Dear Theresa

 First, I probably didn't have quite as strong of romantic longings at the time as I indicated I did when I said I wanted a relationship, not casual dating.

You definitely were, and still are, attractive physically and otherwise. And, your interest in the arts, your Japanese-inclusive multi-ethnic background and other things made you attractive in the bigger picture.

That said, having had a couple of long-distance relationships putter out, and not having been in one for a while, I think that's part of why I spoke.

And, at the same time, there were also red and yellow flags.

The biggies were on money. You indicating I didn't make enough money, I guess is "understandable" from your point of view. Between teacher pay, department head stipend, master's boost, etc., plus private music lessons, you surely made twice as much as me. And, until a recent Google to your LinkedIn page and other stuff, I didn't even think about money you made off performance gigs.

At the same time, money was a red flag the other way. Yes, you had a mortgage payment vs. my rent payment. At the same time, you were renting out a garage apartment on the detached garage at your house. Probably a wash at "best" from my fiscal POV; at "worst," you were probably 20-25 percent ahead of me.

Yes, you were also finishing paying off your SMU master's of music degree loans, I expect. But? The flip side of that was department head stipend and master's boost.

Making half as much money as you, I was saving more.

And, this, second to the moves, moves, moves, since Today Newspapers closed, is probably the main reason I'm unattached today. I don't want someone more spendthrift than me putting me at financial risk.

===

There was one other problem, though.

Your comment about my hiking being just one big circle.

First, to riff on Heraclitus, it's never exactly the same trail twice.

Second, is not surfing, your passion, pretty much the same? You're paddling out in the same ocean and coming back in a loop on a wave.

===

Also, although not overtly, and nowhere in the way of a similar degree to Cathey, I occasionally had the impression that you thought I might have "issues." Maybe I'm wrong, to the degree I thought that then. Maybe I'm over- or misremembering now, driven by some version of motivated reasoning. 

But, to the degree I am right, in picking up on signals, that was troubling.

===

I'm not totally sure why I'm blogging this. 

I know it's a form of journaling. But, I could just keep it in a Word doc without posting it.

However, I think I'd like my few readers to know this about me, and also for the insights it may have in the first part, about "wanting a relationship" yet knowing that this want is "general" and not connected to a specific other.

As for "why" I'm blogging, writing or journaling this wherever, at this time?

Shannon.

Also unavailable to me, no doubt.

Physically? Oh, yes. 

Otherwise, and setting aside the issue of her kids? Less compatible in several interests ways than you and I would have been, Theresa.

But? More compatible in some personality ways. Though probably even less so than in others.

===

Part of this was on me, though. One part in particular.

Theresa was certainly physically attractive.

But? The same "shoulds" that said I should be wanting back in a relationship of some sort said I "should" feel sexually attracted by her. 

And I didn't.

I think in part that some of the other ancillary issues where I had flags pop up had done so early enough that I didn't move further forward otherwise.

And, that I didn't feel the desire to.

===

I won't die if I die alone.

But, even if well short of permanent, I'd love to have one real relationship, starting with the physical and sexual side, better than before.

Early life regrets — and even anger — aren't dead yet.

I don't think they ever will be, until I'm dead.

Me and Bob Conners

Note: Bob Conners was a college English and speech professor of mine. He had the outreach to students of "Just call me Bob," and occasionally dropping in on dorms to visit students there.

But ... he wasn't always perfect. And, beneath the surface, years later, I started wondering about his level of investment in some reach-outs, and also how much they were about the students, and how much they were about him.

BETWEEN ME AND BOB CONNERS

Bob, you told us all,

On that spring break road trip,

That in your family, growing up,

Nobody told anybody to “Shut up,”

Because it was considered an insult.

And then you told me to “Shut up,”

More than once, across hundreds of miles.

Did you have fun?

It may have been teasing,

But, decades later, across mnemonic reframing

I don’t recall you qualifying yourself that way.

Certainly, not regularly, and my emotional memory

Says it didn’t feel that way.

Rather, some part of me,

Inner child, inner teen, inner college student,

Says it felt like bullying, not teasing.

It felt like I was the class clown again,

But as the laughed-at, not the laugh-inducing,

As though I were on a negative pedestal

For everybody in dad’s Suburban.

No, it wasn’t all bad. And I don’t

Want to sound like a complainer.

But, to the degree I felt I was getting attention

It did feel like being a class clown at emotional gunpoint.

Later, when I for the first time was graced

By one of your legendary dorm visits

Yes, I appreciated it.

And, your insight of

“There’s no one here for you, Steve,”

Rang true.

But, per Deena

With hindsight,

It also rings vacuous, even if not hurtful.

Who was the “who” that should be for me?

What was your insight beyond your statement?

Did the same surface of openness,

Followed by depths of shields and distance,

Ultimately lead to your divorce?

Is it why Mike thought you a phony,

To read between his lines on campus?

In the short run, your comment

May have eased a small amount of pain,

And even tempted me to a bit of superiority.

In the long run, because the real truth is that

There was no one there for me at home,

It may have left me with more pain, for more years,

Than I wish I would have.

Namaste

For some reason

Just popped into my stream of consciousness

Even though there is no divinity there in that space between us.

Rather, it felt like

A Hindu “rest in peace,”

As the best I can offer your memory.

If funerals are for the living, I shall not attend

If funerals are for the living, what then when the living, or one of the living, doesn't want to do to the funeral of a dead relative?

My Uncle El died a couple of days ago. My dad had the one sister and no brothers, and my mom was an only, so I have just him and my Aunt Marguerite as aunts and uncles. The funeral is Tuesday. I could surely get off work, but I am not interested.

I semi-swore to myself after my mom's death, at her funeral, that I would never need to see my oldest brother again. I put the issues of deaths of siblings out of mind as being decades in the future, barring accidents or early cancer or similar.

But, I forgot about El and Marguerite, and now El is dead.

And I don't want to go, and not just because he's is surely going to be there.

I also semi-swore to myself that, other than for possible courtesy visits to church when visiting my sister and her minister husband, that I never would set foot in a church again except to attend a concert or other artistic event.

I have no desire to go there, and, at a minimum, to be a hypocrite, and, at a maximum, be proselytized by Marguerite, or her daughter (both former parochial school teachers), or my oldest or second-oldest brothers, with the likelihood from greatest to least being in that order. Years ago, Marguerite sent me an Easter card that, in not so few of words, said "You know it's true," about fundamentalist Easter beliefs. A religious funeral among conservative Lutheran Christians is only likely to bring that all to the surface, not to mention that, pre-deconversion, I had been to her church umpteen times and some oldsters there may still know me.

No desire.

If funerals are for the living, I'm not going.

I then, with this adapted from handwritten journaling, thought about a poem. I had been thinking about writing one this afternoon. Hadn't sat down to do that.

Then, just after finishing up these notes, this extended haiku started to work its way out.

Death is for the dead
And life is for the living.
So don't fence me in.

Better yet, I won't
Fence myself by attending;
We're all better off.

Namaste for all —
A word that might well offend
Some others itself.

I touched dad's cold skin,
Satisfied that dead is dead
And shall remain so.

Schnittke's Requiem
Challenges old conventions;
Death is chaotic.

Emotional wounds
I shall not give, nor receive.
They will still result.

We will drift further.
I accept that is the price
Of preservation.

ANGER IN THE KEY OF C-SHARP MINOR

Minor keys often have melancholy, plaintive laments,
More so than jarring stridency,
Unless a sudden dissonance intrudes;
And, so it is with my anger.
Slow to form, with an undercurrent of counterpoint,
Spoken and developed in individual voices,
Like a late Beethoven quartet,
Or, maybe, even more, one by Shostakovich.
I don’t even realize that I am angry until the score plays out,
Usually about halfway through the third movement.
Then, a diminished seventh lingers, a four-part pedal point, if you will,
Until the cello transitions out, into a growling presto ostinato,
And I can no longer deny to my conscious self that I am angered,
As my emotions now move attacca, without pause,
Into a final movement,
Where resolution is supposed to be found,
But, per the style of musica moderna,
Is not guaranteed.
— Dec. 14, 2010