The art of masochism

Definition of "masochism"- A willingness or tendency to subject oneself to unpleasant or trying experiences.
Definition of "masochist"- Me.

Passengers aboard flight 041110, this is your captain MsHap speaking. From the title of today's address, you might be under the impression that I am experiencing some level of pain, but that would be just as far removed from the truth as any promises that any politician has ever made in efforts to be elected to some office. I am feeling better currently than I have over the past 11 days, and I am honestly a little startled to have just now realized that I have only been away from he and our normal routine for about a week and a half. It has felt like, and this is uber cliche, an eternity. The last time we broke up in January, we had literally ZERO contact over the course of the exact same amount of time, and if he had not unexpectedly texted me during one of the Colts playoff games, I don't know how long we would have gone without speaking. But this time has been so much different. I've had random contact with him since around 5 days ago, mostly via text, and seeing him for about an hour at a time out in public on two different occasions, and yet, I have remained a card-carrying, certified, yellow taped disaster area despite this contact, inwardly at least. Until last night.

I knew (or at least wished, hoped, prayed) that if I kept myself in his mind's eye and literal eye on a somewhat regular basis, that I would slowly break him down. Despite the fact that since the beginning of this month, I have managed to throw myself down off the pedestal I once posed on before him, giving him insta-flu symptoms when someone mentioned my name or he caught a glimpse of my face, I have endured this break-up with the feeling, although so very slight at times these past days, that what we have, what we are together, far transcends a simple sexual chemistry, lives far and above lust. It is the stuff that dreams are made of, if by dream I mean a nightmare. One in which, at least in this life, you have to wake up every morning to realize that you are in love with another, and they with you, but as the deck has been stacked previous to your developing into an "us," the only way to a happily ever after is to re-shuffle the deck and dole out a new hand to everyone involved. Seems simple enough right? Bad hands are folded and thrown back into the stack on a daily basis, even when at face value they seem fine, can be put into contention and with enough bullshitting yourself and others, actually bring about some level of success. In life, it is a known fact, that not everybody feels the need to chase pocket aces by folding whatever else they get in hopes that at some point, on some night, they will get them. Two same suit, or a pair of sevens is all some will ever need to keep playing, keep smiling, keep living. For he and I, we are that coveted pair of aces, but with one major hitch. If we lay ourselves out on the table, play our cards and dare anyone around us to have a better hand, there will be no rejoicing, no Jersey Shore fist-pumps when we win, trump everyone else. There will be pain, innocent suffering, public scrutiny, and regret. Yes, we will have each other, and that would be necessary. Because I am not certain there would be any one else around when we cause the house of cards to tumble down.

So, as of last night, I was right to feel that he could not possibly keep stiff-arming me when we know that we love and exist in this realm, this scope of feeling, as long as I made it clear to him, and believe me when I say this for once, that I am finished playing the stupid games that I had before. We were not together for long last night, and nothing was "fixed" in that meaning of the word, no return to our former selves consummated. But the atmosphere between us was different, passion choking us to the point of him on some level, finally tapping out to me, offering me the understanding, even if unsaid, that it isn't over. We are not done. And with this realization, is where I drew the inspiration for my title tonight, "The Art of Masochism," because with every victory, whether small or great, is understanding. I understood then, just as I do now, as I honestly have from the start with he, that this would be a story told in equal parts ecstasy and pain. And although I do not hurt now, as I stated early on, I am not jaded, I understand that in this portion of my life, in this particular relationship, that I am a cutter, and he is my razor blade. But no one gets to see these marks but me. Because they are tucked away inside. Some will see the outward, external manifestations that accompany these strategic slices I inflict, in tears, grimaces, food not eaten. I have to be absolutely stuffed with scar tissue by now. And although his razor blade becomes a little more dull with each light switch symphony we conduct, that only means that to feel the same eventual joy I have before, that I have to drag him across me harder and deeper. I wonder at what point I will eventually bleed out.

However, no promises have been made, or plans created. I just know that I felt like home last night. And that, having felt like I had been marooned on a deserted island these past weeks, is something I will welcome despite the knowledge that home in this sense, is temporary, unstable, and a nut house. Welcome back, welcome back, welcome back. And now, the 60/40.

1. Good- I am in increasingly better shape than I was when this all went down, and have 6 runs planned this week, one being a 10 miler. Last week's 8 was like a free visit to the shrink.
2. Bad- I have a ridiculous amount of school work on my plate this week and a schedule of obligations (most I have been putting off like the plague) to rival it.
3. Bad- Mickelson won the Masters today. I was secretly pulling for Tiger. Not that I'm all bandwagon and live in the hype. But just because I understand, from the pit of my stomach, what it is like to mess up, BAD, and have to try again, make yourself better, and struggle to balance failures with current progress.
4. Good- I had a wonderful dinner with my best friend from work and his family for his wife's birthday this evening. It included mussels, a little Cabernet, veal in cream sauce, and desserts galore.
5. Good- I am thinking about getting another tattoo. A Spanish sentiment, on my side (rib area).
6. Bad- I heard that area hurts the worst, and I am not excited about having to hide another tatt from the parentals. I can still remember my Asian mom screeching and blowing a head gasket when she saw my sports tramp stamp a few Easters ago when I was showering.
7. Bad- I am walking back into no-man's land. I am a creature of habit.
8. Good- The Yankees beat the Rays today and now are 4-1. As for you Cubs fans...ouch.
9. Good- Kid sister has her first out of state AaU tourney this weekend (fri/sat/sun) in Chi-town and I haven't been there since the summer. Can not wait. Ballerific.
10. I feel 5 lbs lighter physically and 25 lbs lighter emotionally.

Escuchar (Listen)-She Bangs- Ricky Martin. He just came out people. I know, I know, we have known this from day one. If you listen to the song closely enough, you can almost swear now he's actually singing "He Bangs."

Mirar (Watch)-She's Outta my League, in theaters now. Genuinely cute story plot, great chemistry between the main couple, and really funny dialogue. Gratuitous use of the word "fuck." My kind of movie.

Pensar (Think)- Blessed are those who drink, for they shall inherit a buzz. --Unknown.

Leer (Read)- A Separate Peace, by John Knowles. Classic.