Thursday, July 01, 2010
From time to time I will wake from a dream about some lost love over the coarse of my life. There are only a handful but like ghosts they come and visit me in my dreams as though I'm Scrooge McDuck on Christmas Eve. The list seems absurdly short now in relation to the number of partners I've accumulated over they years. My twenties has acted something like a filter of all these men, leaving behind a potent, bitter concoction that produce the sensation of regret, euphoria and nostalgia all wrapped into one.
I'd say the most regrettably lost was my first boyfriend Jeff who perhaps yearly visits my dreams and seems so real and close in slumber that it nearly pains me to return to the waking world. He is my high school sweetheart who treated me so well (in fact our last parting words as I stood there breaking up with him in the church basement for another guy was "No one will treat you better than I will"). Of course, he was right or at least I imagine so. He went on to become a high school biology teacher whilst in college at Cal before becoming a medical student and now a doctor of oncology who is married. Sigh.
Then there is Scott, the most recent to invade my dreams. It is surprising that he makes the list since we were never officially boyfriend and girlfriend. He was the dreamy Asian frat boy of my college days who I dated for two years. I absolutely adored him. He had milky white skin, great build, amazing little bachelor's pad. We went to raves together and restaurants and he taught me the difference between hip-hop and rap (quite a distinction around the turn of the century). He played Maxwell at night before turning the lights off which if you know Maxwell made lovemaking surreal. Big problem was he never referred to me as his girlfriend except once to a stranger, and that is what finally did us in. I believe he would have liked to keep things open ended for a little longer but after two years I was ready to move on. It wasn't entirely his fault - I freely dated other guys but perhaps only because I sensed he was a hopeless case from early on. Or maybe I was selfish. I am very selfish as you can tell by reading that first paragraph.
I just hate the way I feel when I wake up from these dreams. I have currently relegated myself to a life where being in love and getting married are being suppressed. I love Michael because he's Amelie's dad and because I genuinely love him but there are two problems. He's never once expressed any intention of us getting married. Second, he has a horrible unmanageable temper. And so perhaps it is not so big a problem because I do not think I really want to marry Michael after all.
But I do think I want to be in love the way I was when I was young. I must - even my dreams point to yes. The emptiness upon waking from these dreams is palpable. Perhaps being in love is not the problem but feeling loved is. I always ask Michael if he loves me and he asks me why do I ask? to which I reply I just need to know. And he answers with another question, Don't you already know? I like to hear it, I say. After all this weary extraction he answers yes and gives me a squeeze. Still I wake up feeling empty.
What do I do? Where do I find the answers?
I'd say the most regrettably lost was my first boyfriend Jeff who perhaps yearly visits my dreams and seems so real and close in slumber that it nearly pains me to return to the waking world. He is my high school sweetheart who treated me so well (in fact our last parting words as I stood there breaking up with him in the church basement for another guy was "No one will treat you better than I will"). Of course, he was right or at least I imagine so. He went on to become a high school biology teacher whilst in college at Cal before becoming a medical student and now a doctor of oncology who is married. Sigh.
Then there is Scott, the most recent to invade my dreams. It is surprising that he makes the list since we were never officially boyfriend and girlfriend. He was the dreamy Asian frat boy of my college days who I dated for two years. I absolutely adored him. He had milky white skin, great build, amazing little bachelor's pad. We went to raves together and restaurants and he taught me the difference between hip-hop and rap (quite a distinction around the turn of the century). He played Maxwell at night before turning the lights off which if you know Maxwell made lovemaking surreal. Big problem was he never referred to me as his girlfriend except once to a stranger, and that is what finally did us in. I believe he would have liked to keep things open ended for a little longer but after two years I was ready to move on. It wasn't entirely his fault - I freely dated other guys but perhaps only because I sensed he was a hopeless case from early on. Or maybe I was selfish. I am very selfish as you can tell by reading that first paragraph.
I just hate the way I feel when I wake up from these dreams. I have currently relegated myself to a life where being in love and getting married are being suppressed. I love Michael because he's Amelie's dad and because I genuinely love him but there are two problems. He's never once expressed any intention of us getting married. Second, he has a horrible unmanageable temper. And so perhaps it is not so big a problem because I do not think I really want to marry Michael after all.
But I do think I want to be in love the way I was when I was young. I must - even my dreams point to yes. The emptiness upon waking from these dreams is palpable. Perhaps being in love is not the problem but feeling loved is. I always ask Michael if he loves me and he asks me why do I ask? to which I reply I just need to know. And he answers with another question, Don't you already know? I like to hear it, I say. After all this weary extraction he answers yes and gives me a squeeze. Still I wake up feeling empty.
What do I do? Where do I find the answers?
