Ghost Town

This entry is a perfect illustration of why I have nothing to say. I had a weirdly contemplative day about MRE, triggered by a few dozen reminders. At the end of this day, I finally realized that there is something to be said for cleaning up your space, both literally and figuratively.

Got up insanely early and took Darbs around the lake. The weather has changed and October has brought crisp and unpredictable days. As we rounded the lake, I listened to a song by an artist I discovered through MRE. I think I have enough distance now, such that it didn't completely rattle me, but the words were terribly poignant. Her name is Kasey Chambers, the song is More Than Ordinary, but these details are unimportant.

I haven't yet posted the skinny on MRE and probably won't. Suffice to say, it was an important relationship that I miss terribly and yet then, in clearer moments, not at all. I do know that I won't get involved with a romantic wordsmith anytime soon, even as much as I love a good storyteller. Which brings me to Writer Guy, but I'll hold off on that.

I loved MRE. I still do, and I hope that I always will. As I said, it was an important relationship, even though, like every relationship, it was flawed. I know, very rationally and logically, that it probably wouldn't have lasted a lifetime, given the differences in our characters and personalities. Hell, I can honestly say that I actively tried to end it several times because of these crucial differences. But for whatever reason, I am holistic in looking back and can truly appreciate how goddamn important it was. I keep using that word because tonight, it seems to fit.

In any event, as I was getting my morning coffee this morning, I stuck my hand in the pocket of my leather jacket, which I hadn't worn since spring. I felt something that seemed to be a business card and I pulled it out. It was a card that accompanies a floral arrangement, and I studied it for a moment, thinking that it was a remnant from some B mea culpa or gesture of gratitude. When I turned it over, I saw the words "I love you, K. I love you more than I ever thought I could love this way. Love, MRE."

It wasn't exactly jarring, but a tangible reminder of something I am trying to work through, learn from, and put behind me. Last weekend, I was cleaning up my home office and found two cards from him that I had shoved into a drawer (romantic, that) and I didn't throw them away. I just re-shoved them back in the drawer. I still haven't deleted our considerable email history, even though I have not reread a single email since we ended it. Quite frankly, I have just avoided all reminders of it and him. This is more difficult than I would have expected, as he and I had a great time in this city. Every day, I pass places we went, and for some really fucked up reason, these are more haunting than the considerable universe of the story of K&B. In my more logical moments, I explain to myself that they were different because MRE and I were different. It was intense, different, frightening, unsettling, exciting, intoxicating and any other adjective I can muster.

It was also fatally flawed for a number of reasons. And I came to this realization tonight. I miss MRE - the man I knew and fell in love with. That is undeniable and I can deal with that. But the other part is that I miss the way I felt with him, at least most of the time. That is, I miss the way he made me feel, and that seems kind of selfish and superficial. I hope that I miss the way he made me feel because I made him feel the same way and that was the drug we were hooked on, and not that I was a needy female who became addicted to the adoration.

Fuck, this whole post makes little sense.

After getting my coffee this morning and making the discovery in my pocket, I trudged up the hill to my office. When I got to my desk, I saw the tell-tale signs of awaiting voice mails and hit the button to play them on speaker, as I hung up my jacket and got myself situated. The second one caught me off guard. It was just music - Captain Fantastic, to be specific. No words, just part of the song. I knew it was from Writer Guy and I logged onto my work email. He sent an message, entitled "90 Days," which said "I don't know what you think is going to happen in the next 90 days or who you think you will be in three months, but I'm going to wait and see. Do you have a date for New Year's Eve yet? Let me know. Because that is 90 days from now."

I did have a date for NYE, but we called it off. I will, in fact, be legally available that evening, as it turns out.

In the meantime, I am going to do what I never thought I would do, which is gather up all the remnants of the MRE relationship and toss them. Even though I don't ever stare at them longingly (or in any other way, quite frankly), it is time for me to clean up my space. Real and virtual.

Also, this is awesome beyond description. The Jim Caviezel line alone (with the high pitch) is worth the view.