banging my head...
...against the same old wall, as Lori's song puts it.
Last night, just before Soren arrived here to pick me up (bearing a dozen lovely long-stemmed roses, sweetie that he is), I called Peabrain. He'd left a message last week, saying "Someone's pressed the 'reset' button on my life," because he's sharing an apartment in upstate Manhattan with a local fan -- the same apartment he, Mark, and I lived in for the first years of our life as a triad marriage.
He sounded depressed, which is understandable. He's still not gotten over getting evicted (almost a a year ago now!), and losing most of his possessions. And yet...
...there was a quality to his voice that's hard to describe. Yes, genuine depression, but a hint of anticipation, which later turned to annoyance -- because I wasn't picking up on my cues.
I love Peabrain. I'm no longer in love with him, and, in fact, I don't like him very much anymore. But for years, I've taken care of him when he's come back around to me (i.e., when he needs something his bridge or gaming buddies can't provide). Now, though, I don't have it in me to do so anymore; I'm not getting enough back from him.
But he still tries, tugging on the strings of shared history, and trying to use his boyish charm. Boyish charm that worked when he was 21, and even when he was 30, but which doesn't work now that the pout has turned to petulance and jowls, the shaggy hair that was cute in his youth turned to a bald spot and sloppy sideburns, the slight whine in his voice now a major feature, and the swayback into a noticeable potbelly combined with swayback. Still, he tries to use that lost charm, as well as references to what we were to each other (somehow forgetting things such as lying to the woman he eventually left us for about Mark's and my relationship to him), to push me into taking care of him one more time.
Not this time.
(Aside one: he was possibly the other person most upset by Mark and me splitting up [other than Mark] -- in part because the two of us had all the shared history with him, and were more willing to sigh and put up with him. Soren does't have any of that history, and is unlikely to say, "Well, just this once more." For which I am grateful.)
(Aside two: one of the first pieces of Mark's writing I read was a personal essay entitled "Cuteness and Other Non-Renewable Resources." I have always thought that that was a brilliant concept. And boyish charm is a non-renewable resource. Pity Peabrain hasn't learned that.)
(Aside three: I confirmed yesterday that, indeed, my complete vocal score of A Little Night Music was in Peabrain's apartment when he was evicted. And, understandably, he didn't think to rescue it when he took whatever he could get out of the apartment. Nevertheless, it's another niggling thing in the ledger.)
(Aside four: Redbird, at some time, we should write up the story of Peabrain, a.k.a. Clueless Lad, Alyssa, and the Piano Bar.)
Last night, just before Soren arrived here to pick me up (bearing a dozen lovely long-stemmed roses, sweetie that he is), I called Peabrain. He'd left a message last week, saying "Someone's pressed the 'reset' button on my life," because he's sharing an apartment in upstate Manhattan with a local fan -- the same apartment he, Mark, and I lived in for the first years of our life as a triad marriage.
He sounded depressed, which is understandable. He's still not gotten over getting evicted (almost a a year ago now!), and losing most of his possessions. And yet...
...there was a quality to his voice that's hard to describe. Yes, genuine depression, but a hint of anticipation, which later turned to annoyance -- because I wasn't picking up on my cues.
I love Peabrain. I'm no longer in love with him, and, in fact, I don't like him very much anymore. But for years, I've taken care of him when he's come back around to me (i.e., when he needs something his bridge or gaming buddies can't provide). Now, though, I don't have it in me to do so anymore; I'm not getting enough back from him.
But he still tries, tugging on the strings of shared history, and trying to use his boyish charm. Boyish charm that worked when he was 21, and even when he was 30, but which doesn't work now that the pout has turned to petulance and jowls, the shaggy hair that was cute in his youth turned to a bald spot and sloppy sideburns, the slight whine in his voice now a major feature, and the swayback into a noticeable potbelly combined with swayback. Still, he tries to use that lost charm, as well as references to what we were to each other (somehow forgetting things such as lying to the woman he eventually left us for about Mark's and my relationship to him), to push me into taking care of him one more time.
Not this time.
(Aside one: he was possibly the other person most upset by Mark and me splitting up [other than Mark] -- in part because the two of us had all the shared history with him, and were more willing to sigh and put up with him. Soren does't have any of that history, and is unlikely to say, "Well, just this once more." For which I am grateful.)
(Aside two: one of the first pieces of Mark's writing I read was a personal essay entitled "Cuteness and Other Non-Renewable Resources." I have always thought that that was a brilliant concept. And boyish charm is a non-renewable resource. Pity Peabrain hasn't learned that.)
(Aside three: I confirmed yesterday that, indeed, my complete vocal score of A Little Night Music was in Peabrain's apartment when he was evicted. And, understandably, he didn't think to rescue it when he took whatever he could get out of the apartment. Nevertheless, it's another niggling thing in the ledger.)
(Aside four: Redbird, at some time, we should write up the story of Peabrain, a.k.a. Clueless Lad, Alyssa, and the Piano Bar.)