a conversation over tut

took a good friend to see king tut the other day, and she told me that i have 'fear of intimacy,' written across my forehead.

of course, this put me on the defensive and forced me to explain that i have a fear of intimacy with the wrong person.

...come again?

yeah, so there it is.

or so i thought.

this conversation led to me to some deep thinking (not my favorite activity of late, especially when it comes to realizing how much of a broken aquarium my emotional life has become), and i realized what a cop-out i've been living for the past year or so.

i've been dating mainly women whom i'm not interested in. at least not long-term. it takes the pressure off, i guess to know that there's no way that it's going to last. finding somebody who i can laugh with, and have a bit of fun, but who doesn't really want or need anything below a surface conversation... whose idea of a deep connection involves gossip about their best friend's life and how truly fucked up it is, and why their life is infinitely better and don't you just love those strappy little shoes they just bought?

but this friend likes to talk about how her ex-lover broke her heart and yet, she'd still go back to him in a hearbeat if he came knocking at her door. and i found myself confessing that my ex, who lives in kansas, has a free pass through my door any time, any place, even though we haven't talked in over a year. plus, the last serious ex (the last one i actually spilt some emotional blood with... who made me hope for something before seeking therapy, breaking off our very stilted relationship and then went overseas and came back with a new husband) found a way to pull my spine out and wave it in front of me and point out that standing on two feet is highly over-rated.

all of which led to a conversation about two other of our mutal friends, who we consider to be an incredible couple and how love is just love... and isn't it a shame people look at two men holding hands like they're a racially mixed couple in atlanta, circa 1950? isn't love hard enough to hold onto without finding ways to put it in a frame that belongs to somebody else and tacking it to a wall?

and right about now, said friend is moving into her new apartment in iowa, and i find myself missing her and her ability to draw me into conversations like these, in spite of myself.

midwestern girls will be the death of me, in the best way.