balding angrily

Julia Fordham sings a song called “Porcelain.” The opening lyrics go:

I am very, very much in like with you

I hope that it’s enough ‘cuz it’s all that I can do

‘Cuz you treat my skin like porcelain

Rare and special porcelain

I just completed a short story. One of the characters in it says, “[My daughter] is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. That sounds so pat, I know, but that’s how it is.” I’ll get to why that’s important later in this post.

I dated a lot of crummy guys before Jerry. One of these guys - let’s call him Jim 2 because he was the second-in-a-row of Jims - I dated him for a time long enough that the relationship couldn’t be considered insignificant. This guy introduced me to Julia Fordham. And when Ken 2 played this song for me, he said, “I love it because I relate to the idea of being in ‘like’ with someone…not really loving someone…but liking someone enough to prolong the relationship.” That description there is basically why I label him “crummy.” He liked me enough to prolong the relationship, but he wasn’t in love with me. I wasn’t in love with him either, but what does that matter?

Now contrast that relationship with Jim 1. Jim 1 was the only other guy besides Jerry that I have loved. He treated my skin like porcelain. He was gentle, loving, and he made me laugh until I couldn’t breathe. The only reason we’re not still together is that I was very immature.

After Jim 2, I went through a period of depression that lasted for about eight months. It wasn’t just that I was sad because of the breakup. It was more that I began to see dating and relationships in purely statistical terms.

• If I could only date, say, 3-5% of the male population - the portion of the male population that is gay,
• And then I eliminated the portion of that 3-5% that isn’t within a certain age rage,
• And then I eliminated the portion of that portion outside a certain geographic distance,
• And then I eliminated any one that I couldn’t get along with (which is a very large group)…

Well, that’s a tiny, tiny sliver of guys that I could possibly meet and fall in love with. That thought drove me into depression. I’m not being flippant here; I cried nightly.

Eventually, I started living with that statistical reality, and I began to think, “Hm. So, it’s very, very unlikely that I will meet someone to fall in love with or marry. If that’s the way it’s going to be - if I’m going to go to my grave as a single person - I better start getting used to it. I better start being happy being single.”

And I did. And I started to really love being single. I relished my time alone and sleeping diagonal-wise on a Queen-size bed. I spent all day Saturday in my underwear eating ice cream and watching The Lord of the Rings. There were weekends when I didn’t leave my apartment or shower or shave or talk to anyone or think a novel thought. I LOVED it.

And then I met Jerry. And we both had a hell of time giving up our personal space.

But he treats my skin like porcelain. And he’s loving and gentle. And he makes me laugh until I can’t breathe. And that’s what I mean when I say that Jerry is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. There’s no poetic, non-clichéd way of putting it. All I can do is quote a song.