Inland, Dreaming of Waves

Please, sir, may I have some more?*

I’m having my third piece of “decadent chocolate mousse cake” of the day.

No, I’m not PMSing. Actually, my period is about finished.

But today is the day after my 43rd birthday, and I decided to have a piece of my birthday cake with every meal. I’m having number three now. I also had a couple pieces of a chocolate bar today.

Chocolate is virtually my only remaining addiction. I quit smoking; I seldom drink caffeine, and I have never been addicted to drugs. I’ve done a few—mushrooms once, pot and hash now and then from my teens until 1995, and cocaine a few times in the 1980s—but nicotine was my only serious addiction.

I would so like to be one of those people who can occasionally smoke, but I’m not. It’s too stimulating for me. I’ve kicked it twice, and I intend never to get hooked again. So I have to hold myself from it.

For several years in my twenties I dated an alcoholic (the guy could drink a fifth of Scotch a night, OK, and then he would get aggressive and maudlin all at once—but only when he drank Scotch. The memory of trying to converse with him in one of these moods makes me want to puke), and being in his life made me wonder why I was immune. I finally decided that my personality is so laid-back, or retiring, or reserved, or however you want to label me, that the only thing I could get addicted to is a stimulant like nicotine, or possibly like cocaine, though I never liked it that much. I just did it because it was there.

“I just did it because it was there” is a slogan I could also apply to men in my life. For much of my life, especially high school, I dated guys who liked me. I had a terrific crush on an upperclassman, and nobody else could compete, but he had a petite, blonde, popular girlfriend, and I had no idea that he secretly liked me. So if someone showed interest in me, I went with it. It’s an odd thing—flattering and empty all at once. I didn’t know what it was like to date someone I really wanted until this guy broke up with his girlfriend and showed interest in me. I still remember the first time he kissed me. We were in the basement of his house, and he was lying halfway on top of me. I was having an out of body experience, thinking, “I can’t believe this is happening.” It was the first real romantic thrill of my life, especially when he said he’d always wanted to kiss me. (All that happened after I dated his baby brother. Why did I date him? Because he liked me. A lot. When we broke up, I actually said to him, “You like me too much.” And then a few months later, there I was kissing his brother in the basement. His parents must have thought I was such a slut.)

We broke up my sophomore year of college, and he married a girl from my high school sex ed class who didn’t know what a blow job was. I had to explain it to her. I hope he appreciates my help.

The basement kisser wasn’t one of my addictions. The Scotch drinker was. Certain men just draw me in. Usually they’re intellectual to a fault and don’t mind rubbing your face in it a little. They’re clever talkers and can argue me into a corner. They have tons of friends but have problems with truly loving and supporting someone. I desperately want them to find me interesting, and once they do, I begin to realize just how much they fail to satisfy. So what do I do? Well, it’s an addiction—by definition, I want some more.

*Oliver Twist

posted by Price of Silence @ 9:45 PM