I took D to Reno to visit his mom a few weeks ago. D’s got new glasses and had me trim his beard into a goatee. He looks like a european film director. The countryside and mountains are beautiful, the air thin, dry and cool. The casinos are just awful. Everybody smokes and sits in front of these machines pushing buttons over and over as their money disappears. There are no windows or clocks to remind you of how long you’ve been there, and all the big casinos are connected with overhead bridges that completely separate you from reality, nature and fresh air. It reminded me of something that Jesus would have flipped out over if Reno had made it into the New Testament–overturning slot machines, rolling roulette wheels over the hacking heathen.
Bachelor #8 got really mad at me because I bailed on going to his friends’ wedding in Boston. My brother Mark’s 40th birthday shindig is that weekend and I just can’t miss it. He said that if I really cared for him I’d go with him. I told him that’s co-dependent language and a perhaps more useful response would be, “I’m disappointed and angry, so give me a little time, I want to respect your reasons, which I’m having a hard time understanding.”
It’s apparent that we’re not going to make it as a couple. Not that it ever wasn’t, it’s just getting harder and harder to not acknowledge.
Over a recent lunch, he drove the wooden stake into the barely-pumping heart of our co-demented love. He refused to acknowledge that my feelings were open for discussion, going so far as to say that I was selfish. Me. I didn’t talk to him after that. He claims that he will have only fond memories of our time together. He should, since everything about our relationship was geared towards that–his happiness. Goodbye, Bachelor #8, I’m sorry our lighthearted screwball comedy took such a convoluted plot turn.
Bachelor #8 really did take me on a wild ride, with me hanging on trying to keep us on some track that took my interests into account, but I never felt that I could wrestle away the reins from my furry friend in the driver’s seat. I told you all along, Dear Reader, right, where this was headed? So this isn’t, like, a surprise?
Hop on the Love Train! Catch me on the rebound! I’m vulnerable! And needy!