Popcorn Ceiling

White crumbling popcorn. An ocean on the ceiling above. My gaze fixed and faded upon a nothingness. Transferred out of my resting body away. I am not here for this moment. I’m laying in my ex-girlfriend's bed. She’s side-spooning me as I am parked on my back. My hands are vessels of ambiguity. Softly rubbing her head holding her hand as she so softly moans herself into resolution. The pain of the moment isn’t without the pleasure of its creation. There was some semblance of fawning for my presence.

Text “you should come over.” So I did.

I love this woman but her self-love is patchwork for her toxic tendencies. A cycle of process, release, rinse, repeat. Her ex-husband went clinically insane and she had to check him into a facility for treatment. I can’t imagine the struggle someone goes through when the person of “I do’s” doesn’t anymore. Two children to look after and no partner to be present in that program of the family fortune. Cherished bday celebrating, first words spoken and steps taken. Missed opportunity. My ex-wife recently said It would be detrimental to my children’s health and well-being to be with me more often. I’m a man who wants to be in my kids’ lives more. To fathom that you’ve chosen not to fight for your children is to give up on the purpose of your being. To create life and otherwise. To cherish with the patience of virtue. To give credence to unconditional moments with those you love. This woman, the one that lays beneath my arms as I stare skyward at this speckled ceiling is slowly drowning me in her heart. She is not ready to be a partner and it’s evident by her excessive drinking habits. The ability to want to numb everything all at once. The crushing symptoms of anxiety. She dumped me the day before valentines day and with a weekend getaway planned. Yet here I lay three months past. Still, haven’t learned the lesson of my worth. Presently looking after her feelings and washing mine away in the sink. I’ve been this man for years. I’m laying HERE, but far away I am. Traveling the escape to nowhere only to return once more. My fingers escalated upon her head slowly, up then down. Reaping moans burrowing out of her essence screaming to tangle me. Easily I know I could walk through this horror show once more.

A new generation of relationships has left most of us undesirables pitched onto an island of lustful baggage roaming about under the sinister veil casting no shadows. Hoping to catch a peak of the sun from a dusty corner of occupancy. Lonesome traveler sail again, pace your winds three sheets to bend. My arrogance of impulsivity acts to test my boundaries. Honestly, the ship has sailed for most of us. Hopeless romantics are now relics of mostly ancient history. Something my grandfather would talk about with his piece pipe-mounted mouth a grin. Married many years to my grandmother he said “never go to bed angry and that’s the key to a happy marriage.” That's it, his only advice spilled out to a 6-year-old boy who knows not of the complexity of the institution but the idea of someone with another forever.

The new new is a swipe-happy adventure land with gangly-looking spectacles. If I have to read another profile telling me how much someone loves adventure I’m going to stab my own eyes out just to have the assurance I can’t read that unoriginal content. For christ's sake, be you, and don’t tell me you want adventure, show me how you lust for the passion of it. Dating is about the attention one gives to you and how you return that to them. If you can’t rightly give it then don’t expect the return of it in large treasure troves. The intention should be met with respect and honesty. Define those intentions with big loud drums.

I’ve been in this swing dance with my ex-girlfriend for a good part of a month. The back and forth with only trying to understand the motivation one has to rekindle something for pure lust and with no attentive care to the other. We have an obligation to ourselves. That in this life we will not stand for the disrespected, that we can proudly say with bold strides how my worth won’t be compromised for another’s fleeting fury. It sits in this crevice in the crater of the canyon of grand, spent and with no motion. Sacrificing these dense emotions brings us pain, yet we know this and still enamor ourselves in it. At this point, it’s beating a dead horse. Within the popcorn ceiling was an escape. I lost a piece more of my connection to what the act of sex takes on. I found myself laying backside straddle strapped to a dame. It could have been any horse she was riding but that night with the absence of connectedness, I was lost in the popcorn of that ceiling wanting to escape the moment. Uninterested in her outlandish screams. Unimpressed and not in amusement of her park. I stared dormant from the debauchery at hand. Hands to hips. Eyes fixed on the white circus of population above. This act was a turning point for me. Understanding that the window you have to let others in is small and for only those who fit in it. Don’t give yourself the opportunity of showcasing all the excuses you might have for a situation.

My credentials as it stands today in the matters of dating are as follows. Married a narcissistic woman whom I was together with for 10 years. She cheated on me with my best friend of 25 years. Almost a year-long consensual non-monogamous with a woman after divorce. A failed attempt at integrating family with a ton of unprocessed trauma on both sides of the aisle. Reeling from this, diving deep into distractions to continue to push down the under tow of damage. Finally understanding that being selfish is to reacquaint oneself with things lost inside a broken marriage. Demanding the investment into self-love and accomplishing a transitional period of solitude. Once more opening up to the idea that I can date again. Connected on another level with my second relationship post-divorce. A monogamous 10 months of episodic adventurous romantics only to be shelved once more. Opened me up fully, only to be crushed mind body, and soul the day before V-day. Here I am. Three months of process. This is the period after a relationship ends that I give to start feeling like myself again. To then be pulled back into disorder by my toxic ex-girlfriend because she recently needed an attention filler after her three-week stint with a former lover. Here I am.

I imagine my life older now. Ten to twenty years forward. Listening to my daughter compose music from her piano. Creatively weaving her own story. My son getting married to a beautiful loving bride. I’m lounged out in one of those old-time Barca loungers feet up boxers on cheesy meat nachos stockpile tower high. Grandkids snacking at my feet rewatching “It’s a wonderful life” for the 100th time. I can’t tell if I am alone or have my person. Either way, I am smiling and proud, and that’s all that matters. We are here to carry on our condition of humanity. Propelling the richness and detailing our melancholic trials. Life is meant to be lived and we must do it with force and of will. Tragic and triumph in this bond. I’ve been told time after time about the important aspect of one's family. This is who brings you into this world and who will be there as you pass beyond. I am the companion of my worst to be my best.

I’m finally coming to terms that the window for love is running away fiercely. The new rage and what for is this continued longing for something more. This is good enough for now but, what is next out there? Is it shiny? Can I unwrap this gift? What baggage are you working with? On goes the carousel, this merry-go-round. It’s addictive. Swipe-era dating apps are as potent as the sugar snow nose candy of the 80s or hallucinatory mind-altering psychoactive’s from the 60s. This drug embeds deep a new ideology of dating theorems. A more open state of mind but with all the anxiety of deceitful dealings. You create a persona, not unlike your own but an avatar of proportional fantasy to capture and kill young souls just out of market. Can I stand this person’s intent of attention? Too much here, gross go away. Not enough there, “what’s wrong? Everything ok?” They pursue with vigor. I’m not saying that I haven’t indulged in this new idea. An informed opinion is one far greater than that of a single-minded human aiming only at one purpose sans perspective. I have drank the grape juice, feasted on the famine, and eaten far too many snickerdoodle cookies.

Even now I’m vulnerable. I’m writing to you. The individual inside this turtle shell. Other people need to hear this and understand you are not alone out there. I am here. We are here. Steer clear from popcorn ceilings and avoid making the same mistake twice but if you have to, own it. I’ll leave you once again as I have in the past with the words of someone much older and wiser than I.

“We all make mistakes,

have struggles,

and even regret things in our past.

But you are not your mistakes,

you are not your struggles,

and you are here NOW with

the power to shape your day

and your future.”

-Steve Maraboli