All Projects Must Come to an End
Happy Epiphany! aka Three Kings Day. aka The Twelfth day of Christmas. aka The Start of the Carnival Season the world over... A bit of Christian mythology here (and face it, it is ALL mythology), it's the day Melchior, Gaspar, and Balthazar, three Persian (Iranian!) astrologers brought gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh to the Jesus. And to go even deeper, the gifts were actually a prophecy about Jesus' life and death... (further proof to me that it's all mythology and symbolism). Note: How lucky I am to have a dear friend who is a brilliant theologian and can answer my real questions about world religions without proselytizing.
You know, I think I will save Part II of the travelogue for the next blog.
And as the title of this post indicates -- yes, the Dear Jane Project has reached its conclusion, with the demise and final stuttering death of my relationship -- sexual, friend, and business -- with "F." Actually, "stuttering death" is too hifalutin' a phrase to describe it. It was more like a cockroach that I kept chasing around the house and slapping with a shoe. It would slow down and lie stunned for awhile but it just kept coming back, filthy little sucker. But I won. I killed it dead, like the old commercial used to say.
Or as I described it to someone on the final ugly night, I hunted the shark, found the shark, then blasted that ugly motherf****r all to bits. Now I'm trying to paddle the remnants of my boat back to shore. Leaving me with one final thing to say about it: "You're gonna need a bigger boat."
Come to think of it, "relationship" may be too nice a word to describe it, too, even though it did have its moments.
As they say, hindsight is 20/20, but I guess my ass lost its glasses somewhere along the way.
Of course, I might say "coulda-woulda-shoulda," but what is the point? I did what I did, and in the process I became what I loathe most in the world -- a HUGE CLICHE. As readily identifiable a cliche as Italian girls from Bay Ridge, gay clones from Chelsea, or Jewish girls from anywhere. Ugh.
Every time I said, "I can handle this" and G gave me that "methinks the lady doth protest too much" look -- I was a cliche! Every time I got sad and felt lonely or jealous of the little wife at home -- I was a cliche! Every time I accepted crumbs instead of the whole loaf -- I WAS A CLICHE! To my true and dear friends, I am sorry I was a cliche. I am sorry that as a cliche I was boring and not entertaining! I was sad more than happy, angry more than glad, whiny more than conversant, and generally a great big pain in the dupa to be around. Those of you who stuck it out with me -- I thank you and offer you homage. I don't know that I would have been able to do the same thing.
I did have an awful lot of really good sex. A lot of really steamy, smutty, climb the walls sex. There is that. So now I guess I'll have to find another activity to replace it, so I'm not being yanked through life by my dick.
And frankly, the situation got me to start this journal, which is nothing more than one long writing exercise. So I'm happy to have done it for that. G said the more I suffered, the better my writing got.
The Cliche concept does go a long way toward dispelling the myth of the separate self that we cling to -- that we are in some way special. I love the buddhist concept that we are all "nothing special." That the idea of our "self" that we cling to is nothing more than ego....to be expanded on in the new blog.... Unique but not special. My personality is not who I am. As Yul says, et-cetera, et-cetera, et-cetera....
Thanks be to God that the new year has turned! I love a good opportunity to shine up my karma and start with a clean slate!
Those of you who have supported me through this -- I thank you. I will keep you posted as to the where and whenabouts of the new blog.