THE LAST GHOST OF MY LOVELORN PAST

This weekend went smooth, but there were some irritating moments.

I went to The Garage Friday night. I'd told Eve to bring the computer there. I called her up to see if she'd received my phone message that morning. She said that she had, and we were both cool cucumbers about it.

Then, after she had hung up, she called me back almost immediately to say, "Just so you know-- it wasn't because of a grudge."

Imagine how upsetting this was to hear: after weeks of the silent treatment, with me doing all the phone calling and communication, now she decides to tell me why she is acting like a vindictive bitch.

I said, "At this point, it doesn't even matter why." I could hear her disbelief over the line.

So, of course, when I arrived at The Garage, she had already hit and run. The computer was intact, sitting next to the studio room. Eve is not the most confrontational person in the world. Had I not been so cold, maybe she would've stuck around to say 'goodbye' but I doubt it.

The next morning, I woke up around 10:30. I was in bed, wondering if I should sleep in or rise, when my doorbell rang.

I rose and sleepily answered the door. There was my vaccuum, with a note attached. "Thanks-- Learned alot-- Eve."

She was driving away as I ran outside in my drawers. Feeling cold and stupid, I ran back inside and called her on the phone.

"Hey, I have your strainer and your cooking pot."

"Keep it."

"And I have a letter I wrote for you."

"At this point, it doesn't matter."

Oh no you don't, I thought to myself. No fucking way...

Within minutes, I was fully dressed. In less than an hour, I caught a bus to her apartment. In my duffel bag I had the cooking pot, the strainer, and the three-page letter that I posted a version of on the blog last week.

I knew she wasn't home, so I left the goods where she couldn't not see them: in the doorway of the inside of her garage. Her garage doesn't have a lock on it, so I just opened the latch, placed the items next to the front door, and walked out, closing the garage door all the way.

I don't know if she has read my letter or not. Blind rage may have caused her to throw it away. But something tells me she did read it, and something also tells me she didn't like what it said. But something also tells me that this was something necessary.

I called Eve's mother, to reassure her that I would not be a problem, like Dick. She was very understanding, and also revealed to me that she hadn't spoken with Eve in some time. They'd had their own falling out recently. This tells me that Eve's decision to box me out of her life is not just an isolated incident-- she's obviously going through some shit that she needs to navigate by herself for a while.

A long while.

I spent most of this weekend working on the ADB cartoon (as usual), and also taking advantage of my new all-digital home studio set-up. I recorded a hardcore-punk version of The Doors' "The End" as a goof, but it actually came out sounding OK. I suppose I will write a song about Eve and I, but there's already a slew of songs out there that describe us and what we have.

The best of them is a song by Blues Traveler entitled "Sweet Pain":


Sometimes a life that seems hard to take
Is soothed for a while by an old friend
Leaving a bad need in its wake
Sad how some friendships never ever seem to end
Well all of my heroes up and died
Songs and a dream are left for me
What did them in, not suicide
Just a lengthy friendship and a dream of what could be...

...Can you feel what I can feel?
So we can establish that the pain is real
Don't be afraid and I'll do the same for you
And we'll just hang on and we'll make it, make it through
There's got to be a reason it works out this way
And there's something deep inside me
That makes me have to play
For you
For you


Eve is the last ghost of my lovelorn past. Before her, there were others, all of them whom I've made my peace with at some point. Eve was the last one, because she is elusive and hard to pin down. She, unlike the others, ran away from the heavy talks, the late-night debates, the passionate exchanges. She likes to fight or run, nothing in between.

But now, I've said what I had to say, and I have nothing else pressing in my mind to address. We gave it one last try-- I kind of see the last three or four months as a long farewell. It didn't work out, and now we're both wounded and trying to rub salt in each other's wounds. But we'll survive. The both of us are strong, and this is probably a good thing for us.

All of my past ghosts ended with a letter from me. Amy Coates, my first real love... it all came down to a letter where I told her that it doesn't matter if she loves me when she treats me like she doesn't like me; Jeanie was another one, who didn't appreciate my sentiments in the letter but later came to realize that it was necessary.

Only time will tell what's to become of Eve and I, but I feel a lot better. A decade of self-inflicted grief and guilt and anger is slowly leaking out from me, and I'm tracking puddles wherever I go. But eventually, it will all drain out, and I'll be clean.

For the next few weeks, I'll be on a steady diet of classic Dylan songs. I'll be thinking about how I could've been more patient with Eve, or how I couldn't have waited one more minute for her to make up her mind. To paraphrase Sir Paul McCartney, there will be times when all the things she said will fill my head, and I won't forget her... but I will survive.

When I'm in a state like this, music becomes my oracle, my oasis of relief. So let me end this post with the last chorus of that Blues Traveler song, because it totally relates to my mood, my mindset, my life right now:


Sweet pain
Is sometimes what you need
Sweet pain
It allows the blood to bleed
Sweet pain
From the moment of your birth
Sweet pain
You know it keeps you here on Earth...