“I have a hankering for Chinese food.”
I was trying to order Chinese food with my Hammer family via messenger. Another message came in. it was Khal Drogo. He called me ‘lover’ and a lightning bolt slammed through my vagina. The storm before the storm (ha).
The gist of it ended up being ‘chicken balls, shrimp fried rice and oh shit Britt I am smitten, god dammit’.
I have had scuffles in my head about this already. All the reasons it won’t work, sit back enjoy the ride while it lasts, yada yada. Errrting irie.
So now I am at war. Not quite at war. More like how I imagine presidents of countries try to work shit out before a war, in heavily draped offices, with many leather bound books and over stuffed couches and 200 year old scotch served by virgins who are rolling cigars between their immaculate knees. All their countrymen totally clueless that shit is about to go down.
I wrote that ^, that up there, July 31.
He called me lover, and then nothing. Almost nothing. Hence never finishing the thing.
One more ghost in the machine.
It must be getting crowded in there boys, you okay? Do you need snacks? More chains to rattle? A priest?
So my son is going through this long drawn out shit soup of a break up.
Oddly coinciding with around when I met Khal Drogo, and the move and the smashing of the car. I had a weird July. We, we had a weird July.
His now ex is kicking and screaming, making rules of engagement and breaking them. He is trying to call a cease fire and she keeps throwing bullets and dropping bombs.
After a rather rough week of this, we sat on the porch and talked it out. There is nothing worse for a mama than watching her grown man-child crying over a broken heart. But more than that, sheer gut wrenching frustration. “I followed all the rules and then she changed them and yelled at me about it.”
She seems to think it is okay for her to date whomever she wishes, but he has to stay loyal to her. The whole thing reeks of Anthony and Sister-wife. There are two kinds of people when it comes to cake, the ones who want to have all the cake and the ones who share the cake gladly. She wants all the cake.
On the same day this was coming to a huge nuclear meltdown I just so happened to talk to Khal Drogo. He asked me out. Something I had been waiting for since…the day of the Chinese food. We saw each other twice before then and then he didn’t do what I wanted him to do which was see me more.
I had walked into his house the first time thinking “this probably won’t work, but let’s see what happens”. Kinda exactly how I live my whole life…hey this looks like an adventure, lets have it.
The war I was mentioning above has to do with my wondering if we were even remotely compatible. On paper we are not. He is super sporty, I am not. He is a single dad and DEDICATED to his daughter, I know how that feels and would never interfere, not even accidentally. He is crazy busy, as am I, but I admit I need some attention from time to time.
I have dated those who look good on paper, paper lies. So let’s see what happens.
I have changed my mindset on dating. There are no ground rules. Just do what you do. I want and grant the freedom to be exactly yourself. It’s too much room for some and they get lost. Or they have been hurt before and question my motives. I have none, I just decided to not try to change anyone. Give them room to be themselves. I want to see what you will do on your own. Wander off and stay gone or come back. They come back. Everyone does on a long enough timeline.
There will come a time when one of them wanders back corporeal and I have to say “I had a lovely time with you, but I think I am done, please take care of yourself.”
In the time called ‘before’ I was a master manipulator. There is no satisfaction in it. I can read people and for the most part know what to say/do to get the desired reaction. If I wanted creatures who moved when I move, I would go work on the Muppet Show. I don’t want strings. Threads, yes.
I know why my son’s ex is doing what she is doing, because I used to be just like that. Get a little power over someone and abuse it. Hurting on the inside and lashing out.
I don’t kick horses anymore. Just wait for the dark one. In fact, I have ridden horses broken by Mennonites. Bomb proof? Sure. Steady and stable, yep. But the best ride I ever had was bareback on a 1600 pound Percheron cross, who trusted me enough to let me up on him, and when he decided he had enough he swung wide and found a safe place for me to land.
I explained it to my son like this. He knew what had happened with Drogo, he knows what has happened with all of them.
“So, first things first. It’s my memory and I can chose what to keep and toss. You are looking at Bella and seeing all the good, she is looking at you and seeing all of the evil. She is hurting herself and it isn’t your fault.
Second. Look at what keeps happening to me. By all human rights I should be mad and miserable as fuck. But I am not. Because I choose not to be, it serves no purpose. Instead I just live my life and see what happens. And it works itself out.”
I wish I could spare him the agony, but without agony there is no ecstasy.