#relationships

Something I've appreciated about writing out a book long hand is that I can put a bracket around each section I write at a time, and put a date to it and sometimes a note; "Written in the lobby of a Charleston Hotel", or "On a free weekend while the boys are visiting their grandparents".

Transcribing it this morning I hit a striking bit. One section I noted was written at my then-girlfriend's apartment while she worked from home. The block ends abruptly because she finished work and we were free to go out for the evening. I wasn't always very disciplined or diligent with the writing because the next block is two months later and notated that the relationship had ended.

Of course anything you read that gives the illusion of a single cohesive telling was in reality punctuated by thousands of bits of life, but it's striking to be able to see it spelled out. To know that on a girl's dining room table I wrote "from where I lie" and then I closed my notebook and clicked my pen, not to reopen the notebook or click the pen again until two months later when I'd sigh and scribble down "I heard the shuffle".

And now, alone in my apartment on a holiday I type them out continuously as a single sentence.

If you have ever had a conversation of any length at all with me, you know that my father was killed in the Oklahoma City Bombing when I was ten. My line is that I like to lead with that so I can generate sympathy to offset an alienating personality.

It's a good line, and I think it is funny and charming and endearing to people with whom I never develop more than a peripheral relationship, which is almost everyone. But there are a few people in the world who probably do not find it funny.

The truth is that I love having a dead father. He is with me wherever I go. I can talk to him whenever I like, and he always tells me exactly what I want to hear. He asks nothing of me. We never argue. It's for this reason that I've always agreed with the line someone once said: "Tell me what you think of your father and I'll tell you what you think of God."

This is important because I work from home so days will sometimes pass without any in-person human interaction. But I talk aloud endlessly. To God, to Dad, to myself.

For about three years after my marriage ended I dated a schizophrenic. But really, we dated for two months, then she broke up with me based on something to do with the CIA. A few months later she reached out, apologized, and asked for another chance. We met up another time or two, then again, some delusion forced her to call it off. Maybe a year passed and the same thing happened.

When we were actually together, I typically wasn't very happy. She would go into the bathroom and scream at herself, or often just sit crying. But in the gaps when we weren't actually communicating, it was one of the best romantic relationships I've ever had. I figured we would probably see each other again which removed the rare urge to find someone. I already had the box checked. I had a girlfriend like I had a father.

The reason I'm writing all this out is because eventually, this past September, on a whim, I decided to try to find someone. The only reason was because a friend took a picture in which I thought I looked sort of handsome and figured maybe a girl would think so too. So I made a dating app profile and met someone and within a week was certain I'd be with them forever.

I don't have the emotional capacity to rehash everything that happened, but a couple of weeks ago after a few lesser abortive efforts, I finally managed to sabotage it entirely.

Now I'm back in that comfortable solitude, hoping to never venture out again. Surrounded by imaginary friends and family who never require consideration or compromise; able to love anyone purely and wholly, provided they are never around.

Kakashi and Naruto.

Friends

Last time I'll see him ​before he's back from Summer Camp in Maine.