"Trust this special connection"

From me to the philosopher (a Libra), one year ago today:

je te jure... i don't make this stuff up. i just pass it on...

LIBRA (Sept 23 - Oct 23)
You're complex. Not everyone can
understand you on all of the levels
you want to be understood. But a
certain kindred soul will be your
rock. Trust this special connection.

A year later, yesterday:

me: I'm pretty much alone. [ . . . ] I don't actually have a ton of people I see. I'm alone much of the time. I need someone to love me, but this time of the year I guess I'm not all that lovable. And I'm probably too much of a pain in the ass the rest of the year to be lovable then, either.

I need someone to hold me and distract me from the dark. Not gonna happen.

him: You are physically alone in that your friends are not nearby. But you are part of a large and intimate village, who loves you.

So stop moping you brat.

me: yes, sir.

[she wrinkles her nose and smiles ruefully]

they really are being nice to me, aren't they...

and you have your family.

him: Very nice. Almost as nice as you deserve.

And I have my family.

me: maybe in some ways that's all you need... your family...

and the bdsm... in your head... but maybe nowhere else...

[just deleted a whole bunch of stuff...]

him: Is that pouting?

me: no.

i don't know.

i don't think so.

it's grief.
it's regrets.
it's trying to not feel like i'm just not good enough.
or that i always do something wrong.

i'd rather believe that you're not suited to being with anyone than that you didn't want to be with me.

him: Well, perhaps you're right. I don't know. I'm nearly forty and single, without ever having had a long term relationship. You do the math.

Finally, from the NY Times review of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, which I saw today and liked very much:

Their love is uniquely perfect and enduring. At the same time, like any other love — like any movie — it is shadowed by disappointment and fated to end.

I don't know what to think any more.
I don't know what to do.

In some ways I could see us living a few blocks apart, with him as a straight, asexual version of the gay best friend. We would hang out together, watch DVDs, make meals, work cryptic crossword puzzles, always there, always thinking of each other, always looking after each other, but separated by an emotion-sparing naturally-extruded protective armor.

After all, he did tell me he was risk-averse.

There will probably always be something, some reason why it can't work, with me or anyone else. If it's not distance or dissertation it will be food or sex or BDSM (too much or too little), or she'll be fine on all counts and then will let slip that she really loves all three Godfather movies.

Is he happy?
Is he content?

If I do really love him (and who knows by now?), shouldn't I just let him become the confirmed old bachelor he wants to be? He's a big boy, he knows his own comfort level, and if intimacy is too much of a challenge then fine. Why should he live any way other than he wants to?

Because it's a goddamn waste!

For some reason, Dr. G (my psychopharmacologist) and M (my best female friend) seem to think it will turn out all right in the end. This is just a stage in our relationship, they say, it's good to have this time developing our friendship. But I'm losing faith. I'm getting worn out. I'm tempted by visions of begging the fiend for forgiveness and crawling back, ready to be content with the little scraps of time he can spare for me. I didn't like that. I hate getting the cake crumbs that are left after all the more important people get fed. At least with the philosopher I know that he IS thinking about me, that I do have some sort of place in his life. I just don't know exactly what that is. But I do know he has already checked this blog twice today.

This is probably one of those posts that I should leave unpublished.

But there's nothing much left to lose. So here it is.

They always tell you not to try to change someone.

Thinking I can persuade him or guilt-trip him into taking the risk of a relationship which he kept trying to avoid and then trying to flee from pretty much the beginning - that's just plain stupid. I need to be grateful for what we had, for whatever is left of it, and keep my tears to myself.

I need to stop babbling.

I need to go to bed.

Maybe I wrote about objectification yesterday because with objectification comes numbness.

Excuse me. I'm going to run down to the 7-11 and pick up a bottle of water from the river Lethe.