Learn To Like It

She says that stepping on beetles brings bad luck. Apparently it's an Arab thing, an Islam thing. She likes Islam. Did she learn to like it, like she learned her music? Her Waits and her Vreeswijk?

What's her thing? Why does she collect other peoples likes, make them her own? Is it because of admiration? Or could it be because of lack?

What do I adapt that belongs to other people? Perhaps my movie tastes, or rather; I watch movies because of other people. I watch comedies. Not romantic ones, but the Jim Carey kind, the 40 Year Old Virgin kind, the Hitch kind. I do that because of him, my friend, never really my lover.

He and I lived together, married, and talked. We ate, we cleaned, and we drank. Perhaps not so much the eating and the cleaning, but the drinking we certainly accomplished.

She drinks too. She is very accomplished. Yesterday she told me that the people at her liquor store knew her by name, said “Hello” as to an old friend.

Her alcohol, her old friend. Who teaches who what? Can liquor, can wine and beer, be a teacher? What would it teach? Your self destruction. Your unfulfilled desires going on being unfulfilled. I believe that's why I drink, when I drink heavy, when I drink Vodka. The longing for her, yes her, my friend of alcohol. My friend of old friends, whom she learned to like music with - the correct kind. Who doesn't watch Jim Carey movies or 40 year old virgin movies, or even Hitch. She. She I longed for, drank for, imagined and wrote for in my own self destructive Vodka moments.

They weren't really moments. It’s been more like years and years. I'm very clever with Alcohol. I can drink it all, can't hold it, but drink it. Not that I puke. Not that often anyway. I more faint, into someone’s bed or someone’s floor, or some other peoples bathrooms. Bathroom breaks has been my love life for years, that and the occasional bimbo.

There's nothing wrong with bimbo's, I'll tell you. They do the world a service by not being them. Does she do the world a service by holding out, hiding herself?

Do I help her accomplish her mission of collecting other people’s tastes, wants and desires? I don't really want to. Don't really feel the need, but these things happen in relationships.

And now I'll have one. Not a bathroom break, or a floor, or a bed. A home. And I ask: who will bend? Who will kneel down on this path, and is it a Vodka path, a self destruction path? What will happen to the longing? What will happen to me when I no longer have that obsessive love, but the exact fulfilled love that I crave and long for? Will I learn to like it? Will she teach me that?