Woman Ironing
Testing, testing…
Valet Battleship Parking, Part. 2: We Choose Our Lives
I found this intense website about infidelity. It’s very in-depth and I’m taking several days to ingest it all. My interest, obviously, is personal. I’m simply finding it very hard to believe that my judgment was SO off I would select and live with someone for four years who was always capable of doing this, so I’m looking for insights and clues wherever I can.
Looking back now I see all the red flags so clearly and it’s nauseating to remember that I ignored them or pushed them aside deciding, instead, to trust. “You were in love,” says a friend, “We do stupid things when we’re in love.” But I didn’t think anything I was doing was stupid, I thought it was beautiful. I gave her encouragement for her career when she didn’t have friends or family who were doing it, I bought her equipment I thought she needed (she was a musician), and took her on trips I thought would crowbar her out of her profound self-hatred long enough for her to actually produce something. When all those things and kindness and love and loyalty didn’t work I ended up in the fetal position on the floor. I tried everything and none of it worked. She drove me nearly insane and still I tried… Maybe that’s what was stupid, but I believe very strongly in the powers of loyalty and time and so I thought that if we just kept working, just a little bit more, she would have gotten over the hump–had some psychological breakthrough–, succeeded at her career, and we would have evolved to a new stage in our relationship. My naivete is that through it all I thought she loved me. Imagine my surprise when she finally said she didn’t.
Last night I spoke at length to a friend about all this. He had had a very similar experience and said that it sounded like my ex was and is paralytically afraid of failure so she sabotages herself at every turn. Thankfully, I’ve never suffered from a fear of failure. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I’m a “glass half full” kind of person. To me, nothing is ever so hard there isn’t some solution somewhere, and no piece of work that is so bad it’ll ruin your career. I think that attitude comes from having a loving and supportive family–a solid base–and this is certainly something my ex lacked. That’s one of the dastardly demons she’ll have to face if she ever wants out of her current rut. That’s clearly another part of her fear: facing her demons. As we all know, it SUCKS; and on top of it the worse you’ve been as a person in the world, the worse those demons will be, and the longer you wait to deal with them, the more painful the process once you finally decide to do it.
I told my friend on the phone that I thought being faithful was so easy, and he agreed. But if you read the above linked website it sure sounds like a lot of people struggle with it. Some of them actually convince themselves that they’re entitled to it. Should they be condemned…??? It’s not for me to say as a rule for the whole world, just for myself: I choose not to associate with or support people who betray their loved ones. It’s the unringable bell, the genie that will never, ever go back in the bottle and I simply can’t look at you or believe you if you’ve done it. But I also feel that infidelity is a huge act of self-hatred. It’s the ultimate sign that you’re so afraid, so unevolved that you’d rather destroy yourself than work hard at something. It’s an act that’s full of passive aggression, but also one that deserves pity, and so as much as I hate her today, I fear for her tomorrow because dishonor reaps the whirlwind…
I’m not, by the way, trying to paint myself as a saint, but there are basic rules of right and wrong and infidelity is just wrong, and, as I mentioned above, totally avoidable: you just decide not to do it.
I used to travel a lot for work. I went to huge conferences and film festivals all over the country. At one such event I was propositioned by a beautiful young man who I’d spent the night playing pool with. Our skill level at the game was about the same (bad) and we were just having a good time. The sexual tension was undeniable, but, again, it was just fun and we seemed to both acknowledge that. We left the bar together and walked around the town. He was from there and giving me a private, midnight tour. I had made it clear that I was gay and in a relationship, but the sexual tension was enough to make anyone in his shoes think there might be an opening. We ended up at the lobby of my hotel, and that’s where I finally said goodnight. Even though my relationship was shaky and had been unsatisfying for several months up to that time, there had been no innuendo on my part, but as I was getting into the elevator he still stopped the door and asked me if I was absolutely sure. I smiled, said yes, and bid him goodnight at which time he released the door. I never saw him again. His name was Justin.
In public and in private my ex used to frequently say that one of the main reasons she was with me was because she knew I would never cheat on her. She had actually been told once by a woman that I had hit on her. My ex laughed in the woman’s face. “Alexia would never do that,” she said, smiling confidently.
We choose our lives.
Valet Battleship Parking, Part 1
I’ve been doing some home improvements here and there. They escalate as my confidence and clarity of mind escalate, and today I was able to furnish an empty room and add some towel holders in the upstairs bathroom before the sadness re-gripped me.
On my way back downstairs to return my tools to the workroom I passed a small box that’s sitting on the little table by the front door. The box is empty and has been in this spot for months because for a while she had me collecting small boxes to use to send out her CDs when someone buys them online, so I got in the habit even tough she’s never sold enough for me to be that conscientious. After we stopped living together a year ago I wasn’t able to break the habit. Tomorrow, though, or Monday, I’ll collapse it and take it away with the rest of the recycling and won’t gather small boxes anymore.
When I was in college I developed a play about a person’s struggle with identity. I called it “Valet Battleship Parking.” 
I never did finish it but have decided to express what I need to here, on the blog, under the tag “Valet Battleship Parking” so as to have a central place of expression during this difficult period. Maybe one day these posts can be collected and made into the show that never was…
The photo above is a very quick-and-dirty Photoshop representation of the picture I’ve had in my head since college. It was to be the poster for the play and had me in the valet uniform with my back to the camera instead of facing it, and showed me holding a set of HUGE skeleton keys in my hand, cuz, if you’re doing valet parking at a shipyard that accommodates battleships, the keys HAVE to be big.
Documentary filmmaker, daughter, sister, friend, new media enthusiast and futurist. Currently, I work for myself as a filmmaker, video editor, new media creator, and blogger, but my interests are broad, and very little is sacred. Welcome to The Big Parade, y'all. Let's make some noise. ;)