That dirty old fucker

At what point do you become the creepy old dude? When is an age gap really an issue.

I have been pondering this of late. I am pushing towards that magical 40. The marker at the end of your dirty thirties.

It has been some time now since my last long term relationship and I wonder if I will have another. I honestly wonder if I am ready to compromise where I need to and open myself up again.

To throw trouble into the mix I seem to hanging with the wrong age group. I don't know exactly how it happened but just seem to have a disproportionate number of young female friends in my life.

By young I mean 20-23 year olds. Obviously it is a dancing thing but it is also through Kite surfing and climbing.

Girls my age seem to be either hanging in wine bars, married or watching TV with a tub of ice cream. I suppose they are out there but they just don't seem to be out doing the stuff I enjoy.

The ones that are, are all loved up and awesome people but just not available...they are the women I want but can't seem to find one who is single.

As my last couple of posts alluded to, there is a girl of interest who is age appropriate, who is active in most of the ways I like (although not much of a water baby...) but, and this is the killer as there is always a fucking but, she seems to have the most anoying commitment issues herself. She is hereby named Miss Unpredictable and I honestly have no idea where we stand.

It is at the point that I want to walk away from something that could be awesome because she is doing my head in. On the occasions that we have hooked up the sexin was good but it was not insane. It was a tad vanilla and to be honest, she just did not seem to be in the zone - not hungry. I like hungry. I like a girl who knows what she wants and demands it. Sex, roll over and go to sleep is not how it is supposed to be, especially at the start of a relationship.

So rewind to last night. One of my other, younger buddies is talking about friends with benefits while we climbed. She was bemoaning the fact that her last bit of fun had a girlfriend now, and the other option was overseas. God damn it, she had an itch that needed scratching.

Here was my dilemma. We have been mates for some time now, a couple of years. We are cuddly affectionate people but there is 17 years between us so it has never looked like crossing that line.

We have talked about all sorts of fun stuff and both joked and talked ourselves up on bedroom technique and etiquette but it was always a little at arms length because to be honest, I did not want to be knocked down for hitting on a 22 year old chick.

An insanely hot 22 year old chick. She dances, pole dances, climbs..in a word, fit.

Anyhow, after a big night of climbing we went back to my place on a whim and ended up curled up on the couch together watching good old MasterChef that I had recorded while we were out.

It was a do or die moment. In a flash we were together in a very cosy position that I had not even tried to engineer.

At the end of the show it was time to make a call on the situation. "So do you want a ride home or do you want to crash here and that itch scratched?"

I braced for the laugh, the knock back, the face screwed up "ewwwww!"

With the cheekiest of smiles she looked me in the eye, gave my leg a squeeze and suggested that if it could stay uncomplicated, mutual itch scratching was a fantastic idea and too long coming.

In an instant, the age gap was forgotten. This girl, so young, was the most sexually self aware and demanding bed partner I have had in a couple of years. I have not slept so little in a night of fun that just never seemed to end.

You know it is a fun night when you first roll into bed at midnight and while you are going for it yet again, the garbage trucks start rolling by and the sun peeks over the horison.

Un-fucking-believable is all I can say and work is killing me. So much so that I am writing this post rather than do what I should be doing.

If I knew for sure I was dating Miss Unpredictable then I would have to admit to being a cheating bastard but right now with so little communication and commitment from her I don't know what I am.

Opportunistic is probably the most appropriate word.

At the risk of bragging this is one opportunity I am so glad I got. It reminded me what makes me tick, what I want in a sexual partner and the connection, the raw desire I need to feel.

I had wondered if a slightly lack lustre sex drive on my part was age related and I have to say after last night, hell no. I just hadn't been with the right girl since a particular lady and a bathtub that I have yet to write about....

Miss Unpredictable has a date with me tonight and as crass as it sounds I get to do the side by side taste test.

It is going to be an interesting night indeed.

I don't understand.

I have a dance partner and a lover.

One was born about the time I finished school and knows none of my silly music, life or film references.

She has an eternity of growing up to do, none of which I want to carry her through.

She is slim and petite but almost too much so for my carnal tastes.

She lacks the self assured sexuality I desire despite being able to turn on just enough to make the judges happy. Especially the dirty old ones that enjoy rolling their eyes over her naked navel.

Meanwhile I give myself to my lover, expose myself to hurt and disappointment. I give her a key to my house where she can seek refuge and live in my space for a weekend, explore and find out who I am with out my censorship.

Watch my porn, read my books, check under every rock and behind every closed door to see who I am. I feel naked and probed but content that I can be so open about who I am.

A thousand kilometers distant we pour months of hard work onto the dance floor and are rewarded with results exceeding our honest expectations. The one person I wanted to share it with is not there and she is told this again and again.

Yet all this trust and love is met with jealous accusations. Twice in two weeks now.

We do spend an insane amount of time in each others company, generally in a close embrace with our sweat, blood and tears mixing. We finish each others sentences like and old married couple and could get an Olympic medal for long jump when it comes to crossing the line in our private jokes.

Yet we go home to the ones we love, know that we are not connected that way and never will be.

I need her to understand that or it will all end.

True Love

The plan was simple, dance until late, return to my place and snuggle the night away with a lazy sleep in.

Yes, it was a school night and the lazy sleep in was to be on a Friday morning but I am the boss so fuck off back to work and don't question why I am late ok?

As I gently woke from my slumber and peered through bleary eyes at the alarm clock there was a confused recognition that the numbers were much lower than they should have been. 0700? What is that all about? Where has my bed warmer run off to? What is it with female bladders and early morning toilet runs? Wonder if she is getting ready to surprise me in that way of ways? Hmmmmm, warm bed....sleepy.

"Fuck...Oh no...Fuck Fuck Fuck" she mutters from the bathroom.

Cold tiles? Splashed cold water on her self?

"You ok?"

"Nope...I am early!"

It is 7am, damn right you are early I think. Then the penny drops...the red dragon is in the house.

"So much better than being late!" I quip back.

"True, but I am not prepared. I am like clockwork and this is 24 hours early, I have nothing with me..."

I know what this means. This is that moment when I get to find out the most intimate details. The whole plugs or planks discussion, mini, maxi, regular, wings or installation thing-a-ma-jigs...

"Do you want me to run up the shops" I enquire pulling on shorts and a shirt. My sleep-in dashed on the rocks of a feminine hygiene product emergency.

The specifications are given and I depart to the nearest Coles looking every bit like a man just out of bed.

As I get out of the car I am reminded that in my haste to clothe myself I neglected to step into underpants. The reminder comes in the form of a light brush of drilled cotton shorts on the tip of my knob.

A head conversation ensues like so;

Penis: Morning!! (stretching out to greet the day)
Head: Oh damn...forgot about you...em, can we save the morning greeting for about 15 minutes?
Penis: What's happening?...hmm, like this fabric, makes me tingle (now rubbing against the inside of the shorts like a cat weaving between your legs when asking for attention)
Head: Hey! quit it. We are shopping for girly stuff, this is not the time to look aroused.
Penis: but I am aroused....look at ME! (springing to full salute)
Head: but I am not so back to sleep for a while ok?
Penis: Too late! Hey, did the check out chick just glance at me?
Head: Fuck I hope not...I must look like a total perve.
Penis: pretty sure she just saw me waving at her...
Head: I am going to beat you when we get out of here..
Penis: I love it when you talk dirty...
Head: NOT like that!
Penis: Too late, I am ready for what ever you can give me!

So there I am, with an unrestrained, attention seeking boner, be dazzled by a million colourful packets of pads and tampons and wanting to die. I make my selection and dash for the check out.

The name tag introduces her as Amy, she is as flustered and flushed in the cheeks as I am. There is a brief mental exchange between us where I exert my full jedi will on this young and impressionable mind...

Amy: Is that what I think it is???...
Me: Yep, you saw it and no I am not stealing a Salami..
Amy: Do I need to call security???..
Me: No, no need for security, this is not the boner you are looking for..
Amy: No, this is not the boner I am looking for..."$5.70 please.."

I pay and leave as fast as I can. Knob straining against my shorts as I trot to the car.

What a way to start the day.

A new year and an old friend

Boxing day was every bit as much fun on the water as expected and many more afternoons like it followed.

With new years eve rapidly approaching and no firm plans in place I did the only thing I could think of doing and put in a booty call to water bed girl.

There was no commitment as she was trying to make something else happen. We agreed that there was a dance party to fall back on for the evening if needed.

So much like the days before, new years eve started with a massive kite surfing session. I had half my wardrobe in the car to allow for all eventualities and arrived at a mates place for a BBQ and kids fireworks viewing, salt encrusted and skin glowing pink from sun and wind. Much to the amusement of the guests that did not know me, I invited myself to use their shower and re-entered the party fresh as a daisy and much better groomed than 15 minutes beforehand.

With the last chicken skewer finished, the smell of cordite still in the air from the 9pm fireworks and the temptation to settle in for the night on cold beverages and good company, my host chased all the kids off to bed so the adults could take over the wii and Guitar Hero.

It was at this point that I realised two things. One was that as much as I love performing, I really have to be drunk to sing. I was not drunk so there was no way in the world I was picking up that mike. The second was that playing the drums in guitar hero is more fun than playing the guitar. I know guitarists get all the chicks and drummers are prone to vanishing in a puff of smoke if you are in Spinal Tap but it was brilliant fun and an as yet unknown talent was discovered. Even if I say so myself.

As much as I was enjoying this I was surrounded by couples that were very set in their couple like ways. There was drinking and laughing but there was not going to be any sex and even the few single mums in the crowd were in man hating mode. It was obvious that as much as I was good mates with them, rolling drunk and playing guitar hero was not how I wanted to ring in 2009

Around 11pm the expected beep of the phone confirmed that all other plans had not worked out for water bed girl with the simple statement "Going to DP. Don't want to be alone tonight.."

Now, call me opportunistic but I finished up my set, threw the drum sticks into the cheering crowd, pushed passed the groupies signing bare chests as I went. Once in the safety of my car, I started the cross town dash to a guaranteed liaison of the skin on skin kind.

In a moment of panic I realised that I may have been a bit wishful in my thinking to get right into the heart of Five Dock in the last 40 minutes of new years eve but I managed to negotiate all the closed roads with little traffic and even got a parking spot in time for a few dances before the clock struck 12.

Waiting in her glass slippers like Cinderella was water bed girl with that mixed look of joy knowing what was on the menu to start 2009 and a little sadness that neither of us were really spending the night with the person we wanted to be.

Despite that, we put the negative thoughts behind us and I was again left with that smile that waking in a water bed puts on my face.

Christmas continued..

Yet again my enthusiasm for Christmas was failing fast.

Cracks in my relationship with LTL were tearing open faster than the San Andreas Fault in 1906. Arguing over stupid shit like my choice of tree left me dazed.

Christmas eve continued into an ever increasing whirlpool of negative vibes.

Her failure to succeed in cooking some exotic rice based desert somehow became my fault despite me having no input what so ever. For all intensive purposes it looked like rice pudding but was done in some complicated way to ensure a less than edible outcome.

With a kitchen smelling of burnt condensed milk and rice it was time to exchange gifts as that is what you do next to a spruce tree on Christmas eve in her country. Fair enough, we can play that game. Pity about the lack of spruce tree.

Again I got it all wrong. Unbeknownst to me, her take on Christmas is giving lots of individually wrapped little presents. Failure to do so is punished with the quivering lip of disappointment and misty eyed dribble about how the Douche understood how to do Christmas properly. My gift was well received but it felt that the fact that there was only one of them was looked down upon.

It probably did not help that on receiving gift number 53, a calendar full of photos of cats in the same vein as "I can has Cheezburger" that I might have suggested that a single purchase of a Playstation 3 would have fit in better with the existing decor and used less trees in wrapping paper.

Sadly, joking that I would buy my own PS3 in the boxing day sales sparked a debate over the proper spending of funds - A PS3 was frivolous and not the best use of my cash I was told. You can imagine how well that sat with me.

On that note, Christmas eve ended with an early night, some lack lustre sex and me day dreaming about kite surfing or dancing on another part of the planet.

Christmas morning dawned with the news that she was not coming to our family gathering. Wow - more surprises I thought. Christmas is just so much fun!

Would she still be here when I got back from lunch? What about all our plans for the holidays etc. Were they still on?

She did not know the answers to any of the obvious questions and with that cloud hanging over me I went to hang out with family and cop a million awkward questions while I sat at the table with an empty setting beside me.

Thankfully my younger brother and girlfriend were about to produce grand child number two so my inability to produce a girlfriend for Christmas lunch was overshadowed by my inability to breed with one too.

On the drive home I finally gave in to my dark thoughts and quietly hoped she was gone from my house when I got back. Sadly, she was still packing to leave.

I had decided on the drive home that I was not doing another relationship with a girl from far away lands that was going to turn around one day and want to go home. I did not need a girl who despite meeting every other criteria I thought I wanted, would drive me nuts with a love of cats, Christmas and directing my spending habits.

With a wave she was gone from my life.

Boxing day and the sales arrived. I did the rounds of the game stores, JB hi-fi and David Jones. After some haggling I secured a shiny new PS3 with some games and Blueray movies. No sooner did I have it plugged in and the phone rang.

"Wind is building up man...time to hit the beach" the voice on the other end nearly screamed at me. "Is the girly going to come too?"
"What girl? we split yesterday.."
"Awesome. The next few days are going to be pumping. You are better of without a hand brake!"

As much as I was sad, I had to agree. She hated the beach and thought my obsession with kite surfing was silly. I had been looking forward to the plans we had made but really, what the hell had I been thinking? It was going to be blowing 25 knots for days.

To be continued...

An interruption to regular programming

It is that time of year. The heat wave that ravaged South Australia and Victoria is creeping up towards Sydney and it is making life a challenge.

In the middle of all the heat I am trying to rehearse three dance routines and learn a whole heap of West Coast Swing from a couple of amazing dancers from California.

To say things are a little insane right now is an understatement.

I have danced every single night in two or more weeks and have probably averaged about three hours sleep on each.

The legs are weary and I have had to punch a new hole in my belt buckle to keep my shorts on.

Dealing with romance is not a priority right now although that is not to say that the mischief is not continuing in spades. I just don't have time to write it all up.

Currently I am keeping my fingers crossed for Saturday night. Not only do I have the final of a competition to dance in but two other performances to do.

All of that with the following list of lady friends in the audience; one fuck buddy, two ex-lovers, two girls I am considering dating, a third I would sleep with in a heart beat but know would be a disaster to date.

Mean while all my attention will be on my hot little dance partner for most of the night then I am taking another girl back to my place so she can sleep in the spare room as we are just mates...honest!

Wish me luck and expect a good volume of blog fodder and confusion for all concerned.

Complications of the highest order.

2009 is underway and I have already made a mess of things.

Way back before I started blogging I knew this girl, she is just my type of person except she had a douche bag boyfriend, from now known as DB. We always got along like a house on fire and through various sport related gigs spent a fair bit of time together both in Australia and overseas. This was not a dancing thing.

There were moments when I thought it was about to happen but we both always seemed to acknowledge the complications of the situation and would back away before it got messy. In March last year Long time love (LTL) and I had a discussion about the silliness of the game we were playing we finally just got it on and accepted that we really should be together.

Two issues immediately hit us. LTL was not living in Sydney, she still had the DB and worse still, she had no permanent residency just yet. That was in the final stages of processing.

Everything sort of went on ice except for the weekends we met up in which case, it all got a bit hot and bothered.

In that time and because LTL was still not sure when she would be able to leave DB I have to admit I played around and kept looking, and generally playing the field. This varied in intensity depending on how likely I thought it was she would actually ever leave DB.

LTL knew it was a risk that I might get swept off my feet and she would loose me but that was the risk that we were taking in having this play out over 9 or more months on top of the previous 3 years of sexual tension.

Just when I thought it was never going to happen things got hot and heavy with waterbed girl. That was cruising along ok except it was obvious that other than great sex, it was not going to be a life long deal. As if to confirm that was the case, two things happened.

LTL got her permanent residency and she then immediately left DB. Giddy up indeed.

It was time to break it to waterbed girl that while what we had was fun, we really were on different paths oh, and by the way LTL is now back on the scene so we really need to cool it.

That did not go down well. I was not surprised but hey, when it comes to love, you got to look out for number one.

What did surprise me was the reason she was not happy. It was not that I was breaking it off for another girl, it was because she wanted the sexin to continue.

It was her opinion that while LTL may be the real deal, she was not on the scene right here and right now so we should be able to keep fucking like monkeys and enjoying the moment for as long as we could.

Hmmmm. I needed some time to consider this.

To be continued....

Not dead yet.

To quote Twain, the rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated.

The bike is yet to provide more danger than an increased heart rate and surge of adrenaline. It is still surpassed in risk by activities like kite surfing in over 30 knots of wind as per yesterday afternoon.

Some how I have managed to retain my licence and all my skin despite the little red thoroughbred wanting to get up on it's back wheel and scream away with the slightest twist of the wrist.

I may be getting older and more under control but I have to laugh at every idiot in a car that honestly thinks there is some point in trying to race against a bike like this. I refuse to play the game. Mostly. There just is no point, I will save the heroics for the track days.

Other than that, the silly season has arrived, girls keep turning up to various parties in short little Santa dresses and I feel obliged to unwrap as many presents as I get offered. I blame the bike for my bad boy lifestyle right now.

I have a guest post to put up in a day or so that has been sitting in my inbox for some time now so I promise to dig it out and get it up here for your entertainement.

Cause and effect

Recently I was having a conversation with a friend and we got onto one of my favourite subjects, me and what makes me, me.

She was curious as to why I often tread softly with other peoples feelings, why I don't just jump in with both feet at the first sign of an invitation and yet charge through other aspects of life like a bull in a china shop, competing and enjoying every moment like is my first or last day on the planet.

At first I didn't have an answer and it got me thinking about the moments in life that made me who I am. Out of the fog came a moment that I think changed me and how I think about our interactions with each other.

Probably 10 years or so ago an acquaintance lost their battle with depression and committed suicide. It was a tragic waste of life and left a wife and kids battling with the loss. Now I did not know this person or his family very well, he was in that circle of people you know at arms length, you may see once a year at an event or through business.

Out of the blue I got an invitation to attend the funeral. Now like most people, funerals are not my preferred outing but I knew other people who were going and a part of me felt that under the circumstances it may have been important for his family to have the support.

The first thing that struck me was the reaction of his church to his passing. The ceremony was held in a hall rather than the church. It seems that because it was a suicide the church and his priest refused to have the ceremony in the actual church. I was also shocked to hear that members of the congregation that were supposed to be his closest and dearest friends refused to attend because of the nature of his death.

Now I am not a religious person at all. I am an atheist and I can tell you that the sort of bullshit pulled by this particular denomination of organised religion only confirmed my thoughts that religion is a human construct, more about controlling people than anything else..but I digress.

After the funeral and during the wake I was approached by his wife. She was doing the rounds tearfully thanking those who attended and did not pass judgement on him taking his own life. That was moving but nothing prepared me for her next comments to me.

She started to tell me about a moment that he and I had shared together many years previous to his death. It seems that we had spent a morning together doing what we do and I had taken him along for the ride and included him in my team and what we were doing that day.

Apparently he had had a great time and been over joyed at being included and participating in that days events. He had enjoyed it enough so that he had talked about that day years later and not long before taking his own life.

What hit me as this story was being told was that I had no recollection of the events she was describing. I was standing their dumbstruck trying to recall the day, where we were, what we were doing and how on earth it had come to pass that I had included this person in my team on that day. I honestly did not remember it or his involvement in anything I had done in the past.

Slowly it came back to me over the subsequent days but with it was an overwhelming feeling of fear and confusion.

Here was a day in the life of someone that was of importance to them, where the interaction I had with them held relevance and thankfully positive memories. Yet for me it was a blink of the eye, forgotten as soon as it happened, another in the string of adventures and for me no different to many before and after.

I was slightly shaken by the thoughts of other interactions less positive I had had in the lives of those around me. If a positive event can stay with someone in that way, then how long must the negative ones bounce around in peoples life?

Now obviously not everyone is a sensitive to such things and I know that I sure let go of things and move on reasonably fast but it made me aware that we don't always know how others are interpreting our actions and it is that thought that has hung with me ever since.

I try to walk softly, I am sure I don't always succeed. That is who I am.

Painful flash backs...

Sitting at home alone on this Friday night, I am forced to think about why I am here, alone. I have to admit that I have been shaken by a recent post by Steph over at much Ado and even more so by the comments she has received.

It has made me wonder about the scum out there and how lucky I am to have never experienced that sort of hurt, and certainly happy to have never caused it.

It has however opened some recent wounds. The pain of a failed relationship just came burbling up to the surface and paralysed me.

I had great plans to go out tonight but my body has called for a break. I feel tired and broken. I need to tell this story for me.

Rewind to earlier this year. This house had another girlie bit to it, my partner, a dream, my future life. A special spark that went out the day she left.

Rewind a bit further and things were just starting to go wrong for real. We had plans in the family way but biology was not playing fair. On the surface it was all working, the boys were swimming and she was as regular as clockwork. This was our third miscarriage in three years and it tore our hearts out. The doctors just wanted to push IVF but you have to be strong and emotionally secure. The hormones, the schedule the pressure of it will kill anything but the most secure relationship.

Add to that the confusions and fear already there. We were getting pregnant, it just was not holding past 8 weeks or so. Why would IVF fix that? They could not answer in any way that made sense to me. The reading, the study, the questions did not help. Finding out that we are not alone in this struggle was no comfort.

We had friends having babies left right and fucking centre. Everyone but us. We wanted to be happy for them but it hurt. What hurt more was the few people that could not see the trauma, even though they knew we were trying, they still chimed in with the helpful comments like "you got to get on with it", "your not getting any younger", "Just shag more". Go fuck yourself was what I wanted scream. I didn't, we just stopped talking to them. It was easier but a sad way to deal with it. I have missed a large chunk of their lives and I am sorry for that.

The last miscarriage was the charm. Something broke for good right then. Curled up on the couch, the very spot I am sitting now, she said she didn't want to have kids. It was too hard. It was never going to work. She could not take the stress. Every period was failure, every late one was fear followed by a hammer blow. We were being torn apart 12 times a year.

Maybe we should have counselling? We need to talk to people outside of ourselves, we need to share this load. I want to have kids, I want to be a young dad. I want to share my adventure sports with them, teach them to climb, fly, sail, swim, ski and ride. She says; I don't do counselling, I know what I want, I'm not crazy. I want to be free of all this. I don't want a mortgage, I want to be free and reckless again. This is too hard.

My heart breaks. How do you answer that?

As if to make a point she starts smoking. She hasn't smoked since we hooked up six years ago. Back then I had joked that I would never go out with a smoker and she had quit right there and then. We were inseparable from then until it all ended. We travelled, we had adventures, we planned, plotted and schemed.

Rewind again. I'll have to check out this dancing thing. She seems to be getting right into it and wants me to go. I have said no for so long that is has become a mexican stand off. Truth be told I am scared. I will embarrass myself and her. She is such a great groover. I will be gumby next to her.

She tricks me with a bet. If I win my next competition, I will qualify for a major event. If I win, I have to learn to dance so we can dance together at the big one. I am always out to win. That is me, it is in my bones. Even the fear of dancing won't stop me taking what is mine.

I win, it was hard but worth the every minute of toil to get there. In the depression that follows, yes even winning is a downer when you have to go back to the real world, I realise that now I have to dance. She is smiling, we are happy, almost the happiest we have ever been.

Walking into the club I can see the new friends she has already. It is odd, this has been her little world for six or more months. It is the only part of out life we have not shared and straight away I can see why.

He has a girlfriend, she is his fiancée in fact. Then why do I feel green? What is it in his eye and the way they move together that makes my blood run cold. It is just about the dancing right? I'm not the jealous type so this feels ugly.

Fast forward for a bit. We have bought a house instead of getting married. It is a smarter use of money as sad as that sounds. At some point in the future I will be so glad it happened this way. I just don't know it yet. I am dancing every night I can, that knot in my gut is still there and then it is confirmed. How is not important but his fiancée and I know it is true.

Within weeks of moving into the new house I find out she has shared our bed with him. I am shattered. I make the dumbest decision in my life. I forgive her. I had always believed there was no coming back form that sort of break in trust and yet here I am. It takes ages to fade, I push it down. It actually it never does, no matter how much you lie to yourself. Even now I am fighting back tears while writing about it. Cunt!

Rewind again. We are up the far north coast of Queensland. We have only just got together and in a brilliant bit of timing I have secured a short contract that will give us the chance to travel a little and get to know each other, live together without actually having the whole moving in together discussion. Three months in paradise.

I think we lasted a few days before I blurt it out while we embrace in the surf. As I stand there with her legs wrapped around my waist, my arms holding her close, her breath in my ear, I know. She is everything I have ever wanted. I love her and I tell her so.

We kiss and she smiles. She loves me too. I am the luckiest guy on earth.

Fast forward. I walk in from work and she is drunk. The bottle of champagne is mostly empty. She is not a pretty drunk and the look says everything I never wanted to hear. I want to run. I don't want this to happen but I am wading in molasses. There is no escape. There is no answer, nothing I can say. She has made up her mind. She has not talked to friends of family, she doesn't want them to tell her she is crazy. She does not want to e talked out of it.

I want to tell her she is crazy, not for leaving me but for running away from problems and challenges, it is actually a recurring theme. The one difference between us. Even now I can't take the cheap shot, I still love her.

I have to let her walk. There is nothing I can do. It takes two to tango and if one won't dance then all bets are off.

Fast forward. It is tonight, I am regretting not dancing tonight but I had to get this out of me. I have been running and it was time to stop and catch my breath.

I promise my next post will be more fun.