Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York
My best friend was in town. He was staying less than 10 minutes away on Meeker at an old girlfriends house. He'd initially intended to stay with me and Marie, but when I called him a week before he was coming out and told him that I was sleeping on the floor at work, he made other plans.
We met up the first day he was in town, went and got coffee and breakfast at The Rabbit Hole on Bedford Ave and caught up. He told me that he'd applied to join a monastery back in Oregon where he's living now, and that there's a monastery up in the Bronx that he wanted to check out as well while he was here. Things change. This from the only guy that I ever tried to keep out of my cab when I was driving in Austin. He looked scary at the time. I didn't want trouble. He looked like a lot trouble - turned out he was, just never with me. Instead of hitting the lock button that night on my cab, I hit the window button. Ten years later I'm living in Brooklyn trying to become a writer and he's looking to become a monk.
When we met in Austin we were both going through a divorce and I ended up moving into an apartment down the hall from him, taking the lease over for the girl that owned the tattoo shop where he was working - True Blue Tattoo. He did most of my tattoos. We were drinking buddies. We spent a good year drinking our sorrows away after our divorces, and another year after that just drinkin'. And we talked. We talked a lot, trying to make sense out of life. He was a good friend and we had a lot of fun together. Eventually he sobered up, moving away a year or so later, trying to piece his life together. And I got married again, then divorced again. But we've kept in touch and remained good friends since. He probably knows me better than anyone.
It was good to see him and catch up.
The next day I went up to the Bronx with him to visit the monastery up around 142nd St on the West side. The monks were young, younger than us, late twenties. We sat and talked to one of them in the front room under a painting of the prodigal son. After my friend and the young monk talked for a minute the monk asked me to tell him about myself. I told him the short version of the last year, then had to excuse myself to make it to me and Marie's couples therapy appointment. I left my friend there and raced out the door, catching the B express train down to 34th, switching to the F, barely making to the office on time.
Marie text me saying that she would be late. She was stuck in her tax attorney's office trying to put some order to the last five years of her life. The therapist called me back and I started in on what was going on with me and Marie. I told her we were struggling, how I'd nearly moved out, and that I knew we loved each other but that sometimes I just didn't understand where Marie was coming from. She told me Marie was a wild card, but that she genuinely seemed willing to work on herself and the relationship. And that this was the first time that Marie was willing to listen to someone challenging her on some of her behavior. She seemed invested. That was a good sign. She was willing to look at herself. If she was not, then the answer of what to do would be simple. The door for growth for both of us was open, as long as were each open as too.
I felt better after the session, more secure in staying.
Marie didn't make it to the session, showing up just as I was walking out. That was fine with me. I sometimes feel that I can use as many therapists as possible to talk about Marie.
The day before my friend left, over coffee at The Roebling Tea House - the place where the blog got its title nearly a year ago (see first blog post) - he told me that the monk who we'd visited a few days before wanted him to pass on a message to me - that he felt it would be easier to clarify things with my relationship and in my life if I moved out.
My friend told me that whatever I decided to do, I should write the truth about what I was going through and not try to be salacious or pandering - just speak the truth - as I was just a guy trying to do the right thing. And wasn't that novel enough?
LOve
Showing posts with label Couple Therapy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Couple Therapy. Show all posts
Wednesday, 11 November 2009
Tuesday, 1 September 2009
The Other Girl - Therapy
Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York
Our therapist said today that I left the door open for the other girl to step in. That I invited the attention and that I had to make it clear with women that I I'm in a relationship - Black and White. There's no gray area.
She's right.
There's no room for gray area in this city. It's one giant meat market out there.
And didn't I think that it was ironic, the therapist asked, that I was the one flirting with disaster, when I'm the one so concerned about that happening to me?
I do think that it's ironic. I also said that I think it's ironic that Marie was now the one waving the monogamy flag after making me feel somewhat prude and conventional in the beginning of the relationship with my antiquated ideas of fidelity.
Oh, the irony of it all!
We're both learning from, and teaching each other so much... She's teaching me how to love. And I'm teaching her how to be a fucking hypocrite - but I did nip it in the bud (now I simply have to be clear with all the women of New York: I'm a taken man... sound of hearts breaking and tears in the background).
I have to admit that it was nice to see Marie squirm a little on the couch (yeah, I'm an asshole, but sometimes it's nice to know that the other person really cares - she's not always a gusher with her feelings). There's probably a psychiatric term for all of this (and it's probably not a nice term for me), and seemingly boils down to this: flirt, or lead someone on to let mate know that you're a valuable commodity, only to leave door open too long causing uncomfortable awkwardness for all involved, having door swing back and smack you in the face. I think "dickhead" is the psychiatric term I'm looking for. Yeah, I think that fits.
But seriously, you've really got to be on your game up here in New York. This city seems like one big bar set up to help facilitate the tryst, whatever that tryst may be.
In all sincerity, it all just makes me appreciate Marie even more for her magnanimous understanding and undeterred devotion. I don't know if I'd be so gracious. She's quite something.
And I feel lame.
LOve
Our therapist said today that I left the door open for the other girl to step in. That I invited the attention and that I had to make it clear with women that I I'm in a relationship - Black and White. There's no gray area.
She's right.
There's no room for gray area in this city. It's one giant meat market out there.
And didn't I think that it was ironic, the therapist asked, that I was the one flirting with disaster, when I'm the one so concerned about that happening to me?
I do think that it's ironic. I also said that I think it's ironic that Marie was now the one waving the monogamy flag after making me feel somewhat prude and conventional in the beginning of the relationship with my antiquated ideas of fidelity.
Oh, the irony of it all!
We're both learning from, and teaching each other so much... She's teaching me how to love. And I'm teaching her how to be a fucking hypocrite - but I did nip it in the bud (now I simply have to be clear with all the women of New York: I'm a taken man... sound of hearts breaking and tears in the background).
I have to admit that it was nice to see Marie squirm a little on the couch (yeah, I'm an asshole, but sometimes it's nice to know that the other person really cares - she's not always a gusher with her feelings). There's probably a psychiatric term for all of this (and it's probably not a nice term for me), and seemingly boils down to this: flirt, or lead someone on to let mate know that you're a valuable commodity, only to leave door open too long causing uncomfortable awkwardness for all involved, having door swing back and smack you in the face. I think "dickhead" is the psychiatric term I'm looking for. Yeah, I think that fits.
But seriously, you've really got to be on your game up here in New York. This city seems like one big bar set up to help facilitate the tryst, whatever that tryst may be.
In all sincerity, it all just makes me appreciate Marie even more for her magnanimous understanding and undeterred devotion. I don't know if I'd be so gracious. She's quite something.
And I feel lame.
LOve
Sunday, 16 August 2009
Birthday Party - Couple Therpay
Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York
The party was at six. Sharp.
It was around noon when we finally got going. We had to pick up the air conditioner at Vincent's - Marie's friend - apartment near Chinatown, take the air conditioner back to our apartment back across the Williamsburg bridge, drive the car that we had (Molly and Marc's) to the Upper East side to drop with some friend of Molly's, then find Yoko - who's birthday it was - a present.
Fine.
Okay.
It can be done.
No problem.
Go.
On the way to get the air conditioner from Vincent Marie decides that she wants to get Yoko some oysters for lunch and drop them off at her work near Union Sq. She asks me what I think. I say that we have enough to do already. She says to drive faster.
We pick up the air conditioner then stop at a place near Chinatown to get the oysters. I wait in the car in a commercial zone while Marie runs in.
Done.
Then - of course - we need an oyster shucker to go with the oysters. Drop Marie on the sidewalk around the corner from Crate n' Barrel on Houston st. Then drive around the necessary one way blocks to be able to pull up across the street and wait for Marie, illegally parked in front of a hot dog vendor as the rain begins to come down. Crate n' Barrel didn't have the shucker. But thank the Lord above the sales clerk inside told Marie of an even more exclusive kitchen wares place in SOHO that most certainly would have a shucker.
Traffic stifling.
Horns blaring.
Rain pouring.
Marie says drive faster.
Go.
Drop oysters off at Fleurs Bella store on 11th where Yoko works - me too sometimes.
Great.
Done.
Go.
Rain coming down in sheets.
Make it to 97th and drop the car.
Hungry.
Want beer.
Find only 'real' looking bar in Upper East Side. Walk in. Mahogany. Brass. Guinness on tap. Good. No food. Okay. Tell bartender Guinness is close enough to food. We sit down and begin to read the Times that Marie somehow always has on her, each day, every day, everywhere. How decadent.
We have time.
It's only three.
A few minutes later the older Italian looking guy sitting next to us at the bar comes back in with an authentic Italian sub from a deli around the corner and presents it to me and Marie. Amazing. One of the best moments since I've been to New York. Genuine. Kind. Authentic. Strike up conversation with said older gentlemen. Turns out he's an actor. Thought he looked vaguely familiar. Had a feeling. Asked him if he was in The Sopranos. No. He was Louie in Ghostdog. God. Awesome. He was Ghostdog's retainer. Louie. He was in Ghostdog, the Jim Jarmusch film with the sifu in Chinatown that I want to train with. Since I've been in New York I've met Jim Jarmusch. Now Louie. The signs are all there: I need to study Shaolin Kung Fu with sifu in Chinatown.
We leave bar elated around 4.
We stop in oldtime drugstore / perfumery to look for gift.
Marie finds soaps and things.
I think we can do better.
We leave.
Walking, Marie decides that we need to get Yoko a bird. GREAT! Marie tells me tragic story of Yoko's Uncle killing her bird when she was a child. Yoko needs a bird.
Walk to subway on 69th and Lexington. Pee at Hunter College. Hop 6 train to Union Sq. Marie fondles my crotch under my shorts unbeknownst to other riders as I stand and she sits. Great.
At Union Square find Petco.
5:15pm
Marie looks at all the birds, asks me what I think and what the Petco bird helper employee thinks. Looks at all the birds again. Petco bird helper tells Marie bird should not come out of cage for at least three months until comfortable in new home. Marie disconcerted. I tell her we should get one, and if Yoko doesn't want it, we'll keep it.
She looks some more.
5:25pm
She looks some more.
She likes the Parakeets the best. Me too. I pick out one I like the best. Petco guy gets paperwork and net. We have to be at restaurant near Greewhich Village no later than 6:15. It's 5:30. Marie asks me what I think. I tell her we should get the bird. Am getting ansty. Girl from office has already sent two messages saying to PLEASE be on time in order to hold table (place takes no reservation - party must be present to keep table - no later than 6:15 to surprise Yoko). Told Marie earlier of time constraints. Marie hates constraints. Don't want to upset Marie, nor be task minder. Hate being in the middle. Marie asks me what I think of bird. I tell her to get the bird. She stares at birds trying to read their thoughts. Am getting frustrated. Tell her so and go outside. Five minutes later she blows by me in a huff on the sidewalk saying that we're not getting a bird, that she's getting a book, that we're not going to the party and that we'll meet up with Yoko later. She goes into bookstore. I wait outside. Confused. It's 5 to 6. Calls start coming from restaurant. Where are we? I say we're not coming. Don't know what is happening. Go inside bookstore to look for Marie. She's nowhere to be found. I go back outside. Get a call from girl five minutes later from restaurant saying Marie is on her way with Yoko. I'm furious. She left me. Fuck her. Fuck the party. Fuck this.
I go to bar where friend works near Union Sq. Sit down and get a beer. Am pissed. Friend's not there. Yoko texts. Where are you? Don't respond. Marie calls twice. Don't respond. Get another beer. Friend from work texts. Tells me to come. I tell him: Fuck Marie. I walk to corner store to get cigarettes. I just want a cigarette. Fuck that woman. She tells me: You can never leave me. That is the worst thing you can do to someone, is leave them. You can never do that to me. You can never do that to me no matter what. And what does she do? She leaves me standing on the corner with my fucking dick in the wind. Fuck her.
I go to Mars bar. Shit hole. Vomit on toilet in bathroom nearly makes me puke. Sit in corner looking out at the cars passing by. Wonder why put up with this shit. Think maybe I should go back to Texas. Texas feels lonely. Can't make it in New York right now without Marie's help. Can't stand the thought of her right now.
Go to bar where friend from Texas used to work. Girl behind bars knows him and gives me the second beer free. Guy at the end of the bar is from Austin and knows my dog that I left with my friend. He's seen the puppies that my dog and friends dog had together. Miss my dog.
Walk across Williamsburg bridge talking to friend on the phone from Texas. Don't think I can go back there. Want to jump off bridge.
Marie comes home. Doesn't say a word. Goes to bed.
In the morning she doesn't know what the problem is.
Makes me angrier.
We have to talk about it in therapy.
Therapist says that we have to "over" communicate with each other as we have an "assumption" problem and "communication" problem in the relationship. Marie figured I would show at the restaurant. Still doesn't see big deal. I figured Marie knew the time constraints, don't see big deal with getting frustrated and walking out of store. Each of assumes the other will respond how we would. Marie says she's committed to relationship. I say I'm not so sure. Therapist says I don't have all the facts to make a decision yet and have to give the relationship a set amount of time with no talk of leaving until then. Then evaluate. Okay - January. Therapist says I can't have one foot out the door and expect relationship to work. I think if she met my ex-wives she'd understand. Therapist tells Marie I am gift sent to work on communication, or something like that - good.
Fine.
Both feet in.
Love
The party was at six. Sharp.
It was around noon when we finally got going. We had to pick up the air conditioner at Vincent's - Marie's friend - apartment near Chinatown, take the air conditioner back to our apartment back across the Williamsburg bridge, drive the car that we had (Molly and Marc's) to the Upper East side to drop with some friend of Molly's, then find Yoko - who's birthday it was - a present.
Fine.
Okay.
It can be done.
No problem.
Go.
On the way to get the air conditioner from Vincent Marie decides that she wants to get Yoko some oysters for lunch and drop them off at her work near Union Sq. She asks me what I think. I say that we have enough to do already. She says to drive faster.
We pick up the air conditioner then stop at a place near Chinatown to get the oysters. I wait in the car in a commercial zone while Marie runs in.
Done.
Then - of course - we need an oyster shucker to go with the oysters. Drop Marie on the sidewalk around the corner from Crate n' Barrel on Houston st. Then drive around the necessary one way blocks to be able to pull up across the street and wait for Marie, illegally parked in front of a hot dog vendor as the rain begins to come down. Crate n' Barrel didn't have the shucker. But thank the Lord above the sales clerk inside told Marie of an even more exclusive kitchen wares place in SOHO that most certainly would have a shucker.
Traffic stifling.
Horns blaring.
Rain pouring.
Marie says drive faster.
Go.
Drop oysters off at Fleurs Bella store on 11th where Yoko works - me too sometimes.
Great.
Done.
Go.
Rain coming down in sheets.
Make it to 97th and drop the car.
Hungry.
Want beer.
Find only 'real' looking bar in Upper East Side. Walk in. Mahogany. Brass. Guinness on tap. Good. No food. Okay. Tell bartender Guinness is close enough to food. We sit down and begin to read the Times that Marie somehow always has on her, each day, every day, everywhere. How decadent.
We have time.
It's only three.
A few minutes later the older Italian looking guy sitting next to us at the bar comes back in with an authentic Italian sub from a deli around the corner and presents it to me and Marie. Amazing. One of the best moments since I've been to New York. Genuine. Kind. Authentic. Strike up conversation with said older gentlemen. Turns out he's an actor. Thought he looked vaguely familiar. Had a feeling. Asked him if he was in The Sopranos. No. He was Louie in Ghostdog. God. Awesome. He was Ghostdog's retainer. Louie. He was in Ghostdog, the Jim Jarmusch film with the sifu in Chinatown that I want to train with. Since I've been in New York I've met Jim Jarmusch. Now Louie. The signs are all there: I need to study Shaolin Kung Fu with sifu in Chinatown.
We leave bar elated around 4.
We stop in oldtime drugstore / perfumery to look for gift.
Marie finds soaps and things.
I think we can do better.
We leave.
Walking, Marie decides that we need to get Yoko a bird. GREAT! Marie tells me tragic story of Yoko's Uncle killing her bird when she was a child. Yoko needs a bird.
Walk to subway on 69th and Lexington. Pee at Hunter College. Hop 6 train to Union Sq. Marie fondles my crotch under my shorts unbeknownst to other riders as I stand and she sits. Great.
At Union Square find Petco.
5:15pm
Marie looks at all the birds, asks me what I think and what the Petco bird helper employee thinks. Looks at all the birds again. Petco bird helper tells Marie bird should not come out of cage for at least three months until comfortable in new home. Marie disconcerted. I tell her we should get one, and if Yoko doesn't want it, we'll keep it.
She looks some more.
5:25pm
She looks some more.
She likes the Parakeets the best. Me too. I pick out one I like the best. Petco guy gets paperwork and net. We have to be at restaurant near Greewhich Village no later than 6:15. It's 5:30. Marie asks me what I think. I tell her we should get the bird. Am getting ansty. Girl from office has already sent two messages saying to PLEASE be on time in order to hold table (place takes no reservation - party must be present to keep table - no later than 6:15 to surprise Yoko). Told Marie earlier of time constraints. Marie hates constraints. Don't want to upset Marie, nor be task minder. Hate being in the middle. Marie asks me what I think of bird. I tell her to get the bird. She stares at birds trying to read their thoughts. Am getting frustrated. Tell her so and go outside. Five minutes later she blows by me in a huff on the sidewalk saying that we're not getting a bird, that she's getting a book, that we're not going to the party and that we'll meet up with Yoko later. She goes into bookstore. I wait outside. Confused. It's 5 to 6. Calls start coming from restaurant. Where are we? I say we're not coming. Don't know what is happening. Go inside bookstore to look for Marie. She's nowhere to be found. I go back outside. Get a call from girl five minutes later from restaurant saying Marie is on her way with Yoko. I'm furious. She left me. Fuck her. Fuck the party. Fuck this.
I go to bar where friend works near Union Sq. Sit down and get a beer. Am pissed. Friend's not there. Yoko texts. Where are you? Don't respond. Marie calls twice. Don't respond. Get another beer. Friend from work texts. Tells me to come. I tell him: Fuck Marie. I walk to corner store to get cigarettes. I just want a cigarette. Fuck that woman. She tells me: You can never leave me. That is the worst thing you can do to someone, is leave them. You can never do that to me. You can never do that to me no matter what. And what does she do? She leaves me standing on the corner with my fucking dick in the wind. Fuck her.
I go to Mars bar. Shit hole. Vomit on toilet in bathroom nearly makes me puke. Sit in corner looking out at the cars passing by. Wonder why put up with this shit. Think maybe I should go back to Texas. Texas feels lonely. Can't make it in New York right now without Marie's help. Can't stand the thought of her right now.
Go to bar where friend from Texas used to work. Girl behind bars knows him and gives me the second beer free. Guy at the end of the bar is from Austin and knows my dog that I left with my friend. He's seen the puppies that my dog and friends dog had together. Miss my dog.
Walk across Williamsburg bridge talking to friend on the phone from Texas. Don't think I can go back there. Want to jump off bridge.
Marie comes home. Doesn't say a word. Goes to bed.
In the morning she doesn't know what the problem is.
Makes me angrier.
We have to talk about it in therapy.
Therapist says that we have to "over" communicate with each other as we have an "assumption" problem and "communication" problem in the relationship. Marie figured I would show at the restaurant. Still doesn't see big deal. I figured Marie knew the time constraints, don't see big deal with getting frustrated and walking out of store. Each of assumes the other will respond how we would. Marie says she's committed to relationship. I say I'm not so sure. Therapist says I don't have all the facts to make a decision yet and have to give the relationship a set amount of time with no talk of leaving until then. Then evaluate. Okay - January. Therapist says I can't have one foot out the door and expect relationship to work. I think if she met my ex-wives she'd understand. Therapist tells Marie I am gift sent to work on communication, or something like that - good.
Fine.
Both feet in.
Love
Saturday, 1 August 2009
Steam Shower - Couple Therapy
Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York
I was at a birthday party Upstate for my boss at her house from the event company where I sometimes work wondering whether Marie was going to come and get me to spend the weekend with her at Bethany and Sebastian's house a few hours away where she was doing another cooking job, or whether I'd be going back to Manhattan the next day.
She showed.
For some reason I'd had the feeling that she wasn't going to - I think it was the tone of her voice on the phone when I'd called that morning - and felt that perhaps she was already tired of me.
Issues of fidelity began to float through my head.
When she showed up she lit me up from the inside.
And when everyone went to sleep we lay down with one another in the bedroom in the basement, reassuring each other of our love.
It was on her mind as well, infidelity.
But we were each others.
Fidelity...
Faithfulness...
The words conjure up intense feelings and some dark memories for me. My wives, their infidelities; anger, resentment, hurt, pain and lies.
Fuck, I don't even know if it's possible to remain faithful to someone. But I know it hurts when someone's not.
Are open relationships better?
I don't know.
I know it's hard for me to transcend jealousy and possessiveness.
Is transcending these feelings a worthy goal? Does that make one an evolved person, or simply detached?
Or do jealousy and possessiveness exist for sound reasons? Like to protect something valued from being lost?
I don't know the answers to these things. I'm no fucking psychologist or evolutionary biologist.
I'm simply trying to figure it out as I go.
It's all a work in progress.
And sometimes it's difficult.
Maybe that's why guides to these things like, The Bible, stick around after all these years.
Love.
Sex.
All I know is what experience has taught me: sex with love is better than without; and when someone you love has sex with someone else, it hurts.
Desire.
Fantasy.
Lust.
I'm no saint. I'm human too. I've chased these things. And the only thing that I've learned is that reality is a lot more complicated than fantasy. Nothing is what it seems. And nothing comes for free... the devil always exacts his fee.
Fuck it man, the devil ain't got shit on me.
I'm in therapy...
The next day we went to Bethany and Sebastian's place and went straight to work cooking for a job that Marie'd taken catering a birthday party in Woodstock. Yoko came with us from the birthday party to help out. They were cooking. I was helping. I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing in the kitchen and it all looked like geometry to me - I suck at geometry. But the gist of what I could figure out was that somehow the giant mountain of food that crushed the light out of the kitchen was going to be magically transformed into magnificent, alluring and appetizing dishes that would be shoveled down the throats of hungry party goers the next evening.
We were up til four in the morning trying to transform that mountain of stuff.
Up at seven in the morning we were on the road to Woodstock, where, once we arrived, we cooked for another seven hours or so with the help of Marie's French friend named Vincent, who happened to be in Woodstock over the weekend, who I went and picked up once the car was relieved of its burdensome load of food at the party.
By ten that night the party was over and we were heading for the night to a friend of Yoko's from the city who had a house in the woods just outside of Woodstock.
The whole fucking event had been a bit tense and slightly unpleasant, me feeling unappreciated by Marie and her often condescending tone. And Marie feeling like I didn't give a shit about any of it.
The guy wasn't there when we got to the house and Marie and I passed out from pure exhaustion, but not before Marie apologized for being coarse that day, explaining that she felt me create a distance from her and the whole event, and that it'd upset her, with me explaining that it was simple self protection (me pulling away and acting like I didn't give a shit) trying to avoid being cut by her lacerating tone.
In the morning the owner of the house, an older man from Luxembourg, and his young Japanese girl companion, Yoko, Marie and I had coffee and breakfast and read the paper before Marie, Yoko and I had to go back to the party house from the night before and pickup all the fucking dishes. As we sat reading the paper, somehow the idea of a steam shower was presented for me and Marie. I thought only for me and Marie. But twenty minutes later as Marie took off her clothes in the bathroom and stripped down to the nude, and I went to shut the door, Marie said to leave it open as the owner of the house was coming too.
Something inside of me froze as I watched Marie unclothe. The decision'd been made without my opinion. I felt slightly unnerved. I wasn't there. I wasn't important. I was secondary to the wishes of some man I'd known for less than a fucking hour. I opened the door a little bit shocked.
And we all took a steam shower.
Later when I broached the subject, Marie contended that it was nothing out of the norm, that is all above board, that it was simply "European" and that there was nothing to be concerned about. I contended that I'd been part of a voyeuristic peep show where my girlfriend was the main attraction.
I was upset and she was defensive.
And I let it go.
The next morning I left Upstate for work leaving Marie behind for a few days. And as I mulled over the steam shower and differing perspectives of what'd occurred an anger began to well up inside of me from deep down.
I had to get away.
I didn't want to get hurt again.
If I stayed, I would surely be hurt again. Marie would do what she wanted, regardless of me. And I would get hurt.
I was hurt.
I was angry and confused.
I didn't answer the phone when she called.
I didn't want to argue.
I needed to talk to someone.
I needed therapy.
My appointment with my therapist was the next day, and the day after that Marie and I would have our second couples session that she would be coming back to town for.
Somehow with the help of professionals we'd figure it all out.
The next day my therapist illuminated for me that I simply felt that Marie was inconsiderate towards me by not appreciating my effort to help her, culminating with, instead of a show of appreciation for my efforts, a shower with some naked old guy and his dong.
My therapist asked me not to make any big decisions for three weeks - while she was out of town - as I was obviously upset and not of clear mind.
I agreed, although I felt a strong urge to bolt.
The next day in our couples session I tried to explain all of this to Marie and her therapist, becoming quite fucking upset and animated at points, but not making much headway with my points. The therapist asked for me to consider (now I've got to consider shit, I thought!) that Marie was at least willing to engage in the process of change and self examination through therapy in an attempt to understand and better our relationship, and that even if we didn't see eye to eye on things right now, the door was open for change and adjustments. And that it could happen, we could get to a place of understanding, as after all, we both wanted the same thing: to be together. It just might take some time.
Duly noted, considered and appreciated.
Fine. Let's fucking move on.
We fought and argued after appointment about the exact nature of the steam shower - harmless or pornographic? - and she stated that she was no one's object (particularly not mine) and that she could do what she wanted with her body, including, I responded, allowing some old guy to objectify her. Brilliant.
Fuck it, women of the world. In the name of feminism allow yourselves to be objectified by random strangers, while decrying the "objectification" of a guy who loves you, not wanting strange men to view you as a sexual object.
What the fuck do I care?
I'll work it out.
I'm in therapy...
Love
I was at a birthday party Upstate for my boss at her house from the event company where I sometimes work wondering whether Marie was going to come and get me to spend the weekend with her at Bethany and Sebastian's house a few hours away where she was doing another cooking job, or whether I'd be going back to Manhattan the next day.
She showed.
For some reason I'd had the feeling that she wasn't going to - I think it was the tone of her voice on the phone when I'd called that morning - and felt that perhaps she was already tired of me.
Issues of fidelity began to float through my head.
When she showed up she lit me up from the inside.
And when everyone went to sleep we lay down with one another in the bedroom in the basement, reassuring each other of our love.
It was on her mind as well, infidelity.
But we were each others.
Fidelity...
Faithfulness...
The words conjure up intense feelings and some dark memories for me. My wives, their infidelities; anger, resentment, hurt, pain and lies.
Fuck, I don't even know if it's possible to remain faithful to someone. But I know it hurts when someone's not.
Are open relationships better?
I don't know.
I know it's hard for me to transcend jealousy and possessiveness.
Is transcending these feelings a worthy goal? Does that make one an evolved person, or simply detached?
Or do jealousy and possessiveness exist for sound reasons? Like to protect something valued from being lost?
I don't know the answers to these things. I'm no fucking psychologist or evolutionary biologist.
I'm simply trying to figure it out as I go.
It's all a work in progress.
And sometimes it's difficult.
Maybe that's why guides to these things like, The Bible, stick around after all these years.
Love.
Sex.
All I know is what experience has taught me: sex with love is better than without; and when someone you love has sex with someone else, it hurts.
Desire.
Fantasy.
Lust.
I'm no saint. I'm human too. I've chased these things. And the only thing that I've learned is that reality is a lot more complicated than fantasy. Nothing is what it seems. And nothing comes for free... the devil always exacts his fee.
Fuck it man, the devil ain't got shit on me.
I'm in therapy...
The next day we went to Bethany and Sebastian's place and went straight to work cooking for a job that Marie'd taken catering a birthday party in Woodstock. Yoko came with us from the birthday party to help out. They were cooking. I was helping. I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing in the kitchen and it all looked like geometry to me - I suck at geometry. But the gist of what I could figure out was that somehow the giant mountain of food that crushed the light out of the kitchen was going to be magically transformed into magnificent, alluring and appetizing dishes that would be shoveled down the throats of hungry party goers the next evening.
We were up til four in the morning trying to transform that mountain of stuff.
Up at seven in the morning we were on the road to Woodstock, where, once we arrived, we cooked for another seven hours or so with the help of Marie's French friend named Vincent, who happened to be in Woodstock over the weekend, who I went and picked up once the car was relieved of its burdensome load of food at the party.
By ten that night the party was over and we were heading for the night to a friend of Yoko's from the city who had a house in the woods just outside of Woodstock.
The whole fucking event had been a bit tense and slightly unpleasant, me feeling unappreciated by Marie and her often condescending tone. And Marie feeling like I didn't give a shit about any of it.
The guy wasn't there when we got to the house and Marie and I passed out from pure exhaustion, but not before Marie apologized for being coarse that day, explaining that she felt me create a distance from her and the whole event, and that it'd upset her, with me explaining that it was simple self protection (me pulling away and acting like I didn't give a shit) trying to avoid being cut by her lacerating tone.
In the morning the owner of the house, an older man from Luxembourg, and his young Japanese girl companion, Yoko, Marie and I had coffee and breakfast and read the paper before Marie, Yoko and I had to go back to the party house from the night before and pickup all the fucking dishes. As we sat reading the paper, somehow the idea of a steam shower was presented for me and Marie. I thought only for me and Marie. But twenty minutes later as Marie took off her clothes in the bathroom and stripped down to the nude, and I went to shut the door, Marie said to leave it open as the owner of the house was coming too.
Something inside of me froze as I watched Marie unclothe. The decision'd been made without my opinion. I felt slightly unnerved. I wasn't there. I wasn't important. I was secondary to the wishes of some man I'd known for less than a fucking hour. I opened the door a little bit shocked.
And we all took a steam shower.
Later when I broached the subject, Marie contended that it was nothing out of the norm, that is all above board, that it was simply "European" and that there was nothing to be concerned about. I contended that I'd been part of a voyeuristic peep show where my girlfriend was the main attraction.
I was upset and she was defensive.
And I let it go.
The next morning I left Upstate for work leaving Marie behind for a few days. And as I mulled over the steam shower and differing perspectives of what'd occurred an anger began to well up inside of me from deep down.
I had to get away.
I didn't want to get hurt again.
If I stayed, I would surely be hurt again. Marie would do what she wanted, regardless of me. And I would get hurt.
I was hurt.
I was angry and confused.
I didn't answer the phone when she called.
I didn't want to argue.
I needed to talk to someone.
I needed therapy.
My appointment with my therapist was the next day, and the day after that Marie and I would have our second couples session that she would be coming back to town for.
Somehow with the help of professionals we'd figure it all out.
The next day my therapist illuminated for me that I simply felt that Marie was inconsiderate towards me by not appreciating my effort to help her, culminating with, instead of a show of appreciation for my efforts, a shower with some naked old guy and his dong.
My therapist asked me not to make any big decisions for three weeks - while she was out of town - as I was obviously upset and not of clear mind.
I agreed, although I felt a strong urge to bolt.
The next day in our couples session I tried to explain all of this to Marie and her therapist, becoming quite fucking upset and animated at points, but not making much headway with my points. The therapist asked for me to consider (now I've got to consider shit, I thought!) that Marie was at least willing to engage in the process of change and self examination through therapy in an attempt to understand and better our relationship, and that even if we didn't see eye to eye on things right now, the door was open for change and adjustments. And that it could happen, we could get to a place of understanding, as after all, we both wanted the same thing: to be together. It just might take some time.
Duly noted, considered and appreciated.
Fine. Let's fucking move on.
We fought and argued after appointment about the exact nature of the steam shower - harmless or pornographic? - and she stated that she was no one's object (particularly not mine) and that she could do what she wanted with her body, including, I responded, allowing some old guy to objectify her. Brilliant.
Fuck it, women of the world. In the name of feminism allow yourselves to be objectified by random strangers, while decrying the "objectification" of a guy who loves you, not wanting strange men to view you as a sexual object.
What the fuck do I care?
I'll work it out.
I'm in therapy...
Love
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