Beav Gets A Fat Dose Of Perspective

Ever have those days where no matter what you try to do, it can't hold your attention more than five minutes before you want to get up and do something else? Those days where you think back and dwell on every strange little detail of shit you haven't thought about in years? That's me today...well, except for the "haven't thought about in years" part. Replace that with "have been thinking about all week" and we've arrived at an accurate description of my mental state at present.

For whatever reason, my brain has decided that this week, my sleep will be reserved for dreams about ex-girlfriends. Not just dreams where they happen to be present, but dreams where we're back together. Dreams where we're sleeping together. Dreams that, when I wake, leave me wondering why I have such an abundance of emotion about these two particular girls turning over in my subconscious. The obvious answer is that I have some sort of poorly hidden desire to be back together with either of them, but this time a cigar just isn't a cigar.

Still, though, the mindfuck lingers. Why the dreams? Perhaps it's just life's little way of jabbing at the soft spot in my almost-brilliant system. Ah, my "system." I fancied myself a genius until that one chink in its armor was exposed. I had very nearly convinced myself that I had found the perfect substitute for being in a relationship.

I've been single for about four months now, and happily single at that. There was that stretch of a few weeks where I went a little nuts while I got used to being unattached again, but since that wore off I've been thoroughly enjoying my bachelor lifestyle. A little drunkenness, a little promiscuity, and a total lack of accountability can be awfully refreshing when you're coming off the kind of relationship where your girlfriend gets so pissed that she won't come over because you made a 10 minute trip to get a sandwich. As I got comfortable walking through life in my "single guy shoes", I unwittingly developed a sort of method by which I managed to simulate most of the elements of an actual romantic relationship without having the relationship itself and thus not having to be committed. How, you ask? Well, it goes a little something like this:

Part One:

I live with girls. Not just any girls. These are attractive, smart, funny, down-to-earth girls who I love spending time with, and I get to see them every day. They baby me, I baby them, and we provide each other with the unique and crucial perspective that only members of the opposite sex can provide. Check female companionship off the list.

Part Two:

I work with girls, and if you've ever worked in a restaurant, you know that you basically do two things there: serve food and sexually harass each other. One fellow server in particular is in her early 30s, is a mother of two, is a certifiable MILF, and amazingly has an even dirtier mind than I do and is an even bigger flirt than I am. Nothing I can say shocks this woman. Generally she just one-ups me. When she's not there (and even when she is) there are also young, attractive hostesses and servers all over the place and none of us are really what you would call "prudish." Check harmless flirtation off the list.

Part Three:

I additionally have what you might call a "friend with benefits", although most of our mutual friends and acquaintances are much fonder of the term "fuck buddy." I find the term a little unflattering, but I can't fault its accuracy. She's hot, she's good in bed, she's not territorial, she's fun to go out with, and she's no more interested in being stuck with a commitment than I am. Check sex off the list, and put another mark beside female companionship. If you want to make a category for "flirtation with serious devious intent", go ahead and make one of those and put a check mark next to it, too.

As far as most guys would be concerned, my bases are covered. Still, though, a particular loneliness still seems to be stealing home while I sleep. It was easily dismissed all week long, but last night my very specific reminder of what is still missing strode coolly down the basement steps of my friend's house and threw open the door to that little room in my heart where nothing is ever forgotten.

Right there in the middle of the party, at a time and place I least expected her, Miss Czech Nebraska herself walked in with her new boyfriend and unwittingly revealed to me precisely what I'm missing. If romance is like a campfire, then I have gathered all the raw materials from various different locations, but my refusal to enter into any one relationship is much like a refusal to strike steel to the flint, and I'm left with no spark. Hence, no fire. I must also say, at risk of overusing the metaphor, that one cannot simply build a fire under any conditions. Sometimes no matter how good your intentions, you're just holding a match to a wet log.

She and I...we had spark. Hell, we were practically nuclear while it was good. Now her arrival stings not because of who she is, who she is with or because I think it would work to try again. It wouldn't. It stings because she is a tangible reminder of the contrast between where I am and where I have been before. When she would wrap me in her arms, I would instantly drift away to that place where everything was quiet and safe, and there was only the sound of her voice and the smell of her hair...the feeling of her fingertips on the back of my neck...the way she would smile and sigh when she woke up in my arms...and the fact that I couldn't help but adore her in her gray hoodie, soccer shorts and knee-high socks.

You can't fabricate that.

It's either there, or it isn't.

There's the rub.

I've got a good thing going to be sure, but it isn't the best I ever had, and life has a way of making me dismount from my high horse right about the time I start thinking I'm pretty fucking slick. Consider my ego checked. As for my restless mind, I guess you could say I'm just gathering kindling.