Month: September 2017

On Gross Parasites of Masculinity

muddy grass

Muddy grass, bank of the Connecticut River. PC: me

I wonder if perhaps I spoke too soon in my last post. In the height of eclipse season, I did indeed experience the possibility of a bad job, and just how awful that might have been. By some miracle, that conflict is getting better (personally, I think it’s because Mercury was retrograde until this past Tuesday).

I digress. There is a green, spongy algae that blooms along sidewalks where standing water is not properly drained. It is an attractive, eukaryotic organism, sometimes appearing in variations of blue or yellow, and while algae are often depicted in mainstream media as indicators of death and decay, they are actually a sign of quite the opposite–of excessive fertility. Algae can cause many pond and water organisms to die because as algae deteriorates, it causes oxygen levels in the water to rise, making it a toxic environment to live in.

Why is this the topic I start with today? To be honest, I have no idea. Maybe you can draw the connections, instead of me.

My white boy has got to go. He has crossed too many lines, placed one too many straws on my back. In the course of knowing him, I have discovered he is the kind of person who surrounds himself with women who will cater to his needs. He doesn’t realize it because, as these women have only ever catered to his needs, he has never met a person who has told him to his face that he is a gross parasite of masculinity. Furthermore, he broke up with me and refuses to stop communicating. Granted, I haven’t yet either, but I didn’t want to break up. He did. I find this to be a suspicious way for a person to behave.

He has told me in no uncertain terms, without any thought to how it might make me feel when I am so attracted to him, that he is pining for another woman, one who is already with another man, and who is planning to move to Seattle for said man. My white boy wants to move to Seattle, too. Yes, he is that stupid. Did I mention, he has been pining for this woman for 5 years? Yes, he told me that as well. In fact, there was a period in the beginning when he wasn’t pining for her. In that period, he was pining for another woman, then this current woman got together with a man, and then my white boy “realized” he had missed out on her. Do I sense a pattern? Might my white boy realize, somewhere down the line, that he missed out on me the second I am with some other worthier, stronger, wiser person? My intuition tells me yes, and my intuition predicted that Trump would win the presidency in July of 2016 (there were at least 3 eyewitnesses to this testimony).

I suppose he thinks this is a grand, romantic gesture, moving from Florida to Seattle for her. I have dated a great many morons who think the same way. I even had one try to do that to me when I was starting graduate school in Massachusetts. Sadly, perhaps that is why I fell for my white boy, because when I am attracted to straight men, I have a bad habit of dating morons. I’m sure it doesn’t even occur to him that his white girl never asked him to do that for her, that she isn’t even thinking about whether or not he likes her, and just because he is present in her life, that doesn’t mean she will date him or even think of him in a romantic way even if her relationship does end. (Let me not get into how boringly monogamous and linear and heteronormative this behavior is either). Gross. Parasite. Masculinity.

This, this is what I fell in love with several months ago. What I gave my heart to and bled out for, what I made myself vulnerable for. These were the kinds of sad, pathetic people available to me in Tampa.

I will not attempt to convey the kind of shame I feel. I suspect you already know. Too familiar to me are the flaws of the human heart. I recall from high school a similar sort of shame, the kind I felt from having to hide from my mother, who conditioned me to think my romantic feelings were wrong, my seemingly endless propensity for attraction to human beings. I would have gladly forfeit my ability to feel romantic feelings at that age. Sometimes now, the idea still appeals to me.

I think sometimes, I moved back up North just to realize these things. Not that I’m a sad person for having fallen for this dude. But that I deserve better. I surround myself with people who I trust to tell me the truth. It took all of them to get me to this point, where I am capable of overcoming loneliness, capable of letting go when it is necessary. Because I trust them to tell the truth, I believe them when they tell me I am brilliant, kind, and good. If they leave me, I know it’ll be for a damn good reason, not to chase some stupid romantic notions all across the country. Some people go their whole lives without knowing stability like this.

 

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