OK at lunch just now I thought about “My First Black Tie Affair” posted yesterday. I need to clarify a few things:
During my 5-weeks in 1988 with my “boyfriend” Jim, he was generally charming, smart and funny. Certainly he was gorgeous. But he was an ass at the Black Tie Affair where, unbeknownst to him, I decided he should propose. See post from 1/4/10.
I am willing to admit; however, he may have picked up on the soul-crushing psychic pressure of completely unfounded expectations bombarding him from my direction. He may also have been sick of me already. OK, he was sick of me already. My point is, for the most part during our long, 5-week relationship, he was not an ass. But I sure was.
I have a bad habit which I’m hoping to break in 2010, of secretly assigning people characteristics they do not possess, and then becoming disappointed when they end up not having those characteristics. Or, deciding exactly what part they should play in my drawn out fantasy of the rest of our lives, including assigning their lines that they never remember because, well, I never tell them their lines. Fine, you are now all bit players so there.
I am also willing to admit that living this way is somewhat divorced from reality and possibly a big, fat cosmic set up for me, a set up of my own making.
Now I’m proud to report one of the most mature things that happened in 1989, and there were only one or two of those, was sitting down with Jim the Republican over coffee in a Greek restaurant on East 79th Street and First Avenue, about 6 months after our, um, break up. I think we both apologized to one another. I hope I did but I may not have since I had, and still have, a hard time even conceiving of any wrongdoing on my part, no matter what the hard evidence shows. So I’m sorry Jim.
But for a few minutes on an afternoon in 1989 I was a grownup, or at least pretending to be. I met with someone I’d had a fleeting relationship with, we mended fences and went our separate ways. It was a slice of Grace in a life filled with self-inflicted drama. A tiny, crumbling foothold in the Cliffs of Insanity if you will.
That is not to say that halfway through coffee with Jim the Republican I decided he should perhaps propose then and there, toss his well-bred, Conservative girlfriend aside, and throw himself at my feet, switch political parties and devote the rest of his life to making me happy and giving away his zillions to charitable causes of my choosing. And, if I’m honest, for a day or two I was a teeny tiny bit spun out by the latest version of the fantasy I’d concocted. Again, he was to play a leading role but again, he didn’t live up to my unspoken expectations. Do you sense a theme? So Jim, I’m sorry I was an ass, both when we dated for a few weeks and the following year when we had coffee, but at least I pretended to be a grownup at the Greek place.