Over a year ago now, I wrote about gingers, specifically the abundance of gingers in my foray into the Portland(ish) dating scene. I directly referenced a few, in particular. I ended up taking a chance on one of those gingers; I believe I referred to him as something like the “simple, but wild one.”
Why on earth would I saddle myself up to a “simple, but wild one”? I’ve asked myself that same question, as have some of my most important friends in the world. (Looking at you, Tomas and stupidityhole and Cheeky.)
One of the easiest conclusions that I’ve come to is this: Despite moving across the country, escaping my own personal hell that was Louisiana, to pursue a lifelong dream of the Pacific Northwest…I found myself soon fallen into the same patterns, the same rut: that of work, cheap fast food or no food at all, bingewatching some bullshit show, not being able to focus on reading…on words, and spending most of my time alone and moping, in bed. I knew a physical move wouldn’t fix anything other than the immediate surrounding stimuli that fucked me up on the daily in Louisiana. I knew it would take real effort. But I was failing at it.
So I started dating. I never felt comfortable doing so in Louisiana, partly because my better-part-of-5-year-separation took that long to culminate in a divorce, and partly because I’d have never been comfortable dating there. Running into my ex while out on a date, or even trying to date someone and get serious with someone in a place I knew I couldn’t stay. Couldn’t live. Couldn’t breathe.
So I started dating. Dating sites, of course. How else was a recluse going to meet anyone? I met some terrible people, but I met some damn good people, too. I had some fun. I had some prospects for serious. (I learned quickly that in modern dating, one has to openly profess they are monogamous if they have any hopes of landing someone who isn’t into “ethical non-monogamy.” Y’all. You do you, but that’s just not my jam. I’ve tried to be open to it, but it’s just not me. It’s so far out of my comfort zone that it can only end in misery.)
I also quickly learned that, while I wanted someone whom would date me exclusively while we decided whether or not we were compatible, I also wasn’t ready to plummet straight into some til-death-do-us-part thing. Another thing I learned is that I get bored easily. Very easily. I don’t want to sit on the couch, night after night, bingewatching tv. I don’t want to waste my life away watching other people live theirs. I don’t want to talk about politics, every single day, day in and day out. And no, I don’t want to rush into marriage and move into your parent’s farmhouse, for fuck’s sake.
I wanted…needed…craved…excitement, stimulation, new.
Enter the “simple, but wild one.” I’ll come up with something to call him at some point, but for now, that will do.
He was wild. He was unpredictable. He was untamed. He wasn’t interested in anything serious. He wanted to go out. He wanted to do things. And oh dear god, was he fun. The most fun I’d ever had with a boy I was seeing regularly. There was an edge of danger to it all, and it was fucking thrilling.
And so, I allowed myself to get carried away with it. Sucked into his insane fucking charisma and magnetism. I willfully turned a blind eye to the enormous red flags that anyone who’s ever known him can see (like his extreme levels of narcissism and sociopathy and alcoholism). I willfully entered into a thing that caused everyone I knew – including the few of his friends I was allowed to meet – to seriously inquire, “What the hell are you doing with him?” (That question got more and more searing as time went on, more and more pressing, more and more concerning from the asker, and more and more telling to me of just how obvious it was to absolutely everyone what a brutal fucking mistake I was making.)
But, son of a bitch, I was having fun. I was living life with reckless abandon, something most people get out of their systems in their teens. Something I’d never done.
That. Is the reason. Well. That is the surface reason. More reasons will be expressed in future chapters. Like the whole, I lived so much of my life in fear of winding up with a replica of my father. And I did. Not only did I “wind up” with him, I dove headlong into it.
This isn’t a tale I can tell in one sitting, hence the parsing of it into chapters. I don’t have the energy for it, nor do I have the desire to give it that much time and attention in one sitting.
But that. That is my version of a beginning for this. That is my reason for what came to pass.
I’m really glad to see you updating again. I really missed your posts. You’re an incredible writer and I just love the way you tell your stories.
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You’re incredible; this means so damn much to me. Thank you; thank you so much.
I’ve missed our random comment conversations, too – those were fun. 🙂
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They were fun! It’s always really nice getting that connection from people, instead of just “here’s a thing, ok, bye.” Not that I’m very good at replying to comments myself, but I try lol!
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Oh god, I’m terrible at commenting at all…probably related to my issue with initiating conversations. But once it’s started, I like to reply. (Until I vanish from the planet, at least…….) 🙂
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I just never know what to say to people no matter who starts the conversation. I’ve never been great at human interaction.
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Something I still have to work on…!
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Dirk’s a good name.
Or is it a bad name?
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Holy shit. I was already planning to use Dirk. How the fuck did you guess that?
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I’m brilliant.
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Piss off; tell me!
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I just did.
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😒 <—- side eye
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He was so fucking hot, Stephellanous. So fucking hot. I don’t care who you are or how self-aware one is, there’s no resisting the doppelganger of Eddie Redmaye. Which he is. Thank fuck he’s gone and you’re out.
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Thanks, Cheeky. ☺️💜 God, that guy + Layne Staley. 🤤
I had my fun, but it was short lived. So much healthier and happier now!
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Omg. 💯. So glad it’s history.
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