poised like a soldier, calling for more

When I first moved to Atlanta, I met my friend Diana at a party that was mainly attended by French dudes. It was weird, but being as I was raised in the South, Diana was basically the first Sicilian girl I had ever met outside of my family. I told her as much, and she looked at me like I just told her I had never eaten pizza or learned to ride a bike. D is an Italian from New York City, so this was a totally foreign concept to her. She has cousins whose last name is actually "Guido".

Diana introduced me to Eddie's Attic and the free Sunday night concerts at the Park Tavern, where I started listening to Kitty Snyder. Her songs became the soundtrack to my first few years on my own in Atlanta. I wore out "Trips to the Oddities", and I was devastated when she announced that she wasn't going to play shows any more, that she was taking a break indefinetly to write a novel. I told Kitty once at my birthday party at a tiki bar, after I had a very large, very potent drink called a Scorpion Bowl, that she was my girl crush. She gracefully laughed it off.

A few weeks ago, I saw Kitty play again, and I bought her CD again for like the 4th time. I wore one out, and the other two I gave away. This one is mine. It hasn't left my car. This blog title is lovingly lifted from her lyrics.

I am a glutton for punishment. I consistently seek out men who cannot or will not be available or present in my life, and then I want them even more. I have no idea why I do this. It is so deeply painful, the cyclical rejection, coming to that place again where your head tells you it is completely because he isn't what you need, but your heart tells you that you aren't what anyone wants. My mom tells me I have daddy issues. It's such a cliche. I reject that concept. But maybe I do. I love my father, he is, deep down, a good man, he doesn't mean harm. But he is incredibly narcissistic, self-centered, and has let me down when I needed him most. Maybe I seek out men who subconsciously I know will do the same thing. Maybe its all I know how to handle.

"Poised like a soldier...calling for more..."

I do want more.

I wanted more from him. He promised me that he wouldn't be like everyone else, that he would protect my fragile heart. I guess it was too much. I thought maybe he needed space, that I was crowding him, that I pushed to hard too fast, too soon, that I asked too much. I backed up, he stepped forward, then back, then forward, reached out, it was almost a dance again. Now I don't believe he hears the music, that its just me.

So, dear one, I think you have missed something. "I know I could be good for you. And I know I'm afraid of escaping you..."

I have erased my means of reaching out to you, I will not try to reach out. And so ends my dance. I don't know how to stop wanting.