Funky Friday

Parker Brookwood
Jul 28, 2017 · 5 min read

Yesterday I was in a funk. I spent the late afternoon in bed in a state of either sleep or awake crying. I am not even sure why. Could be partially hormones but I think I was just purging some nonsense from my head.

Yesterday marked 20 years I moved here. And I so desperately want to leave for so many reasons it just didn’t feel like a time to celebrate. I was stuck in muddy reflection of the last 20 years instead. And in some cases, I just didn’t like what I saw in the past. It’s not that I have regrets. I know full well that without all that, I wouldn’t be the person I am. I wouldn’t have the girls either. But . . . I just feel like everything over the last 20 years has me stuck in this place. I often use the analogy “temporary resident in a permanent situation.”

Also, last week it happened with MT. I made sure I was totally sober too. And secretly, I wish it wouldn’t have (and I’m not sure I mean be sober or fucked him at all). Not because it was awful (I’m pretty certain the boy gave me the best clitoral orgasm of my life). I just knew what it was. Fucking. That’s it. I can’t offer him more than that. The feels aren’t there and the connection isn’t well . . . intense. We are such good friends, I just felt afterwards that I was messing that all up. I know he wants it to happen again. I am just not sure I do. He needs young and vibrant and less introspective. And I am none of those things. I’m old, and dark and complicated and sometimes too vibrant.

And, to say I miss KS would be a terrible understatement. I think part of it is (for me) in the past, we always had a plan for a next time. The next time we would see each other. And now we don’t. And probably shouldn’t because we both have so much work to do with our lives. But I miss him . . . and not just the fucking . . . I mean I really miss him. I miss his smell, him holding me, letting me cry, me letting him cry. Talking to each other. Not talking to each other but just being in the same space. I even miss his crazy organizational tendencies that make me feel messy and inadequate. So yeah, I miss him. And it sucks. We talk and/or text every day. And sometimes I want to shake him like one of those snow globes. But instead of snow, I’d be shaking all the ghosts from his head.

I’ve also tried to take control of the MS situation. The being stood up and brushed aside is exhausting. I’m trying not to care. He tells me he does (care) but words and actions are always two different things. So . . . who knows? It was fun but now it’s just getting to a point where I feel abused. It might be time to shelf it but then we are together and the intensity of it all sucks me back into the vortex of wanting more. He’s like my fifty shades of grey. And it’s addicting. I know it’s bad for me but I just want more.

I know it sounds like I’m the 43 year-old whore here. I am well aware. But there have only been two others and one is my BFF (a female) and the other is this 32-year-old ginger beard who was a hell of a lot of fun in the moment. And before you ask, fuck yes, I’d do Mr. Ginger all over again. And of course, all of this has transpired since April. But dear reader, one must remember 11 years without sexual contact can make a woman go a bit crazy. And, I did warn in previous posts that the dragon has been awakened. So save your judgement for Washington please.

In addition to all of this, today marks the 11th anniversary of my Nana’s death. I was there when she passed. Prayed over her with my mom. Covered her body in the end. It broke my heart. She was my rock. She is the quiet force in my head that moves me forward. And I miss her more than any words on a page could express. And so I will leave it at that because even typing her name evokes a sadness today that I can hardly suppress. My heart and chest feel heavy and my breath catches in my throat.

And then enters a possibility . . . while in MI last month I reconnected with some college friends. And one is PR. We were involved with some of the same things in college. We had some type of fling that lingers in my memory and comes back only in bits and pieces (everyone else always remembers my past so much better than me). I walked into our reunion dinner and initially had no idea who he was other than thinking to myself “hey that guy is attractive” and some type of familiarity inside me buzzed. Then he hugged me and I knew instantly who he was. We ended up sitting next to each other and tried desperately to speak to everyone else at the table. But honestly, I think the only persons with whom we wanted to talk — each other. He asked me out to dinner later that week and requested to cook me dinner at his apartment. But knowing my inability to keep my legs closed (of late), I suggested we meet at a restaurant instead. So we did. And, after, I didn’t want it to end so I suggested coffee. Which we did. And then I left with a hug not thinking much of it other than the fact that it was good conversation with someone who was actually interested in getting to know the 43-year-old me despite the fact he knew me 25 years ago. Fast forward and now we’ve talked almost every day since. I’ve been completely open and vulnerable with him and that scares me a bit but . . . I feel somehow like he was meant to be here in this moment. Now we are talking about him visiting for a weekend. It might just be friendship, we both agree. But it could be more and that scares me. Because PR is emotionally available and up until this point, I’ve simply been “playing” with men who are not.* The question becomes: “Am I? Do I want to be?” And I cannot answer that right now. Maybe I don’t have to anyway.

Anyway . . . that’s the mind dump on this Funky Friday. I’m working from home today — from my bed (and not in the way I’d prefer — wink). I have a million things to do for work (where everything is still beige) and I’m going to try to knock things out. Girls are home from the beach with their Dad tomorrow. Trying to negotiate whether I get them back home here on Saturday or Sunday. Either way, I’m looking forward to some routine and the crazy normalcy August always brings. And please, let me get out of this funk because it’s annoying and not at all attractive.

*To say I’m “playing” with KS is unfair. I love him. I am just trying to figure out what that means.

Parker Brookwood

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In real life, I’m an academic who writes for publication. This is anything but academic. Raw, emotional and void of oxford commas. Love, sex, travel, divorce.

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