak louder than words, and we headed to Relationshipville.  I never considered that guy-head was bound to have a different take on our situation.  My mom suggested this for guy-head, She said she couldn't be friends with benefits...but that's what we're still doing.  Actions speak louder than words...and we are still making out, hanging out...I'm still getting everything I want and I'm not dating her.  This is awesome.

J did contact me again.  We did our traditional dinner and I invited him--in part because I was curious and in part because it would be more dramatic to not invite after months of the same thing every week.  He came, and while the night started out awkward, margaritas have a way of bringing people together.  It was just the bridge required to make J feel...what I can only assume is comfortable enough...to begin contacting me regularly again.  Although I have not spent any time with him since then, he has found some reason to speak to me each night.  But the rift is still there--I spent a couple of days crying over him and feeling miserable.  My fantasies about J evaporated.  I've come to the honest realization that I will never get what I want from him.  It's just not going to happen.  And for the first time...what friends and family have been telling me, the whole: he's not treating you right" ordeal...actually hit home when he didn't smile back at me in the hall.  Nope.  He's not treating me right.

I forget what I'm worth.  I don't know exactly why that is.  I think my most redeeming quality is that I honestly try to be a good person and treat people well.  Any other qualities are just bonuses...because I'm finding that the truly GOOD people can be few and far between--and that makes me special.

I'm looking for the "mad one".  Maybe he will be where I go next.  I have been lucky to find many "mad ones" in the form of my closest friends and family--but I've never found a guy that could treat me the way I deserve and burn burn burn like fabulous roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.