John

Relationship #2.  John

Have I mentioned I'm a bridge player?  Not just a casual, social player.  I play constantly, although I'm trying to wean myself off.  I play four or five times a week and travel to tournaments all over the country.
Yeah, it's serious.

I started playing in a social singles duplicate group about eight years ago and that's where I met John.  He showed up evening and I was immediately struck by his easy laugh.  (Something you might remember that was missing in Randy.)  Whoa...he's flirting with me...I saw that wink.

A connection?  Not my type, not particularly attracted to him physically but there was some chemistry.  Okay, I'm game.

My guys are usually on the reserved side...I'm the extrovert.  I admit I can be too loud, too out there, too open.  (Duh...I'm writing this blog.)

But, he struck me as pretty out there, too.  One night, we were playing bridge and he just comes out with, "I want sex!"  AARRGG!!!!

I chalk this up to his dropping acid with Timothy Leary in Haight Ashbury.

His wife left him with four kids to raise after 25 years of a "perfect" marriage.  Okay.  He gave up a law practice to follow her career in nursing.  Her demand for a divorce left him thunderstruck.  No frigging idea she's been doing her boss for five years.  It paid off for her; she moved right up the ladder and she's a huge muckety muck in the government today.

I'm curious, though.  We move cautiously into a "relationship."  Every red flag waved brightly--doesn't make phone calls, no regularly scheduled dates (always split 50-50, btw); he tells me he loves too early in the game, his properties turn out to be money pits, his kids drain him, he takes on more and more debt (he's 65), his ex calls him "honey" around me, obligatory cheap gifts of jewelry; he carps at me at the bridge table, he lives in complete and utter chaos  One day I look at him and he's gained at least 50 pounds.  He looks eight months preggers.  He tells me he's bingeing every night.  Great.

I just stop the relationship.  For eight months.

Then, during a snowstorm sitting alone in front of the fireplace, I call him.  I missed his laugh.  I missed going to foreign films with him, playing bridge together, traveling to tournaments, the occasional walk in the park.  I missed cuddling with him.  We took up again.

I have this I'M GOING TO SAVE THE WORLD complex left over from the 60s and he became my project.  I won't abandon him.  I'll stick with him and, at the same time, feed my FEAR OF BEING ALONE.

What I didn't realize, at the time, was that I was butting up against his FEAR OF MAKING A MISTAKE.  And his was extreme.  You can't make a mistake if you refuse to take an emotional risk.

But, I hadn't read Getting Naked Again, so I jumped on the roller coaster.  I HATE ROLLER COASTERS!