Something Out of Nothing?

Can’t sleep. Just one of those nights where the loneliness cuts so deep and the sweet burn of it. I’m thinking of GM for the first time in days. GM and I are just not meant to be, at least not right now. I'm definately moving forward but tonight I crave him, that juicy mind of his—that nonchalant swagger in his intellect—that crème brulee kiss. Been much too busy and indifferent to think about him lately. But tonight, I can’t sleep and all I have is time to think of the sweet brown void he has left.

I think of our last time together in this bed. I think of his dimples deep as the Grand Canyon and that wide smile--always a two way street. I glance out the window at the high rise buildings alongside this one. Most times I sit and marvel at the windows that are still lit. This time I focus on the ones that are not lit and love them just the same.

I’ve been so happy lately I can hardly stand it. I love my life. I love everything about my life. I’m crazy about it. My jobs are challenging and fulfilling. I feel so alive in everything I do (well, maybe not when I’m writing about heartworms, but…) I love the work I do. I love the people I love. I love the people I like. I even like the people I don’t like.

I’m not seeing anyone right now at all. A few flirtations and curiosities…always flirtations and curiosities. But, it feels good to have a life full of breath and room to twirl around in. To have the dance floor to myself--no one to come behind me and press his pelvis into my backside, no one to grab my hips and move them to his rhythm. As nice as it feels to be sexily controlled, to have lessened room, to hand your space and your body to someone else on a silver platter, I’ve always adored dancing alone.

Speaking of dancing: Met a man at a club two weeks ago who shares my birthday. He was at the bar next to me ordering a drink and dammit he smelled like one of my more prolific ex lovers. I was so maddened by this whiff of nostalgia that I had Kristine's nose practically on his shoulder, trying to get a whiff. She wasn't that graceful about it so of course, he turned around wondering what all the fuss was about.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my head swirling with my fifth drink of the night, “you smell like my ex lover!” Did I just say that out loud?

He smiled coolly. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” He asked.

Let’s call him Tac. He took a sushi making course last year just for kicks. We share the same birthday, except he his a few years older than I. He's had the same job at Verizon for over 10 years. He's some sort of engineer. He lives in Brooklyn and has an adorable snaggletooth that he could probably open beer bottles with. Or maybe that’s how he got the snaggletooth in the first place. I'm not making fun of him, promise. It's adorable.

We exchanged numbers. We’ve spoken only two or three times—very loosely, casually. We spoke tonight and we talked about his 300 DVD collection which almost made my panties wet, almost. We talked about our love for foreign films. I put the pillow in between my legs and uh huh, yes, the Red Violin…I’ve seen that one too. So far, we’ve made no attempt to see each other, even though at the club that night, up until the moment my friends and I left, I had my legs all but wrapped around him and he was rubbing my knee with the intimacy of a person making a wish. I like that I met him but there’s no deep yearning for me there. I also like that he’s not too eager.

I’m not writing much at all lately, though I don’t worry about that as long as lines still float by my head and I still have the agility to grab them. GM has this theory about thoughts and ideas not being intrinsically ours, that we somehow pluck them from the sky, that gifts, talents, ideas don’t bloom from within but fall on our shoulders like a light, inexplicable rain. I can never explain it the way he did, but damn it made so much sense at the time. So, the lines are still coming and lines that I like. There’s an unfinished poem staring back at me that I just haven’t had time to get to; it’s about mermaids. I really like the atmosphere of the poem, but I think I created a fallacious monster. I feel like my imagination dug itself into a hole that it won’t be able to dig its way through and out of.

One of my oldest friends called me out the sky today. Mandy. Mandy and I were such good friends and I loved her for years. We lost touch. We grew up and just no longer had anything in common. Now she has resurfaced. She said she’d been thinking of me so much lately so she decided to search for me. She found me on the internet, almost cried at how much she’d missed, called a friend and asked her to call another friend who had my number. She got it and called me at 3:12 this afternoon while I was at work trying to make a kid apologize for throwing a book at me. She sounded so happy to hear my voice. I heard tears in her throat. She sounded bored with her life though. She works at a bank and still lives in Jupiter, the same city that she moved to begrudgingly at 14 after her mom got remarried. I’m going back home to Florida next week, so we’ll see each other then. Last week I got an e-mail from another long lost friend, Rae, an woman that I lost touch with. Rae is a gorgeously complicated woman who I just intrinsically love, despite her demons. How I’ve missed her.

Do things really come in threes? Tac went to NC this past week because his uncle and cousin both got killed in a car accident. Then he got a phone call while he was down there from a co-worker who told him that one of his other co workers, a 49 year old man in excellent health, died of a heart attack. So here is the strange, sick balance of the universe. Not that the universe intended this but we must make meaning of things, we must create our own myths about our own lives, right? According to GM, nothing in this world has intrinsic meaning, that the meaning blooms out of our interpretation of things. In the last week, three people were taken from Tac. This week, two people were given back to me. Is there one more waiting? Or am I just making something out of nothing?