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Friday, September 12, 2008

When the dust're left with dust.

I somehow talked her into picking me up at the airport. She asked me where I was going to stay. (I could scratch 'with her' off the list.)
I told her to take me into the City, somewhere colorful and artistic. In San Francisco this does not narrow your choices.
We talked on the way in.

Yes, she was glad to see me, but she had just returned from a date, so starting up again was not really something she wanted to do. As I had just relocated a couple of thousand miles, give or take, for her, (granted, without her knowledge or consent) my feelings were hurt. I had definitely seen Casablanca one too many times.

So the hamster wheel kicks in. (The hamster wheel is an alcoholic/survival mechanism when, up against a wall, the hamster begins running his ass off, generating survival techniques for the owner of the wheel.) Okay, maybe not all of us, but I know my hamster was kicking it in at this point.

She drove into North Beach and I begin to see this as a new adventure. I could write here, be inspired, eventually even bring her over to see just how wonderful I was. (Still completely deluded, but that would soon change.) My blanket of denial was more of a tarpaulin. Covering Candlestick Park.

While I was thinking about where I would stay, and what I would do for a living, I even had time to fantasize about proposing to her on the Golden Gate Bridge. The idea of romance can be as seductive as any opiate, and I was hooked.

She would whisper something in the car on the way in that I never could catch, more to herself than anything else, and she kept repeating it. I was curious, but who was I to intrude?

So, I asked her, as long as it was out in the open, what our time together meant. She owed me that much.

"What it meant? It meant I was a single woman on vacation, and you were a cute little Island guy and I had fun. That's what vacations are for." She had stopped smiling.

"We can talk about it later, I know this may be a shock," never say die, even when the bayonets against your throat. My mouth tasted like copper and dog shit and my heart was somewhere around my topsiders.

After a half hour of silence, we rolled into North Beach. Shrouded in Fog, strains of jazz and traffic, and smells of Italian food and strong, dark coffee.

She parked on a hill. (She actually had no choice, the City is nothing but hills.) A faded, green neon sign down the block showed rooms for rent at a resident motel.

"Here's the deal, (I was all in at this point, with nothing left to lose) meet me on the Golden Gate Bridge in two days, eight o'clock, if I'm the one you want. If not, no harm no foul, I'll get by."

She wouldn't even look at me, she just mouthed something and pulled away.

I think she said, "You're an idiot."

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My new disclaimer...yeah I know.

Okay, the old disclaimer was tired. The ideas were outdated and keeping me stuck in a place I don't want to be now for something more refreshing.

I have recently changed my views regarding women. Seems I had some issues with the fairer sex due to past pain and self- centered fear. (Yes...duh applies.)

I'm done with that.

Being in recovery has helped me change my entire life, perceptions and attitudes. I cannot change my history but I can change my today and my future.

I recently realized that the women I know in recovery are some of the strongest, bravest, most gentle and kind teachers I have ever had. You exemplify integrity and spiritual growth, and I hope you know who you are.

Some may know of my past marital and relationship history and been a participant in them as well. It's past and that's where it the past.

I own my part in those failures but claim no more responsibility in any misery you may be experiencing. I am sorry, but it's time to get off the cross. We need the wood.

Thank you all...