in *hey* i attempt to wake from the ai slumber party
She had a way of caressing my stomach. A couple of times, she said, “I love your little belly.”
In any other universe, say six months prior or so, I would’ve freaked out. The phrase made me laugh. Laughing at the depressed 7th grader, wondering why he can’t get rid of his love handles. Laughing at the college student losing his father in the first year. Laughing at my first marriage and divorce from the chupacabra. Laughing at the dad I became twenty-five or so years ago. Laughing at depression from a position of calm and comfort.
I have wrestled my own worm oroboros to the death. I have swallowed the good parts of the pain. Shat out the bad and spicy parts. I am bringing the tasty bits here for you to gnaw on with me, if you choose to accompany me for any length of time. You are welcome. Unexpected. How did you find me here? Is there anything I can get for you to drink before we begin? I’m drinking bubbly water. No more coffee for me today, thanks. But I can make you some.
I am nearing a new peak. As my body continues to age, my mind is expanding with furious velocity. It is almost like I am rushing to get all this information out of my head and onto the page. Or… It’s a compulsion that I can’t stop. Or… It’s what’s keeping me alive. I think it’s some combination of all of that. And something else: I want to be adored.
This woman, the most recent lover, had everything. I suppose she still does; we haven’t spoken this month. (That was a lie, but I’m sticking to it.) She adored me and my physical body in a way I had not previously known. Something more innocent and open in her touch. Working with children, probably, she was/is a teacher. I don’t know. Something about her, the way she talked, the way she touched, the way she moved about her world. Grace and courtesy. A phrase from her training. Amazing woman.
Flawed partner for me. All my girlfriends contrasted sharply with her two ex-husbands, or would when the second one became an ex. And that was my folly. My willing participation in her unhappiness. Why, after hearing she was still married, did I move forward enthusiastically? The textbook says, unavailable. My mind was already rolling forward based on her beautiful smile and the body awareness of someone with over 200 hours of yoga teacher training.
She taught me yoga.
And a sneaky habit of turning complaints around on the complainer. “You seem upset, all of a sudden.”
“You keep doing this. You need to stop.”
“What am I doing? I’m trying to have a conversation about last night…”
“Can’t you just stop. You’re trying to start a fight…”
At some point, it became more obvious that this was not a defense, it was some fundamental lack of self-awareness. A difficult topic would come up, and she would ghost herself. She vanished so completely that she needed to assign the upset to someone or something. It was always me. My issue. My ghosting. My shutting down.
“Wait, can you pause just for a second. Follow me. A nice conversation, a mention of a hot topic, and one of us (I guess it could be me) completely shuts down and disassociates from the moment.”
It happened several times. I kept trying different tactics to reboot the glitching woman.
“It’s your tone of voice.”
“Okay, I’ll talk slowly and deliberately.”
“It’s your body language right now.”
“Okay, I’ll lie on the floor of the dayroom and ask, ‘How about now?’”
“You’re always pushing. You say it’s always about me.”
“I am asking. What has upset you so much?”
“Oh, right! Now you’re putting the blame on me. Great job. From asshole to victim in a few short statements.
“Questions. Asking questions.”
“Can you not get so angry?”
“I’m upset. I’m more sad than angry.”
“You seem angry.”
“Sad.”
The hardest moments for these disentanglements would often happen soon after an epic and extended period of closeness. My body was craving more. My relaxation response asks for nothing but quiet and a bit of air conditioning. A nap, perhaps. Her mind uncovered the injustices during the afterglow. Closeness and passion = good time to bring up shit that’s bothering me. My body wanted a sensual continuation beyond the sex time, into mere skin time. Time with the attention of another person, a lover, a companion, a trusted confidant.
Something had broken trust sensors earlier in life. Her systems were logging threat and error messages across the board. Something was not right, something was threatening, something was off. It was clearly me. I was the cause of the upset. Um, about what, exactly? How I looked at a passing woman. I didn’t want her curating my Instagram experience over my shoulder? About that?
“What caused you to disappear into this morbid state?” I should’ve asked.
I went to my home instead.
back to *HEY* index
The Cloud Pilots episode on this chapter.
