Heart on Sleeve

It's late. I'm up staring at the door. Should be working. Should be thinking about something else but you surround my head, my heart, my soul my core.
Without your touch I feel inside out. I'm lost. Alone. A fool for sure.

I bide my time. Calm my restless heart. Wondering if we were fools to even start,
along this path that has no happy end. I'm stranded. Stuck. The truth like leather that binds our battered, yearning need together.

It's crazy thinking, but this melancholy rain has lit the fire that burns you in my brain.
There's no way out; my lungs, the fire, they breathe the same.
Glad it was you, that's what you said.
Glad it was you, like there could be someone else instead.

How did you know? To touch my hand, my face, that way? How did you know? Yes was the only word I dared to say. Could you see me, the way he can't? Will you see me, will you find me, in the darkness, reach out your hand?

How did you know? The eyes I longed for. How did you know? Your kiss would feed my empty soul. Sweet fate, that let you pass unharmed, out of the shadow into the shelter of my arms. Will you fight it? Will you run? Surrender is always much more fun.

It's crazy thinking, but this melancholy rain has lit the fire that burns you in my brain.
There's no way out, I am drowning in a sea of lustful shame.
Glad it was you, that's what you said.
Glad it was you, like there could be someone else instead.

Will you touch me, will you help me to forget? Will you love me? Will you want me in your head? Or will you find an easier path to tread?

It's never wise to fall so hard, to give so much, play all your cards. But tangled in our private reverie, stripped bare of all our senses, abandoning the life we knew. Here. alone. In this moment, there's no one else for me, but you.

-----------------------------------------

I wrote this song in New York City, on a rainy night after I met William. I'd been living there a few months on my own, having gone back to school for my master's degree. I left Nick behind at home (that's the husband from whom I am currently separated). It was just a 10 month program - we had just bought a house, and it didn't seem feasible that he could move to New York with me at the time.

Of course, looking back, that's perhaps exactly what he should have done. By the time I left he hated his job. He hated the city where we lived. He was depressed and unhappy with all the choices he had made in his life thus far - so if we had been thinking clearly, one of us might have noticed a change could have been good. Maybe he could have found a job in New York.

But the truth was, one of the things he wasn't happy with was me. We hadn't had sex in months. Maybe a year. I simply can't remember now. Just before I went to New York I got a fellowship to Germany for a couple of weeks and I talked him into coming with me. I thought maybe a vacation would do us both a world of good. But while he enjoyed the trip, he was still nervous the whole time. He never really let go, and he never touched me once. I was devastated. I tried to talk to him about it but he shut me down. He said sex just wasn't important to him. That he was depressed and I just needed to back off and let him get through this on his own. I sort of felt I had backed off long enough.

It's sad to admit this, but by the time I got on the plane to New York, I had already decided that if I met someone else who I had chemistry with I would cheat on him. In fact, I was sort of hoping I would. I was hoping that in my graduate program there would be some smart, cute, interesting guy who was wild about me, and that he would ignite the dead embers of my heart. Something inside me just snapped. I had been faithful to this one man for 12 years. Only once - before we were married - did I let another man kiss me. Aside from that, I was a picture of fidelity. But I was starved for affection. I was desperate. I wanted to be touched. I wanted to make love. I wanted all the hot passionate sex that a married woman in her early thirties was entitled too and I was going to get it.

I was disappointed however in the pool of available men in my class. They were all either too young, too arrogant, too unattractive or too unavailable. It looked like a torrid love affair was not going to just fall into my lap.

That's when the idea of posting an ad on craigslist first percolated into reality. At first I just flirted with the idea in my head. Then I started browsing around. his was prety new to me. I had sold furniture on craigslist. I had used it to find an apartment. But I absolutely never thought about using it to look for a date -- much less a sexual encounter. I used to work with some girls who were obsessed with the craigslist personals. During our lunch breaks at work we used to play the New York Times crossword puzzle online and read craigslist. We would read them outloud and laugh - some of them were so ridiculous. For example here are a few recent posts from my local listings:

Crossdresser STILL searching for friendly female - 35
HI, I am a 35 year old male to female cross dresser looking for a friendly understanding woman for friendship maybe more. I would like to find someone who would enjoy this and can help with makeup and shopping as well. She would not be afraid to be seen in public with me dressed as a woman. I have been told by many that when dressed I am very cute and passable. I am very safe and very sane, drug, alcohol and disease free. I own my home and have a steady job. If you are such a woman I would love to hear from you. I must ad, though I am open and accepting of others lifestyles and choices I am straight so please NO MEN!!! Unless you are also a cd or t-girl and passable. Thanks

He even put his picture, and I hate to tell him, he is not passable. He looks very much like a man dressed as a woman.

A lot of the posters can't spell much less string a sentence together, and sadly you can sort of see why they are still single. Like this guy:

Man looking for a Womans company
Here I go again.After 11 weeks of thinking that I found someone to start a relationship in hopes of getting married again,she F'n dumped me for her X.

WTF do I have to do to find someone again? Here are my dont's.

Its very easy---dont let your family control your personal life,nor have them invite your X to stay over while your in a relationship.And dont f__k with my head.

I have kids,so if you do,dont thats fine.
I have never smoked and would consider someone that does,only if its not around me.
Please have a personality,humor,job

.

Sounds like a real winner. I'll be calling him right up! There are a lot of sad and lonely people out there. That's the truth. But every once in a while there is a genuinely interesting post, something creative, and honest and reading a few of those got the wheels turning in my head. Well, that and the fact that I was incredibly horny and ready to do just about anything to get laid.

So I set up a fake email address and replied o a few posts. The results where, well - meh... so I decided to be a little more daring and try and write a post of my own. I don't remember exactly what it said but it was something to the effect of "Married woman living alone seeks intelligent attractive man for discreet affair. Send photo" With more of my usual literary flair of course. I was nervous as hell. what if I ever wanted to become a politician? My opponent could dig this stuff up! What if one of these guys later wrote a tell-all book about me? But sepite al reason, I decided to take the plunge anyway - and thus began my decent into the tawdry world of Craigslist - one that would eventually lead to my relationship with Berlin.

Now if you are shocked by my behavior (and probably thinking you would never do anything so stupid), believe me, you are not half as shocked as I was at myself. I mean, what on earth was I doing, pimping myself out on the internet like that? But I was SO curious! I really wanted to know who these people were. Were they all nut jobs, losers, and freaks? Or were some of them just normal people, single, married and unhappy, or divorced and trying to start over? I had to know. I just had to know that I was not the only one in this position. And what could it hurt right? It was all anonymous and I didn't have to reply to any of them.

But of course I did. Within hours the inbox of my new Craigslist alias was filled with hundreds of replies. Some of them were too old, not my type, or filled with stupid one liners. Delete, delete, delete. But eventually there were a few worthy emails, some intriguing exchanges, and a few dates. A handful of which ended in two tipsy, naked people in my apartment.

It was liberating, and I felt absolutely no guilt whatsoever. The sex was great. But none of it really lead anywhere, and I didn't really click with anybody I met. And then just about when I had begun to decide the experiment was over I met William.

He was adorable, a musician, and just about my age, and he wrote a response to my post that would make any woman stop dead in her tracks. It was so good I saved it.

I can imagine you've probably received a thousand emails in the last 20 plus hours. And you've probably stopped because I have a pretty good idea what most of them said. I hope you've managed to hang in long enough to read this one.

I thought your post was beautiful and just about exactly summed-up where I am right now. I'm a good looking, professional, married, 33 year old who has always identified as an artist and musician at heart. I'm a sensualist, not in the strict sexual sense but in that I endeavor to experience life richly in all ways. I seek beauty and I find it everywhere. I love knowing people in small ways others don't see. I love spontaneity and I don't really have much fear when it comes to doing things that are out of my comfort zone.

The problem is about opportunity. Work is enveloping, friends and family surround, the life routine becomes a groove that can be hard to slip out of. Your right, I do seek understanding and real connection and deep intimacy. I want a Lover. Not a sex partner or even a friend really. I want close-ness and someone with whom to quietly reveal to each other our secret selves.

I love my wife very much. We have just grown in different directions with age. If anything my appetite for color and beauty and passion has grown where as hers has been largely replaced by the desire for security and ease of a very well defined universe. I need more and I understand very well that I'm not a bad person for seeking it out. I respect her deeply and it's a gesture of that respect that I could never let know. I've never cheated. Not because my conception of a healthy relationship is much influenced by societal norms but because I've not been able to find the right one. The one who understands what it is... and what it isn't.

And that's really why I responded to your post. I NEVER respond to posts. I'm sure 'all the guys say that' but it's true for me. It just really looks so discouraging. But your post was special. You're clearly smart and emotionally secure and that can be rare on Craigslist or anywhere else.

I do live with my wife though I'm often out late for work related things and with friends. I'd love to have dinner one night if you'd like. We might find that have no chemistry. We might find something very beautiful. Judging by your post, I'd very much like to find out.

Do me one favor though. If you've read this, even if you're completely uninterested in meeting with me, just drop an email to let me know. Having just spent a bit of time writing I care to find out if you actually ever read it.

-William

We decided to meet at my favorite Cuban place on Prince St. When he walked up I liked him instantly. Laid back, down to earth, interesting. And did I mention totally hot? I am not kidding. Blond hair, blue eyes, well-built physique. We hit it off.

After dinner we snuck into a little bar and found a quiet corner to talk and have drinks. We got in at just the right time for New Yorkers - because within a half hour the place was flooded with people and we were literally walled into our little private corner by mingling bodies.

He told me about his wife and his little girl. And the fact that the passion had died in their marriage. He said she had been in a relationship with a woman before she met him, and he thought perhaps she was really more interested in women than men. In real life this might have seemed like too personal a detail to share- and too taboo a subject to discuss in public - but this was New York, we were strangers who had met on Craigslist and the honesty of this anonymity came naturally.
At some point he reached over and took my hand and I felt electricity ran through my whole body. We had some serious chemistry.

When we decided it was time to get out of there he offered me a ride home. This was an unusual turn of events. With the exception of cabs, I hadn't even been in a car since I'd moved to New York City. But he lived in Jersey and had driven over to meet me. I accepted this novel opportunity - and a chance to spend a few moments alone with him. We walked a few blocks to his back jeep. Neither of us mentioned the car seat in the back.

It was about 3 in the morning and the streets of lower Manhattan were completely empty. He pulled up to a red light and all of the sudden he leaned over and kissed me. It was, hands down, the BEST kiss I have ever gotten. It was tender and passionate, and restrained and full of desire all at once. He cupped his hand behind my head in just the right way and his fingers just barely massaged the hair at the nape of my neck and then slid gently along my throat. I caught my breath. I will remember that kiss until I close my eyes for the last time, honest to God.

"You are a really good kisser," I blurted out. I couldn't help it. I was so surprised, I just said the first thing that came into my head out loud.

"Right back at ya babe," he smiled wryly and reached over to the passenger seat and put his hand on my thigh.

This was going very well.

Two sweaty, tangled naked bodies later I decried the evening a success - and after he left, as I pondered this person who had sort of amazingly come into my life, and what it all meant, I wrote that song - for my new musician lover. He has never read it, though we continued seeing each other for the rest of my time in New York, and even once after I moved away when I came back to the big City for a visit.

He still loves his wife, had another kid, and seems to be satisfied with the concept of loving one woman and lusting after another. At the time I met him, I thought perhaps he might be right - that sometimes you find a partner in life that works for you in all ways but one, and so what's wrong with stepping outside the marriage to fulfill that one missing part? But later I came to realize that that sort of fractured relationship was not what I really wanted. I wanted it all: Sex and love. Family, fidelity, breathtaking kisses, and hot,sweaty sex.

William wasn't offering me that. Even my husband wasn't offering me that - but when my year in New York was over, I decided to go back to him and see if I could get it. See if a fresh start, and a happy ending wasn't in the cards.

It wasn't - but I couldn't have known that then. So heart on sleeve I went back to try.

P.S. The photo is from a website where a bunch of kids drew pictures of English idioms. I thought this one was aorable.

A Song for the Weathered and Weary

Sometimes life just gets the better of you. But you just wake up every day and keep going. You just know that day after day, one foot after after the other, you'll move forward, you'll move on, and eventually you'll find your way.

Paul Simon, said it best: Tomorrow's gonna be another day, and I'm just trying to get some rest.

The Long Road Home

This weekend didn't exactly go as planned. Earlier in the week I took my new beau Alfonso to the vet to get his balls trimmed and got some bad news.

I'm a bit low on stray-cat funds, and seeing as the Fonz was a week away from living outdoors in the snow I decided to take him to a cash-only low-cost spay and neuter clinic called "A snip in Time." Cute huh? Its this tiny, cramped, smelly two room clinic - which could be somewhat off-putting if you are used to the bright, cheery and sterile, environment of vets who cater to more pampered pets. But I decided to have a look and at least talk to the doc. The vet was a husky bearded fellow who looks a bit like Grizzly Adams, and as it turns out, is no less committed to saving the broken and discarded domestic cats of our city than would be St. Francis of Asisi himself.

He took one look at Alfonso and broke the bad news.

" I don't think we should do the surgery today."
"What's wrong?"
"Have you had him tested for FeLV and FIV?"
"No, he has seemed really healthy - hea eats, uses the litter box - is active ... do you think he is sick?"
He lifted Fonz's upper lip.
"Do you see how pale his gums are?" I nodded - they were really quite white. I had never looked at them before.
"That's a sign of Feline Leukemia." He shook his head. "I'll do the surgery if you want, but I'm out of test kits - and I don't think it's a good idea to do it until you know whether or not he's positive."

I looked down at the brave little fonz sadly. "If you're positive buddy I can't keep you - you'll infect my other cats." I was disappointed this might be the case, but until this point he had seemed normal and healthy, and I new some FeLV positive cats live long happy lives - there might still be a home for him where Leukemia was OK. I took him home and agreed that I would take him to another vet and have him tested.

And then, as if the vet had predicted it, everything changed. That night Fonz ate very little. The next day it was freezing cold outside and I felt bad putting him out all day while I was at work so I left him inside. He didn't eat all day. When I came home, he was lying in my closet, where it's cool and he didn't want to come out. I tried to feed him, but he wouldn't take any food or water. Eventually he used the litter box and-- unsteady on his feet-- wobbled to a comfy spot under my bed and wouldn't come out. He was still in the same spot friday morning, and Friday night when I got home from work. I knew something was very wrong.

So first thing Saturday morning I took him to the other vet for a test. This time it was the clean, bright cheery vet filled with cats and dogs, and new puppies there for their shots. I wrapped Fonzie in a blue towel and held him in my arms - he let me drive him the 20 blocks to the clinic with him in my arms like that while he looked out the window -- resting his little chin on my upper arm. His only real protest was a hiss and claw in my chest when he saw the dogs in the waiting room, but he looked up at me, eyes full of trust that I would make him better, and gave in without any real struggle. He knew I wouldn't let him fend for himself against the dogs. It's amazing how much a sick animal will trust you. It almost broke my heart.

Especially since even though I had hoped for the best, I already knew what the result would be - I could see it in the vet's eyes when she examined him. She had seen this before. When she came back and gave me the bad news I started to cry. She told me he wouldn't get better and this was the end for him - it happens fast she said. She recommended I put him down and, reluctantly, I agreed. I knew he was suffering and I wanted to ease his pain- but the idea that this was it, that we were going to say goodbye - well it was hard to accept. I hadn't realized how quickly I had gotten attached.

I had just gotten used to having the little guy around. He used to hang out on the neighbors porch and wait for me to come home. When he saw me pull up outside, he would come running and meowing. Begging to come inside and eat and snuggle. One time he even tried to climb inside my car when I was leaving - as if to ask me to take him with me - wherever it was I was going. I suppose it had to be better than being cold and hungry on the street right? I got a kick out of his devotion to me and had begun to enjoy seeing him. On nights when he didn't show up I found myself peeking out the window after him, wondering if he had found shelter elsewhere, or another sugar momma to fill his belly and scratch his ears. I really liked the little devil and sorta figured we were gonna be buddies for some time to come.

But there he was, with those big frightened eyes, looking up at me hoping I was going to make it all right, and I knew it was far from all right.

We had a few minutes alone together in the hallway while the doctor readied the room. I stroked his back and told him he had been a good cat, and that I was sorry it didn't work out. I cried and hugged his little body to my chest while he rested his tired head in the crook of my arm. I think he knew he wasn't going home to his spot under the bed.

I rubbed the back of his neck as the doctor gave the injection, and in seconds his little life was over. One minute he was giving a meow of protest at the pinch of the needle and the next the spark in his eyes had disappeared. Such a sweet, affectionate cat. The tears were rolling down my cheeks - life was really unfair. I only hope his last few weeks were filled with enough warm places to nap, meals of good food, petting and chin scratches to offset what must have been a hard early life. I take some comfort that instead of dying alone in the cold, he could look up at me and know that someone had cared for him. I hope he knew that he has been loved - even if it was for a brief time.

I paid and drove over to to see my husband. He had met Alfonso a few times and liked him too. - when I told him what happened tears welled up in his eyes and began rolling down his cheeks too. I knew he was thinking of our dogs and how he would feel if one day we have to put them down.

"I had really started to get used to him," he said. "Me too," I sniffed.

He was just that sort of cat. He just made himself right at home in your life and before you knew it you were in love with him. One more man who made me fall in love with him and left me in tears.

This really has to stop.

The things I miss

I went over to my old house the day before yesterday. My husband is moving out and he still has a bunch of my stuff that I figured I would have time to sort through eventually - but I never got to it. The place is full of boxes (some of them with my unsorted stuff), and I found myself wandering from room to room, opening up empty closets, looking inside all the cupboards and drawers. I told myself I just wanted to make sure he wasn't leaving anything behind, but in reality I was wandering around the rooms of that house - our house - and saying goodbye.

I was upstairs in the second floor bathroom looking at the empty linen closet when I suddenly burst into tears and began sobbing uncontrollably. I had spent an entire afternoon organizing that closet. Giving the extra soap, shampoo and towels a proper place. Arranging makeup and vitamins, and talcum powder. Taking a space and making it mine. Making it ours. Making a house into a home. Now that home was being packed up and it was just a house again. A house for someone else to make theirs.

I know its silly to hold onto a "place". It's just a house. But when we moved there it was supposed to be a fresh start - a new beginning - a chance to be happy. I pictured us grilling in the backyard, planting a garden in the spring, lying in the hammock I bought in Key West and taking mid-afternoon naps. I created a guest room on the third floor where I envisioned friends and family would come and stay - an office where I could write -and a space that might one day become a nursery. That house was a symbol of a dream I had for my life, and now that dream was being stripped bare, disassembled and packed into boxes.

I insisted on taking a few things right then and there- things I didn't really have to have at 10pm on a weeknight. Stuff like the printer, and a paper shredder and an ergonomic stool from Relax The Back store that I bought when I threw my back out and couldn't sit in any normal chair without pain. My husband helped me put them in the car, even though I could tell he was iritated that I suddenly felt I had to do this "right now." I think he knew I was cracking.

The whole thing made me realize how incredibly lonely I am, and how the hardest part of this is letting my dreams die. Letting go of the plans I had made for us and for our lives. There would be no happy afternoons lounging in that backyard hammock. No repainting the spare room for a new baby. No thanksgiving dinner gathered around the dining room table followed by a walk in the park with the dogs.

"This isn't how I wanted my life to be" I once sobbed to my be best friend Stephanie in Boston over the phone. My husband and I had just returned from the neighborhood block party, and hours before I had signed the lease on my new apartment. It was official, we were going our separate ways. But we decided to put in an appearance at the party anyway, and midway through I had to leave. I simply couldn't take it. The group was filled with young married couples who were all pregnant or chasing after young toddlers. The fathers played with the kids and the dogs and the moms chatted about this or that. And I watched the parents interact - working as a team - taking turns being on parental duty. Asking one another for another plate of potato salad or a beer, or could he please get little Michael's binky from the diaper bag? I sat watching these normal, happy interactions thinking "this will never be us."

My husaband was never happy. He didn't ever want to socialize or hang out with the neighbors, or have a beer with friends. Simple everyday chit chat was something he considered an imposition. He had become a loner, and he shut out even me. I could't even begin to imagine us laughing and playing with a child - me asking him for another diaper or toy and having him hoist the kid onto his shoulders to see the fire engine up close. I couldn't picture a happy family.

"I know," stephanie consoled me. "But you are moving on so that you can have those things. If you stay with him you know you never will, but by leaving, even though you'll be alone, even though it's hard, ther's a chance one day you might."

She is right of course. I knew it then. I know it now. But each time I am confronted with the broken dream I can't help but wish things could have somehow been different - and I ache with the need to make them so.

Do I miss my husband? Every day. But what I really miss is the way we used to be, long ago when we fell in love and decided to get married. I miss the person who used to be excited about hearing about my day, who used to take long walks with me on summer nights, who would drive the the beach with me on a moments notice and stay there all day in the sun getting tan and hungry before finding some seaside restaruant for dinner. I miss the nights we used to go get enormous amounts of sushi with from the cheap restaraunt across the street from our old Boston apartment and eat it on the living room floor while watching masterpiece theatre on PBS because we didn't have cable. I miss walking to Trader Joes and buying as much as we could carry - olives stuffed with blue cheese, proscuitto, goat cheese, fresh figs, wine, shrimp...and having our own personal anti-pasto with a VHS movie from the run-down neighborhood video store. I miss the way he used to rub my back with baby powder when I was sleeping until I would wake up to him caressing me gently, tenderly.

I miss all of that . All the things that made me choose him as my partner in life. All the things that made me think I would want to wake up to him every day. That together we would read bedtime stories and take vacations, and make a family full of happy memories. I miss it so much it hurts.

But missing something doesn't bring it back to life. Of course, sometimes I find myself wondering if we might not be able to revive things. Reconcile and go back to those happier times. I'm not sure. Perhaps I'm just lonely right now and mourning the death of those dreams. Maybe I'm just feeling uncertain that i'll ever find that dream again with someone else. Maybe he really will never be able to be that person that I need, and in order to have those things, I have to look elsewhere. But maybe he'll change.

I miss him. But I don't want to miss out on the rest of my life. I don't want to miss out on a family - a partner - a lover - a dream. I missed him even when we were still married - because he was already absent from my life in so many ways. And now metaphorically speaking, the things I miss are getting packed away - and the rooms of my heart are empty and filled with boxes.