but was hardly a guy anyone would mistake for my true partner. Except maybe me.
Obviously, I am grieving a much bigger loss. Of Daddy. And Mommy. It shouldn’t surprise me that this breakup has triggered it—this is the first of all my breakups since college where the guy dumped me . No wonder I’ve never allowed this to happen! To paraphrase the old saying, it’s better to have loved a little bit less than to have loved a lot and been left afterward.
I am doing all kinds of things to “get over it,” not realizing that there is no getting over it. There’s only getting through it. I spend my thirty-ninth birthday naked, in the pitch-blackness of an Indian sweat lodge (improbably located in a backyard in Van Nuys), getting in touch with my spirit animals and working through my abandonment issues. I would put quotes around “spirit animals” and “abandonment issues” but I’m not even joking. I broke it down in there. Or maybe I just broke down.
There’s another saying: “Don’t worry about getting in touch with your feelings, because eventually, they’ll get in touch with you.” Yeah, they will. Through your spirit animals.
Fall of 2003 passes in a veil of tears, and by New Year’s Eve leading into 2004, I’m ready to let it all go. I leave a lame party at12:02 A.M. and go home to perform a ritual I heard about where you write down every single thing that you want to let go of from the past year on little slips of paper. Then you officially Let Go TM of those things by burning the papers in the flame of a candle. You feel like you are in a New Age bookstore when you do this, but you don’t really care because you also feel like you are doing something to bring about desperately needed change, too.
Then, on another set of little slips of paper (this ritual involves a lot of little slips of paper, which is way better than involving chicken blood), I write down everything I want to bring into my life in the coming year, setting the intention to receive it now. NOW!
At the top of my list: a love relationship.
It’s a big deal that I can even acknowledge this. I’ve spent my life looking for and finding relationships (or is it hunting down and killing them?), but nevertheless, it’s hard for me to say out loud that having a man, loving a man, being in a long-term, committed relationship with a man, is really important to me. Maybe because I grew up in the seventies, where I heard that a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.
Well, fuck that. I’m tired of being politically correct. I need a man; I’ll just say it.
So yesterday, I went back on that website, ready to not just try harder but to try differently. The first thing I did was search for “that guy,” the one I’d seen while using Lisa’s password.
He’s still there. In his loft, downtown.
My heart beats a little bit faster as I get out my credit card and pay the fee, then upload my picture and write a short, sweet profile.
I like pale blue water, vintage things, and places I’ve never been.
Then, I “wink” at him.
I’m nervous because once I click that mouse, I know that I am stuck—I can never get that wink back—and whatever happens from here is out of my control.
But I shake that feeling off and go on with my day.
Four
I Love You, and I Can’t Live Without You
MY DADDY IS HOME! He got out on parole, after four years in Leavenworth. All of us—June, Gene, and the five Ericson children—went down to the airport with balloons and a hand-painted banner reading welcome home freddie! When he stepped through the airplane door into the terminal, I rushed into his arms. It was a lot like my favorite TV show, Truth or Consequences, where guys coming home from the war are reunited with their trembling wives on national television. The only thing missing was Bob Barker.
Daddy has moved into a halfway house and we’ve been dating seeing each other regularly. Sometimes, he comes for Sunday services at Hope Lutheran,
Obviously, I am grieving a much bigger loss. Of Daddy. And Mommy. It shouldn’t surprise me that this breakup has triggered it—this is the first of all my breakups since college where the guy dumped me . No wonder I’ve never allowed this to happen! To paraphrase the old saying, it’s better to have loved a little bit less than to have loved a lot and been left afterward.
I am doing all kinds of things to “get over it,” not realizing that there is no getting over it. There’s only getting through it. I spend my thirty-ninth birthday naked, in the pitch-blackness of an Indian sweat lodge (improbably located in a backyard in Van Nuys), getting in touch with my spirit animals and working through my abandonment issues. I would put quotes around “spirit animals” and “abandonment issues” but I’m not even joking. I broke it down in there. Or maybe I just broke down.
There’s another saying: “Don’t worry about getting in touch with your feelings, because eventually, they’ll get in touch with you.” Yeah, they will. Through your spirit animals.
Fall of 2003 passes in a veil of tears, and by New Year’s Eve leading into 2004, I’m ready to let it all go. I leave a lame party at12:02 A.M. and go home to perform a ritual I heard about where you write down every single thing that you want to let go of from the past year on little slips of paper. Then you officially Let Go TM of those things by burning the papers in the flame of a candle. You feel like you are in a New Age bookstore when you do this, but you don’t really care because you also feel like you are doing something to bring about desperately needed change, too.
Then, on another set of little slips of paper (this ritual involves a lot of little slips of paper, which is way better than involving chicken blood), I write down everything I want to bring into my life in the coming year, setting the intention to receive it now. NOW!
At the top of my list: a love relationship.
It’s a big deal that I can even acknowledge this. I’ve spent my life looking for and finding relationships (or is it hunting down and killing them?), but nevertheless, it’s hard for me to say out loud that having a man, loving a man, being in a long-term, committed relationship with a man, is really important to me. Maybe because I grew up in the seventies, where I heard that a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.
Well, fuck that. I’m tired of being politically correct. I need a man; I’ll just say it.
So yesterday, I went back on that website, ready to not just try harder but to try differently. The first thing I did was search for “that guy,” the one I’d seen while using Lisa’s password.
He’s still there. In his loft, downtown.
My heart beats a little bit faster as I get out my credit card and pay the fee, then upload my picture and write a short, sweet profile.
I like pale blue water, vintage things, and places I’ve never been.
Then, I “wink” at him.
I’m nervous because once I click that mouse, I know that I am stuck—I can never get that wink back—and whatever happens from here is out of my control.
But I shake that feeling off and go on with my day.
Four
I Love You, and I Can’t Live Without You
MY DADDY IS HOME! He got out on parole, after four years in Leavenworth. All of us—June, Gene, and the five Ericson children—went down to the airport with balloons and a hand-painted banner reading welcome home freddie! When he stepped through the airplane door into the terminal, I rushed into his arms. It was a lot like my favorite TV show, Truth or Consequences, where guys coming home from the war are reunited with their trembling wives on national television. The only thing missing was Bob Barker.
Daddy has moved into a halfway house and we’ve been dating seeing each other regularly. Sometimes, he comes for Sunday services at Hope Lutheran,
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