Earlier reports that I have “two boyfriends” may have been exaggerated or downright fabricated. The Maritime Civil Engineer left to work on a fishing boat over a month ago. He was gone for longer than I knew him. Like a dead person, I started to forget what he looked like. Every few days he’d send text messages from the only part of the ship that got cell reception. He’d text things like, “I’ve got the ocean madness!” and “I’m worried you’re taking this relationship way too seriously.”
Once he texted: “I saw a bloated, dead dolphin on deck the other day. If you remember our previous conversation you will know how it made me feel.” I don’t remember the previous conversation, but I’m hoping it made him feel… I don’t know, bad?
He finally got off the boat last week, and he looked and acted like some mangled, twisted thing come stumbling out of the woods. He held out his arms to hug me, and then after I fell for it, said, “Don’t touch me. I’m covered in hydraulic fluid.”
Men don’t like to be burdened by boring conversations that help to define the parameters of their relationships. Our interactions are like the first half of Jane Eyre, before they hook up, which is to say, strained and uneventful. I’m still staying at his house more nights out of the week than not. How much longer am I allowed to stay? I feel like if I just keep doing his laundry and the dishes we can go on like this forever. Making a grilled cheese sandwich is worth three days room and board, so long as we’re making this shit up as we go along. Why the fuck not. People who can’t express how they feel are necessarily punished. I have a crush, but is it a genuine like or a kind of allergic reaction to a man whose inconsistent affection mirrors my childhood relationship with my father? I don’t know, I’m not a doctor.
I hope I’m coming across as glib and unconcerned, which is truthfully how I feel. It will be interesting to see how things pan out. It seems like maybe I’m taking a gamble. The men I date are historically uninterested in my blog and who I truly am as a person, generally. Let’s just assume it’s going to stay like that forever and ever.
I probably shouldn’t have given up my job and my apartment without a plan for the future. What can I say, I’m impulsive. It’s not “homeless” if you’re white. It’s “couch surfing.” Many have corrected me on this point.
Let’s go ahead and close out the blog by listing a few of my celebrity crushes, in descending order of severity and importance. My preferred body type is “hulking man who can carry me on his back,” a type rarely represented in the media save for the marginalized categories of hilarious side-kick, villain or convicted child murderer.
3. Chubby Seth Rogen
2. Damien Echols. Part of the infamous “West Memphis Three.” Served 18 years on Death Row before his conviction was overturned. I must confess, I prefer the 19-year old on trial, baby face version, before prison made him sallow and furrowed.
1. Bane from The Dark Knight Rises. My #1 crush.