I’m fully aware of how delusional and crazy I sound when I talk about She Who Shall Remain Nameless. I think that, as long as I keep it “cute crazy” instead of “bunny-boiler crazy,” being delusional is manageable and okay.
This is what I do to stop thinking about her. I guess anyone else could read this list as Tips To Get Over Someone:
1. Reminding myself that I’m “in love” with a ghost. I do not know the real person. I do not like the real person. I think I like the reflection, idea or fantasy I created and perfected in my mind. I wrote “in love” because this isn’t love. Call it lust, infatuation, or being a step away from a restraining order but it isn’t love.
2. Going over a list of why we aren’t meant to be together. First and foremost, I do not know the real She Who Shall Remain Nameless. Second, rumor has it she is an asshole; by rumor I mean “information fed to gullible me by a toxic friend.” I know it’s all a bunch of lies but effective and helpful regardless. Third, there’s the age difference. Been there, done that. Insecurities and controlling behavior would start trickling in – she’d be afraid I’m going to run off with the butch carpenter or gardener by the time she’s 70. Fourth, she could get sick or she could be sick already. Again: been there, done that. Can’t be a nurse from the get-go. Fifth, she turns me into someone I can’t recognize. I don’t like the kiss-me, do-me, flog-me impulses that spark through my veins when she’s near me.
3. Going over a list of things why she isn’t the one for me: she’s old enough to be my mother (or my grandmother if we were in some third world country). She’s cranky. She has no sense of humor. She can barely walk so she will hardly be able to top me for hours. As much as I enjoy being in her arms, she doesn’t know how to dance and if she fucks as bad as she dances I’m screwed. She must be postmenopausal and may not have much of a libido at all. There is something about me that intimidates her. She is a control freak (allegedly) and I think she thinks/knows she can’t handle me. She lacks social skills. My friends and acquaintances don’t like her.
4. Going over a list of things why I’m not the one for her: hard to do since I’m closer to perfection than the rest of mortals. I would say I’m young, passionate, opinionated, complicated, able to see through her bullshit, and not willing to put up with it and that scares her. I’m neither a wall-flower nor a doormat and that scares her – yet another reason why she isn’t the one for me. And, come to think of it, I might not be emotionally available (why else would I be obsessed with someone I do not know?).
5. Remembering how in the past when I’ve wanted someone badly she’s turned out to be an asshole and thinking that maybe she doesn’t want me is for the best because at least I have the dancing, the flirting, the things that were real and the fantasies that lead to poems and short stories… without the up close and personal disappointment.
6. Putting my mind on something else: writing, fundraising and walking, cleaning my closets, rearranging my handbags and shoes, taking out and cleaning my over 500 books, recycling books and CDs, etc.
7. Seeing The Traveling Butch and Flavor Of The Week (aka “fotw”).
8. Having meaningless yet fully satisfactory sex with random strangers.
9. Spending quality time with my magic wand.
10. Watching He’s Just Not that Into You and translating it into Butchfemmean (that’s a new language I made up but you know what I mean):
a. We are all encouraged… not: programmed!… to believe that if a butch acts like a total jerk that means s/he** likes you.
b. S/he is never going to call you. I don’t care if s/he says you’re her** favorite female since her mommy and Joanie Cunningham. Over a week went by. Okay, Gigi? S/he didn’t call you.
c. Maybe s/he just didn’t call because s/he has no interest in seeing you again.
d. If a butch doesn’t call you, s/he doesn’t want to call you.
e. If a butch is treating you like s/he doesn’t give a shit, s/he genuinely doesn’t give a shit. No exceptions.
f. I’m not calling her. If s/he wants to see me, s/he’ll call.
g. If a butch gives you her phone number instead of taking yours, s/he’s not interested.
h. If a butch wants to see you, believe me, s/he will see you.
i. Where’s s/he going to be that s/he’s going to be out of touch?
j. The spark thing is bullshit (…). Butches invented the spark so they could not call, treat you kind of badly, and then convince you that that anxiety and that fear that just develops naturally is the spark and you love it. You eat it up and love it because you feed off that drama. You all love the drama.
** I’m using “s/he” because some butches prefer male pronouns. I didn’t follow this path using “her/him” or “her/his” because it looked awkward for this many lines of text.