autotelic, autistic, assonance-hole©.

reaching emptiness

i tally the last weeks of effort and find i am no further along than when i began in relation to building anything more than friendships and rarely that.

martin was a funny, intelligent, enjoyable man. but he wanted all the trappings of commitment without having to make a commitment and that was the end of that.

andy was a carefree, gentle man. our first date found me feeding him because he was out of work and penniless and our second date turned out the same and i just don’t have it in me to support someone and it is rather obvious that this would be the requirement.

art was a brilliant, intriguing man. but the day after our date he wrote me in the a.m. talking about scheduling time together for the weekend and, seven hours later, wrote again saying he was getting back with his ex.

barry was a fun, laid back, comfortable man. our second date was cancelled for ‘something that’s come up at the last minute’ and today, via facebook, mind you, i am informed that ‘he’s met someone that he really sparked with and he hopes i find someone, too.’

i’ve had my crying jag. i’ve run the mental litany of ‘what’s wrong with me?’ and various other layers of pondering self-loathing and anger. i’ve removed my profile and once more given up. i’m still crying over it here and there.

every day i am reminded by my room-mate’s presence that here’s yet another man who doesn’t see enough in me to be more than a friend.

it really is no wonder that i feel as if something is wrong with me. particularly when my room-mate tells me what an amazing person i am and is happy to list all my good qualities. i don’t think he realizes how much it hurts. or why. i can’t bring myself to tell him. it’s not his fault. or mine. just par for the course.

i guess there really isn’t much more to say. i’m working on returning to gender neutrality. i find myself wishing i’d not let myself become so hopeful, not been so surprised and giddy over the replies. i begin to agree with some random stranger from that place who said, ‘it seems obvious that people who are at online dating sites are, in fact, intractibly undatable.’

i’d say i’m at my wits end in relation to it all, but it’s more like i’m tired of my wits (and the rest of me) hurting like this for the weighty presence of utter rejection on every level. the realization that the only type of man who has any level of interest in me at all is the one so desparate for the basics that he’ll take anyone who will provide them is… well… hard.

there were more than those four, of course. but the outcomes were of those four types, so i figure i’ll spare you the other what…. 26, 36, that either never made it to meeting for coffee or dinner or who did and quickly turned into one of the four outcomes exemplified in the above.

i keep thinking i’ll get to a place from which it will no longer matter. that i’ll finally find the magic combination of independence and aloofness that the desire to share my life with someone fully will go away or at least fade into the background like it used to…. until i was foolish enough to think to resurrect it and breathe hope into it.

i don’t want to care about this anymore. i want to be empty, hollow; so fully turned out of all interest that even the smallest droplet of possibility can do nothing but roll through and out and away.

i long for the deep twilight
where shadows meld
where no distinctions can live

i want to be in that place
where all things combine
there is nothing left to long for

no sense of what is missing
no outline of negative space
whose silence and openness throbs

where memory itself has died;
its fragrant, hopeful pieces, dried
fallen to ground and mulched

desiccated, becoming earth

ashes to ashes, dust to dust

i want to bury the memory of love
of warmth and spooning closeness

i want to forget the feeling of care
the feeling of its lonely lacking

deep inside the forest
draped in shadows
cloaked by mystery and death
i want to sit like baba yaga
within the chicken footed house

i want to laugh at the frowning horror
of passersby who see in age
only the emptiness that awaits us all

laugh at those
who disregard me for their fear
who condemn me as undesirable
yet offer lusty moments like a candle

flickering interest that gutters
in the first, soft breeze
of fickle, fair youth
of softer, smooth shape

surface dwellers, all
skimming indolently across the lake
that laps before my home, the place
that, like me, is reaching emptiness