I’m sending out an S.O.S. to the world.
–The Police
I can’t quite go into the detail that I would like to go into. I don’t feel like I’m being true to myself because I’ve always been completely open on this site, writing without regard to much of anything other than what I feel like writing.

Well, for the past 7 months that’s been different, since I’ve had a close personal relationship with a girl. I don’t want to air our dirty laundry in public. She’s never expressed any interest in my writing, but I know some people close to her sometimes read here. I’ve mentioned her a few times, I don’t think ever by name, and never with much explicit detail.

On Monday, she was ready to break up with me. On Tuesday, I had my mind made up that I was going to break up with her. Then at the 11th hour, after praying about it, I had an epiphany that made me change my mind and want to give things one last chance.

For most of Tuesday night, I was happy that there was a glimmer of hope for us. But during our two-hour conversation, she admitted to something I’ve long suspected. She implied–I don’t think she said it outright–that it was a one-time event. Right now I’m thinking more about that than about the good things, so the pendulum has swung to the other side. It does that a lot lately.

But I love that girl. I love her more than anything else in this world, and I don’t give a rat’s red behind what anyone else thinks about that. I do care who knows it. I want everyone to know it. And it hurts when I think that those feelings might not be mutual anymore. Well, I know from that thing that she admitted to that those feelings aren’t mutual all the time.

There was a time when she told me she’d never met another guy like me. A little over a month ago, she gave me a card that said she wondered what she’d ever done to deserve someone as wonderful as me.

I’ve made myself out to be a martyr here. That’s wrong. I’ve screwed up too. But I will say this and I’ll take it to my grave: Everything I did was out of motivation to fix what I already knew was broken, and out of desperation of knowing nothing else would work. But, like some War of the Roses general whose name I can’t recall once said, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

I wept bitterly when I got home from work Tuesday night. I’ve cried a lot the past three days or so. I can go a couple of years without shedding a tear. But one of my mentors once told me my biggest problem is that I’m not willing to grieve. So when I need to grieve, grieve. So I have been. Not every time I cried was about her. I miss my dad. I’d love to hear his thoughts on a lot of the stuff that’s going on right now. I wouldn’t let him make any decisions for me, but there are times when Dad’s advice is what you want more than anything else in the world. I have to live without. He died in 1994, aged 51. I was 19. We only talked about women five or six times, so I don’t even have the benefit of playing through old tapes in my head to try to mine for his wisdom and experience in this case. And that hurts.

She doesn’t like it when I cry. Men look pathetic when they cry, she says. I think she’s full of crap. Norman Schwarzkopf cried on national TV when Barbara Walters interviewed him. She told him real men don’t cry. He said yes they do. I think Gen. Schwarzkopf qualifies as a real man.

I’m not going to bottle things up inside so they can eat me up just because she’s decided that real men cry twice in their lives and I’ve more than used up my quota over the course of a week. Like I said, I can go years without crying. If she doesn’t like it that I have strong feelings and emotions about her, well, that’s her problem. There are plenty of girls who would love to have a guy cry about them just once in their lives.

Actually, I hear there are plenty of girls who would love to have a guy who prefers church to bars, who treat them like royalty, who set out to make their dreams come true when they’re willing to share them, who misses them when away, and who more often than not picks up the phone on the second ring when they call and is almost always excited to talk to them, even though it doesn’t quite always show.

I’ve always had a hard time finding those girls, but supposedly there are 169 singles in my church. One of those is me. Experience tells me the majority of the rest are women. I felt guilty on Sunday when I started looking. There was one in the row right behind me, about five or six seats to my left. And there was one sitting front row center. All I did was look. I shouldn’t feel guilty. But I do.

I don’t want just any girl. Even if I met her in the perfect place, which, as far as I’m concerned, is church. I’ve been praying for a faithful Christian wife off and on since I got interested in girls. So I guess that would mean since about 1987. The girl I really want is the one I’ve already got.

An hour ago I woke up, glad that I’d put her picture away sometime on Tuesday, because I didn’t want to look at her. Not even a likeness of her.

But now that I’ve thought about the things we’ve been through, and how much I’ve invested in her, not just emotionally but monetarily, I know I don’t want to give up on her just yet.

But if she gives up on me, that girl who was sitting front-row center will be there next Sunday. She’s there more Sundays out of the year than our pastor is. I actually got up the nerve to talk to her a couple of times. The last time was a year ago. I think most guys are intimidated by her. She is, after all, everything you’re supposed to look for and then some.

But I can make a case that so is the girl I’ve been seeing.

We’ll see how I’m feeling at a reasonable hour.