Cause I speak of the pompitus of love.

Today I went to see a matinee of  'Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist'. It was a cute movie; perhaps written for a slightly younger crowd than me but it still managed to set in motion thought processes that it would seem I need to exorcise in blog-form tonight.

I've been thinking a lot about my love for the RITUALS of love. The processes and the patterns. The consolidation of all of those abstracts into a whole entity that I call "love" suits my emotional disadvantages. My emotions at best are muted. It takes strong love or strong hate to make me really feel on a consistent basis, so I rely on the little things that make up a 'relationship' to fulfill me.

That doesn't demean those gestures- those flowers and doodles and notes. Not a bit. If anything they're proof that I do care about the process, lest I just let it dissolve and watch it turn into just another forgettable amount of time spent, no matter how small, with another person.

That pretty much holds true with most of the relationships I've had. And as I watched the movie I started thinking about past loves lost. One I hold in contempt. One in indifference. One amuses me. One I have nothing but fond feelings for (though I wish she'd sign the divorce papers) and one... well.. one is Diana.

Capital D at all times.  The one that got away. The one that I can't forget. If this were a romantic comedy she'd be the one all of my friends didn't mention for fear of me off and jumping on a plane heart in hand to Chicago. If she's even still in Chicago. If she even still thinks of me.

It's an odd feeling, feeling.  Not just intangible blips from time to time. But a persistent reminder- flowers, knitting, a smile- that you were actually happy once and that happiness, while amazing and subtle, came with a price too great.  

Emotion isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Acorns and Overalls

I've become, the simple souvenir of someone's guilt
Like the sea, I'm constantly changing from calm to ill
Madness fills my heart and soul
As if the great divide could swallow me whole
-City and Colour

Tonight is my first date with A.M.

I'd usually be a nervous wreck at this point; anxiety taking over and getting the best of me. Thankfully she's as clever as a clever and together we decided to have two "predate nondates" to allow for casual gettingtoknowyou time at a relaxed pace. So tonight is all about wearing a shirt that actually has a collar, making sure my hair is properly parted so I resemble a boy scout and trying to charm the pants off of my lovely date.

Not literally of course. 

This is a first date and with that comes a certain expectation of propriety that I'll follow to the letter.

Sure, I did get her drunk and coerce her to confide in me that her favourite flower is the gerber daisy the other night, but since it wasn't a date- totally acceptable.

Her only request of me so far has been "don't be a douche to me".

I think that'll be easy enough to comply with.

So that's that. First date in about three hours. 

Not nervous. Listening to Gordon Downie and trying on my new overalls. Deciding what shirt to wear and if I should trim my beard (no) and shape my eyebrows (yes).

Damn she's cute.

Love means you're afraid to be alone.

Saturday was my birthday. Thirty-four years old. I celebrated it by grabbing my best friend and dragging her along with me to NYC to get my face recut. It's an odd sort of bonding thing, I guess; but it was very much needed in my life right now and I'm glad she was able to share it with me. 

I'm far from "healed" right now as my last few entries seem to show.  Having my face recut was a step in that direction. 

when you have nothing to say, let a band say it for you.

Do I have nothing good left to say?
Do I need whiskey to start fueling my complaints?
People love to drink their troubles away.
Sometimes I feel that I'd be better off that way.

'Cause maybe then I could sleep at night.
I wouldn't lie awake until the morning light.
This is something that I'll never control.
My nerves will be the death of me, I know.
I know, I know.

So here's to living life miserable.
And here's to all the lonely stories that I've told.
Maybe drinking wine will validate my sorrow.
Every man needs a muse and mine could be the bottle.

Maybe then I could sleep at night.
I wouldn't lie awake until the morning light.
This is something that I'll never control.
My nerves will be the death of me, I know.

Finally, I could hope for a better day.
No longer holding on to all the things that cloud my mind.
Maybe then the weight of the world wouldn't seem so heavy.
But then again I'll probably always feel this way.

At least I know I'll never sleep at night. (Sleep at night)
I'll always lie awake until the morning light. (Til the morning light)
This is something that I'll never control.
My nerves will be the death of me.
My nerves will be the death of me.

My nerves will be the death of me, I know.

-City and Colour. Death of me.

Save your Scissors

I think I'm coming to terms with being so melancholy lately. I think it's a healthy expression of human emotion which is convenient as we all know it's my dream to one day be a real boy. I appreciate the irony that it works out well for me that my life isn't necessarily working out well for me.  I think that's one of those revelations you only get when you listen to sappy music on repeat.

Every time my heart gets broken (which is less than you'd think) I have to shed another layer of my preconceived notions on 'forever' and what it really means to be happy with someone versus being content with not being alone. Sure, the Diana thing is taking me a lot longer than usual to process but regrettably I have to do just that. I'm working through second guessing the breakup and questioning if things would have been different if I would have been more confident. If I would have flown out there and talked to her and demanded answers instead of quietly accepting heartbreak on the phone. A thousand what ifs are constantly going through my head which, while necessary to process are never the less hurting me more than I readily admit. The politics of loneliness and what one will do to not feel alone is a matter thats close to heart right now.

So much so that I've become "that guy" despite my best intentions. This blog was never meant to be 'Shawns whiney emoblog" but thats what its become. I'm working on changing that, but this seems to be the only place I feel comfortable being this honest, at least in print. There's a certain freedom to be had in getting all of this out; sadly it comes off as me being a desperate loser who can't get over love lost.  Shawn Porter, this is your life. Nice and Smooth.

I promise I'll have something more pleasant and less whiney to post soon.

Forgive me my trespasses. 

Garlic Heart meets the immovable force.

As the weeks since my breakup speed past, I find myself in uncharted waters emotionally. Usually by this point I'm so far past "over" that my ex-of-the-moment is little more than a funny anecdote told with cruel flair over drinks with my fellows or a promised-deleted picture or two  that's  shared to the delight of my bawdier friends.

Instead, in my weaker moments I find myself admitting that I'm still in love with Diana.

This hardly seems uncommon, judging from the torches carried by friends of mine who've recently ended relationships. But for me, it's a psychoemotional bomb that goes off every time I let it get the best of me. 

After a while, you start understanding the melancholy and the longing in a Daniel Johnston song. How one person can so succinctly personify everything you want in another human and then just disappear makes you feel a gamut of emotion that, particularly when you're someone like me who feels emotions distantly to start with, can cripple you.

She was always the one that was different- so against my "type". From the day I met her I always knew she'd be a significant force in my life. Sure, I always thought it would be a force that I grew old with, but sadly the cards weren't in my favour this time. 

I'm strong enough emotionally to be able to 'move on' and not let the specter of her ruin future relationships. But if honesty is permitted here- on a blog that no one reads- I'll admit that there hasn't been a day that's past since she broke up with me that I haven't thought about her. Even for a second; a song, a scent; something that makes me think of her and smile.

I swear, one day I'll find a girl that loves me back.

-'Well I once caused your cells to shimmer

And you once caused my cells to shimmer
Now we go all the night without love
Without love…' 

-Elvis Perkins

yours,

sp

Baggage

I finally took time last night to do the post dating maintenance that I've meant to do for the last two weeks; those little tasks you have to do eventually but are far too difficult to do immediately after the parting.

The first and most immediate point of order was to remove the gallery of pictures of the ex from my Iphone. It's far from any kind of malice- I still think about her fondly and miss her very much. But the reality of having to see pictures of her or more to the point pictures of 'us' is more than I should be expected to bear.

I've moved from stunned/hurt to that bruise like state of everything just being a little bit sore. Little comments catch me- my mother saying "Uncle Shawn's over there alone" to my nephew, making travel plans and putting "guests, one" in the field for hotels; what to do with the present I bought for her birthday... all things related are sort of rubbing my already exposed heart and making me a little more melancholy than I need to be right now.

In matters of the heart, I think I should take a little time off before I set myself up for failure yet again. That said, I think that I'm changing my Prom Contest rules to "KISSING INCLUDED".

You never know.

Why am I single?

"Well-liked. Well-established. You are The Loverboy. Loverboys thrive in committed, steady relationships—as opposed to, say, Playboys, who want sex without too much attachment.

You've had many relationships and nearly all of them have been successful. You're a nice guy, you know the ropes, and even if you can be a little hasty with decisions, most girls think of you as a total catch. Your hastiness comes off as spontaneity most of the time anyhow, making you especially popular in your circle of friends, too.

You know not to make the typical Loverboy mistake of choosing someone who appreciates your good humor and popularity, but who offers nothing in return. You belong with someone outgoing, independent, and creative. Otherwise, you'll get bored. And then instead of surprising her with flowers or a practical joke, you'll surprise her by leaving."

I just took an online dating site's dating persona test. 

That all sounds fairly accurate, save the "you constantly get dumped by women who claim to love you" part.  This isn't an "oh woe is me" trip, just random observation.

Being freshly heartbroken makes you introspective, I guess. I'm ok with being single right now, for the most part- but I'm still looking for that white picket fence romantic dream of old- with a little extra perversion thrown in.

Just need the right gal.

As quietly as an earthquake

I've been doing fairly well post breakup, all things considered. 

My trip to Ohio with the fellas was a godsend. A three day road trip full of third grade humour, greasy food and lots of hugs was pretty amazing and set me in a good mental place to process the breakup.  Which I've been doing for the last few days now.

Tonight was the first major setback. I slid an unmarked CD into the car cd player and before I knew it, a mix cd that I made for Diana started playing. Emotional flood.  All the time I spent combing the ITUNES Library for the perfect songs, teasing her that I was making her a mix-tape; all that emotion just sort of broke the levy that I've had in place since "the call" that ended our relationship.

It's sort of easy to process the termination of a long distance relationship. The night before we split, I was sleeping alone. The night after, the same. When you're used to seeing someone three days a month- it sort of takes a while for the ramifications of the breakup to fully and totally sink in.

I realized today that it's likely that I'll never see my best friend again. My lover. My partner. Someone who up until that point was everything to me- in one second- becomes someone who I'll never see again.

That's sort of sunk my mood, to be honest.  I'm working through it; no use in lamenting over a reality that I can't change.  But I think today may actually be the official start of my grieving process.

Go me.