Where Ya Been?
OK, so I'm not prolific. I had an early head of steam, which pace I haven't been able or willing to keep up. And to be honest, I've been struggling with the question of how much I can include in this online diary. For the most part, these pages have been all about the salad days and I've chosen to omit the bad or the sad, because most of the people in my life read this and I want them to still talk to me. But I also feel a sense of loss, because frankly as much as I want this diary to be for you, my friends, it's also an important exercise for me -- and it doesn't really do the job so well for me or for you if I'm holding back. Then again, some things just need to be said in person, if at all.
Tara and I broke up.
First let me say for those of you who have been wondering, or have asked, that I'm OK. Possibly too OK. But OK nonetheless.
After my month-long European road trip, and an enormous amount of time spent on the transatlantic phone line, I went back to New Jersey to spend time with Tara and see how things would go. Here's what was hanging in the balance: Tara is committed to New Jersey, and I'm committed to going to cooking school. Not necessarily incompatible, but in my case the venue was at question, and I could have made a choice that would have kept us in a lot closer proximity than, say, New York to Paris.
So I got home and immediately went for it. The first week together was good. After the second week, we broke up. I can't pinpoint exactly when or why things started to go wrong. I do know that after about a week's time, we started fighting a lot, over petty things. Conversations became incendiary. And in about the middle of that week, we took a trip together to Vermont for the 4th of July.
My back was in horrible shape, and my behavior wasn't much better. Every conversation seemed to spark an argument. The car got a flat tire. The four horsemen of the apocalypse were spotted marching down the street in front of the inn. It was a disaster. When we got home, I can't speak for Tara, but I can be almost certain to say that we needed to spend some time apart. 3 days and one night spent sleeping in my car later, it was over.
Picture two stubborn people, who had a lot of passion and who were very good at channelling that passion into argumentative one-upmanship. Two people who were at turning points in their lives, with a lot of pressure to figure each other out in a short time, and not ready to compromise when they needed to. Two people who wanted a relationship, but on their own respective terms. This, in the end, was us.
And I do miss her, although I've been pretty cowardly about calling to say hello. I mean, what would we talk about? How not right for each other we were? A walk down nostalgia lane for the best arguments? Would we talk about the wonderful time we spent in New Orleans? Or would we dissect each others' shortcomings and wind up hanging up on each other.
I'm certain I'll see Tara again, because she's in my circle of friends in New Jersey. And I hope I do because even though she pretty clearly isn't right for me, she's a super-intelligent, creative individual who takes shit from nobody.
Perhaps by then I'll feel worse about this. Maybe by then I'll have cried. Maybe I'll have taken some kind of lesson out of this. Maybe I'll have learned to compromise more. Maybe I'll have learned that I was right not to compromise. In any case, I hope so.
In the mean time, I'm back on the market and, ladies, the line forms to the right. I'm the glib one with the chef's hat and the widow's peak.
Next moves:
Off to Ibiza tomorrow and I promise -- PROMISE -- updates from Party Island. There will be photographs.
Until next time...
--Andrew