OXFORD CONFIDENTIAL: HOUSEMATE TROUBLESAll Good Things...

OXFORD, Ohio (ZP) -- Okay, it's Friday. Thank God. Rough week. Many people may not be aware of this fact, but I do have a day job. And my little tryst was not scheduled into my day planner.

No, I didn't do anything immature, like take days off from work just to spend more time with my house guest. So I had to find a balance. I made a decision to sacrifice sleep instead - more on that later.

The bizarre post title? A combination of an obscure indie hip-hop song title (Housemate Troubles, MC Paul Barman) and the title of the final episode of Star Trek - The Next Generation.

Yeah. I'm a complete and total dork.

I can't stop making fun of myself lately. Stupid things. Of course, realizing that you can finally let go of a Holiday Inn's worth of cheap baggage leaves a lot of spare room for humor.

This is the final post on the subject. I don't want to leave another open-ended storyline in my life, because the whole fling thing didn't end that way.



BROKEN ZENFO PRO RULE NO. 9:
Never Second-Guess Your Decision-Making Until After the decision's Been Made...

Monday night. About 3 a.m. We finally got to bed at two. Went for a really cold walk through Uptown Oxford.

I'm completely exhausted and yet I can't sleep. My alarm clock is going to go off in less than three hours, and I'm staring at the ceiling.

We finally got to bed at two. That sounds so bizarre. Too bizarre.

That's why I'm still awake, staring at the ceiling.

In less than three hours, I'm going to reach across another human being, probably kiss her on the cheek, and fight the urge to just stay in bed, despite having a shitload of work waiting on two separate desks in my office.

What the hell am I doing? Thinking such silly things? You know this is a fling. Why are you so damned uncomfortable? Are you uncomfortable because, well, you're just too damned comfortable?

With nothing to fill my brain, I make up a silly checklist to go through, to make sure all my bases have been covered.

You're not in love. Check. You're not even close to falling for your guest. Despite feeling like an ass for admitting it, check. Have you been honest and open and are you enjoying yourself? Definite check.

Are you using this girl for something...?

Long pause.

Fuck. That's not good.

I don't know. I don't think so. Am I? Am I too comfortable because I'm using somebody to somehow make me feel better? To build up some bullshit image of myself, like I did way back in the late 1990s? Was this all some part of subconscious, sinister plan? Did I make up my mind to pursue this when I was bandaging up her shin, wrapping her ankle when I knew it wasn't sprained?

Was I doing something that is completely and utterly against who I'm trying to one day become?

I had no clue I was actually verbalizing my thoughts until I rolled over and found somebody staring at me.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit.

"Do I look stupid?" She was not happy, didn't bother to whisper.

"Do I look like a doll or a toy?"

This was not the sort of outburst I was expecting.

"Why do you not just ask me what you want to ask?"

Without even thinking, I just blurted out something I've wanted to ask every woman who I've ever been involved with since I was 17.

What could anybody see...in me?

UI guess that was really what I wanted to ask. Now I'm really embarrassed. I look like a complete chickenshit.

Her answer?

Why not you?

She told me she liked how I made her feel. She told me she had had a boyfriend back in Florence and she didn't feel the least bit guilty because she was a woman and she was no man's property.

She said she made up her mind about what was going to happen while we were having dinner after I'd picked her up.

And if I was too selfish to think that she was here because she wasn't getting anything in return, then maybe I was using her. She said she could care less and said something about me sounding like a kid.

What the flying fuck? How dare you come into my house, climb into my goddamned bed, and call me selfish!

How the fuck can a woman be...so infuriatingly...right.

I guess she thought I was in awe or something, because P. stuck out her tongue, rolled over and went back to sleep.

Out like a light in under a minute. How are some people able to do that, anyway?

What she said, in its own jolting way, made me realize for the first time that I understood the how,what, where, when, and who that had gone into every single fling, romance, etc.

But I'd never bothered to ask the right why questions.

Why the fuck have you always treated these kinds of things like its one-sided, good or bad? Like you're the only one involved? That maybe the bullshit you build up is just that and if you just asked why more often, you might have some tangible answers.

Why have I never, ever been willing to look at myself as an attractive, decent guy, or admit the possibility that maybe every woman in the world sees me different and no two see me as the same and that I'm not always the only one with the answers to why?

I'd like to think I did what any rational man would do upon such a realization.

I rolled over and I fucking cried.

And then I fell asleep. And I felt just peachy after that.


BROKEN ZENFO PRO RULE NO. 10:
There's Always a Place to Find Some Shelter ...

Monday...

Late for work. Had to run out and buy more Sanka and some baquette. (I've never seen a woman eat a whole loaf in one sitting).

Get to work. Have someone point out that I have a strange bruise on my wrist. Realize, instantly, that it looks like a hicky. Yes, a hicky. Roll sleeves down and hope nobody notices.

What am doing? Reverting back to middle school?

Go home for lunch. Don't actually eat anything. Too busy with other things. Two people ask me why I'm wearing a different shirt when I return. Explain that I had a wardrobe malfunction.

Tuesday...

Again, another day with only three hours of sleep. Had been forced, the night before, to play chess and defend my countrymen and women from accusations that everyone in the U.S. is simply exploiting the Developing World, that we're all evil and the bane of Italians.

My defense reminds me that I promised a guy a post. Bed by 2, back up by 5 a.m. Write post. Go back to bed. Rediscover, to my dismay, that I'm still ticklish.

Completely caffeinate myself to continue work. Dump a large coffee all over the carpet in the middle of a rather serious meeting.

Wednesday...

Early to work. 6:30 early. No major SNAFUs, so I'm able to leave on time to make the two-hour drive up to the Indy airport.

Find out another connecting flight has been cancelled. P. can either fly as far as JFK or spend the night in Indianapolis.

Go out to a late dinner with her friend, to whom she proceeds to explain every detail of our little whatever you want to call it. Forgot how open some cultures are with these kinds of things.

P. and I get a hotel roommate the suggestion of her friend. You figure it out. Sometimes, wealthy flings come in handy, especially at hotels that do take traveler's cheques.

I come within one simple "send" button click of e-mailing in my letter of resignation, leaving everything, and going to fucking Italy (passport was in my glove box.) Realize that's probably the most insane thing I've ever come close to doing.

Say goodbye. Not good at goodbyes, especially ones where I know its permanent.

She and I discuss a distance thing. Not an option. Probably best if its a permanent goodbye. If things were different...ages, places in life, etc. If we cross paths again, maybe in a few years, things could be different or, then again, maybe not.

So I made things simple.

I made damned sure that she didn't have to wait for me to kiss her back. In fact, I'm pretty sure that had to be the hottest kiss an Italian woman has received from a librarian since goddamned Cassanova walked the earth.

It was that good. I know, because time stopped. It's pretty easy to tell when one hits that special moment when a kiss is not just a kiss, the room spins a bit, and you'd be completely oblivious if the world ended that very moment.

I know it was that good because she completely forgot how to speak English. Italian for that matter. I'm not sure she was even thinking, just making sounds come out of her mouth.

I'd almost forgotten that I could do that. And that's the completely pathetic part.

Why?

Why not me?

And if you think I'm being arrogant or simply a braggart, you're probably right. If this somehow makes people look down on me, so be it.

Reading people's comments on the last few posts has really been a bit of an eye-opener for me; there's no way to express my gratitude (even to the poster who I had to delete.) It'll probably be a while before I post something this...er..lengthy, but I just had to get this off my chest. Lord, I guess I had to get a lot off my chest.

LOL...I'm so sleep-deprived, I'm rambling. Hope this comes out coherent.