Light Reading

Thanks to all, for your well wishes and your prayers.  Grandma is doing well, and just like her can't have any down time self, already planning on what she's going to do the minute she's released from the hospital.  Far be it that everyone in her family is practically falling over themselves begging for her to slow it down a bit and relax just long enough to recuperate fully.  Luckily stubbornness is a family trait, which means Amy and I will be heading North this weekend to help Gram around the house, mowing the lawn, and all sorts of other good stuff, whether help is wanted or not.  Or course, we'll do most of it on the sly … It is after all just a visit to visit.

On another note, I wanted to quote a passage from a book I've just finished.  It really reminded me of how things were in my relationship with Sean and - thank God - now I know it wasn't me just thinking everything was quite fucked up.  It really was quite fucked up. 

You Have to Kiss a Lot of Frogs by Laurie Graff

        There it was again.  Nothing that said this is great and nothing that said that this is over.  We walked south on Central Park West toward my apartment on 78th Street.  We walked in the relationship silence.  Not the good kind where you know you can't wait to get each other home and into bed, but the ambivalent kind.  The kind where one person has more power because they know they're the one who's holding back.  But they're not telling you their holding back, and since you don't really know this for sure, and you certainly don't want to make a big deal out of nothing and create a problem that may not even exist, you decide you're overly sensitive, paranoid, insecure.  All of the above.  You have no choice but to smile sweetly, keep your unspoken agreement in the relationship silence, and hope the other person will break it.  That any second it will be broken by him seductively pushing you up against the bricks of the next building, off to the side of the burgundy awning, gently moving his hands across your cheeks, pulling back your hair and tenderly, deeply, passionately kissing you and kissing you and whispering in your ear, "Let's get out of here.  Let's go home."  On the other hand, you could suddenly find yourself on 78th Street turning right to Amsterdam Avenue and wonder how you got there.

She was writing about me, I swear to God.  How many times had I plastered a smile on my face, all the while gritting my teeth as I told him again and again, "Sure.  Fine.  It's no problem," whenever he decided that he was too tired to keep our plans - even the plans that involved my daughter.   And it was frustrating, wanting to spend time with him and knowing that 9 times out of 10 he'd only end up disappointing me, leaving me with a countless numbers of tears cried into my pillow as I tried to smother the sound of my sobs. 

But then there were the nights when I was there - granted most of the time, I popped up on his doorstep before he had a chance to think of a reasonable excuse as to why I shouldn't come over - when we sat together in silence, television tuned in to the History Channel, until undoubtedly he fell asleep or pretended to be asleep - whichever came first.  And I sat there watching some show about who knows what, trying to consider my options and coming up with none.

The strong Stacey wanted to give him the what for, and itched to tell him what she really thought.  But the weak Stacey - the I'd really like to be in a relationship for longer than 30 seconds Stacey - didn't want to mess things up, and convinced the strong Stacey that things would eventually get better.  Of course no one was really buying that ...

Still you can only bend so far before you break and by May even I was about done with the romper room act boy blunder was intent on seeing through.  It killed me however to admit defeat.  It still kills me, if only for the very reason that I put up with it as long as I did when I could have stopped the bleeding the first time he pulled a temper tantrum.  But nope, I had to ride it out to the end, putting my faith in an ex-marine who hadn't done anything to earn it.  And I ask you, if you can't count on a marine, who can you count on?

So here I am writing this entry, my phone ringing off the hook beside me no matter how I might try to block out its sound, as the receptionist howls over the intercom for me to pick up such and such an extension.  But I'm taking a moment to pull myself back together from a recent fit of giggles from yet another conversation with Rick - my most disturbed and yet favorite customer who promised to show up under my Christmas tree last year with nothing on but edible underwear.  Unlike some men I know, Rick has never managed to disappoint me … Even if it's just over the phone, the man has a gift for making me laugh and smile. Then again, I don't expect much.