Relationships, discont.

I love wordplay, almost as much as foreplay. Thus the Relationships, Relationships continued, and Relationships discontinued titles for my last few blog entries, including this one. Ever notice that when you've been with someone for a long time they take for granted things like foreplay and consideration? I tend to overlook these things because I have no wish for a contentious relationship. But at some point I will decide to leave the relationship in a permanent and quiet way. It is not that I ever expect anyone to "read my mind" so much as it is from my Southern upbringing. If I ever once say that something is bothering me, it is REALLY REALLY bothering me. The first time I say it. If I have to REPEAT it, then it is grounds for separation. Generally I'm very laid back and very few things bother me. So it is extreme if I have to speak about it.

In the Southern tradition of genteel politeness, being rude is extremely frowned upon. Malicious gossip is rude, putting others in danger is rude (say via aggressive driving), and honking one's horn is rude. Honking one's horn is the equivalent of stating to the world that someone else is being rude, which is the simply the height of rudeness. It has real value in life to understand and live by the precepts of politeness. In fact the best relationships last when neither party is rude to the other and shaky relationships last when the polite partner never points out the rudeness of the other partner. So I'm coming to the final impasse with a man in my life who I truly love, mostly enjoy being with, yet his rudeness is going to do us in permanently, and my politeness will never allow me to tell him this directly.

I have tried to use allegories to get the point across, but because he is a Norristonian, a relic of a Northeastern attitude that carries prejudice and non-acceptance to Archie Bunker extremes, I clearly see that such sensitivity is never going to be in his nature. He loves my deportment, that he can take me anywhere and I always appear to fit in. I get along well with his mother and 55 year old sisters, yet I can sit at a party where there is drunkenness, lewdness, and drug use, appear to fit in and accept it, yet remain untouched. I'm no prude, I've participated in such shenanigans in my youth--heh heh. But I am 50 years old to his 37 years, now. I took awhile to grow up myself, yet he hasn't even started. I'm his hard rock mistress, a living relic of the 60's & 70's, he's my youthfully exuberant lover. I can't take him anywhere, yet he will take me everywhere.

My sons really don't like him, the Baby Mama doesn't want him near my granddaughters, and the Other Mother has no idea I've been dating a child of the 70's. I'm darned near old enough to be his babysitter! LOL! So I tried, as an experiment, to get him to go on an activity I like. This was a real test to see if I should ease on down the road or is there anything worth hanging onto here. He smokes weed frequently. I mean every 15 minutes when we are on a hike. The activity I wanted to go on is with a hiking club that has events all over the tri-state area. The issue would be whether he can spend a lovely day of hiking with relative strangers without toking up.

I chose to go on a grueling 20 mile hike with a leader I've trudged with before. I figured it would be enough of a challenge for Brutus while I'd be up for it after our 90 mile hike on the AT in Georgia the week before last. He hemmed and hawed and tried to put me off, made lame excuses, then finally agreed to go. It took me forever to get us on the road, like he was deliberately balking. I told him it would take two hours to get there when it was really ninety minutes. I knew what I was up against. We made it to the meeting area in the nick of time.

We got there and you could see the attitude forming. He was going to "show them" that he could hike farther and faster than any of them. I knew the leader well, it was going to be a frat boys pissing match. As we started off, Brutus tried to play the part of solicitous beau but I cut him loose to forge ahead with the frat boy cotillion. I lagged behind with the girls, the aged, and the infirm, of which I qualified for all three groups. I'm carrying thirty pounds more than I should, my ankles are still sore from Springer Mountain, and with the heat and humidity and my lung issues I was huffing and puffing from the get-go. I'm not as good as I once was, but I'm as good once as I've ever been. So I struggled to keep up, and I never give up (well, maybe once).

We all met at the half-way point, the frat boys were drinking wine and smoking weed. I was not surprised. I told Brutus he'd enjoy this hike. They hurriedly put out the fires and all the women but two, plus several men, opted out of the rest of the hike. They were pooped and it was getting extremely hot and humid. We figured we'd gone 9 miles at that point. I just wanted to know when we would stop to rest and eat after four solid hours of heavy marching. My energy was flagging, and I was feeling dizzy. The sweep, the person who generally goes last on a hike to help the leader ensure that everyone is making it, lagged behind with me. He knew I was in trouble, and he indicated that as a diabetic that his blood sugar was becoming a problem. He and I both were concerned about each other. Yes, there was some bonding going on. Jim was sensitive and courtly. He actually held my hand and assisted me over some harder points. We talked endlessly about global warming, going green, his troubles with divorce and visitation, and my quest to become strictly vegan & fruitarian. We equated diet to diabetes and he pumped me for information on the health theories that support veganism and what the heck is fruitarianism?

We all stopped for a lunch break finally. When I'm at the end of a hike the breaks are only about 5 minutes for me because I have to catch up to the group, but Jim made them wait until I was feeling better. I had to chug water and lay down for 20 minutes. I was too heat exhausted to want to eat--that's not me! We hiked another three miles and I went slower and slower and Jim
tried to keep my spirits up. At a road crossing four of us infirm and aged ones decided to take the road a mile into town and cut the hike short. Jim and I split off from the other two and he took us down a side street in Morristown to stop for food and a beer. We were having such a great conversation that we just sat there for a couple of hours talking and cooling down. It took about two more hours and the main group got to the cars and started calling to inquire if we were ok. The other two guys had left notes at the cars that they lost Jim and me to a side street. So, I had to fess up to Brutus where I was at and doing what. M'ke lead him up to this place, the Green Froggie. We all had a round together and finally Brutus lead me off in a huff. By that time I was hurting so badly I really didn't care.

After practically shoving me into the truck he drove us back to the hotel in King of Prussia where I met him and left my car. He then dumped me at my car and sped off without a word. I just limped back to the house and went to bed to nurse all my wounds, mostly the invisible ones. In all honesty, I have not been honest with him. I am living in a roommate situation, not with my son as he believes. All to avoid the issue of moving in with him, because I have a different plan in life. This is the problem with "going back" to someone when things weren't good the first time around. We pretend in order to make believe that the magic is still there when it really isn't. I know that the moment I am honest with him it will probably be over. I have been content to live the fantasy because we are happier in it than not in it. But why can't relationships be more real? I have tried real and real really sucks. I have a life that I want and I wish I could have him in it. I wish with all my heart that I could have him in it. It sucks. I need to move on and maybe try one last time to find that special someone who knows how to be real. The tears fall and I can't pick them up anymore...they fall through my fingers.