Einstein and The Doors of Perception

Great love transforms all. It takes one to a higher ground. Is it true that the higher the climb is, the further the fall will be? A cynic would probably recommend caution when climbing, but no cynic could live what I did with Jake.

My transformation involved a sudden tendency to see the world as a rose-tinted environment, where I could never be sad again. Love would conquer all. The feeling was so strong, it felt as if it would overflow and be so contagious that the whole world would be infected by the sheer might of it.

This love changed my perspective of the future and of what I wanted. It’s definitely a quantum experience. The relationship between quanta (radiation, in this case energy, love and yes, sex) and matter (photons – in this case, human brain, body and soul) changes the position of the matter in relation to the environment. So on another level, the world is rosy; one just has to keep up the vibe.

I lost it. The vibe was not there, Jake was always away and I was on a very much lower level. I became a spectre of what I am, jumping energy levels whenever he was here (radiation, radiation, radiation) attaining the feeling I knew we shared. This has to be an emotional disorder similar to anorexia. You eat none and feel fat. I didn’t have his presence, but felt it.

Once matter has undergone a quantum change, it does not return to its original state.

I discovered a side of myself I didn’t know and in order to do so, I had to let go of one of my strongholds. Radiation doesn´t allow one to be scared, it just is. I didn’t know how these two sides of my personality could be compatible, so I left one in search of the other and I am starting to understand now how to match the décor.

I am recuperating control of my private Spaceship-Earth. I am on a different trail than when I last took hold of the steering wheel, but the view isn´t at all bad. I was on a quantum high which acted as a portal a next stage. I now know why the subtitle to Aldous Huxley´s "Door of Perception" is Heaven and Hell.

And I´m a junkie.

Teeth sharpening

One more date with Paul Prats come and gone.

He got lost on his way to picking me up again. There must be a blind spot on the map where my apartment lies. It’s a new neighbourhood and my road changes directions 3 times, which doesn’t help. But - one would suppose that, after being 30 minutes late last time, he would have learned to look me up on the map. What’s the Internet for anyway?

We went to a famous cocktail bar in town and downed some cosmopolitans whilst chatting about adventures. Sailing, parachuting, flying gliders. We’ve done it all in this strange age filled with ennui. We’ve travelled all over the world a couple of times and we’ve eaten all the foie gras. We’ve stayed in many five star hotels, got drunk on champagne and now entertain ourselves creating mechanisms to make sure third world countries get funding for social projects. I am definitely bored.

Paul, of course, is not to blame for my boredom, but he’s getting the bashing I knew the first guy who approached me after Jake would get. Criticism starts flowing as soon as depression wears off.

His getting lost translates as inefficiency – it could, of course, be endearing if I were interested in the man. He told me about a course he did on speaking in public – but he speaks so low it obviously didn’t work. He doesn’t drink enough (Jake is getting the bill for my AA treatment), he doesn’t walk with poise. He kept getting closer on the couch we were sitting on and (horror of horrors!!!) leaned his arm on my knee – only to be immediately pushed off.

Men do get credit for trying, and approaching a girl who has just had her heart broken should give them bonus points. It is social work, after all, contributing to the cure of Shattered Hearts & Insensitive Treatment (SHIT) by ex-boyfriends everywhere. They are the clean-up guys of broken relationships, and we treat them like rubbish.

Did Jake take away my capacity for kindness and gratefulness forever? Is every guy going to go through the “you´re not good enough” routine? Paul treated me very well, paid for my cosmos, opened the car door, discussed architecture intelligently and gave me an interesting update on the perils of building and corruption in Spanish society. He talked to me about all the problems involving sailing and told me what to look out for before I jump ship. He asked me smart, sweet questions about my dreams and my most treasured travel experiences and made me relive swimming with dolphins.

Then he said he´d love to have been a shark in those waters in order to bite me. Ouch. He better be careful, I am in shark mode myself, but more willing to bite of his head than to take a nibble at his ear…

Charades

After the age of 30 one should be know enough to have one´s priorities straight (love first), to be able to stick to our guns and face the world with our hearts on our sleeves, an armour made of hopes and a path filled with fulfilled dreams! (enter soundtrack: “Love is in the air”, activate smoke machines, call in the gondolier!)

Seeing Jake was tough. I wanted to snuggle up to him and just stay in his arms for ever. He looked really good, even though he was tired from all the flying around. He said he was sorry, cried, held my hand. At one point, my very formal ex jumped over the table and kissed me. He sent me a message later saying I’m unique, he’ll never forget me, that he loves me and that he hopes I find someone who will be able to give me what I want. (where can I find his mother and access to all the world leaders who could get on with peace and give me my boyfriend back?).

I spent the afternoon crying and drinking wine and decided to get over it there and then (Jake, not the wine). So I am on to plan B: get out of the house! Go out like there’s a monster under the bed!

I am accepting all invitations, I have signed up to a website that puts me in touch with boat owners all over the world who are searching for crew members. I am nuts - old enough to know I cannot run away from my problems, but hopeful that sailing away from then might still be an option. In style, s´il vous plait.

Last night I flirted with the idea of kissing a workmate. Peter Blotch, 25, tall, handsome, party animal: in summary, my new best friend. He let me know younger girls are boring him and that he loves one night stands…(mental note: keep working out, stick to the broccoli, this is good news!)

My good neighbour Gonzalo came, too, and I spent all night dancing with two tall dark men. Life could be worse…at 2 am Gonzalo wanted to leave and I faced the eternal doubt: stay and have yet another drink, without a ride home and with heavy prospects of messing up a work relationship or get in the car, behave and get at least 5 hours sleep? I fought the law, but the law won.

Hence, I have slept enough to go out again! Paul Prats (the single guy from the wedding) invited me out to have a couple of drinks today. One more tall dark guy! Smart, hard-working, funny, well-mannered and likes me.

Lights, camera, action! I hope I can, at least, fool myself…

Apples, bass players, amore

I love my boss. On top of being quite cute (good style, hair and shoulders) he is smart, understanding, values my work and is altogether the best support I could have by my side on a day like today.

Why today? Jake is in town. Flying in from somewhere, on his way to somewhere else.

He was going to come in last night. I prepared for the occasion living mostly on a liquid diet for a week. I have been to the gym practically everyday and am attending Pilates classes at night as well. And, contrarily to all I have affirmed to my friends who are quite surprised by my sudden addiction to endorphins, I had been hoping to get into my size 8 skinny jeans.

So I got up early this morning, showered, blew dry my hair and squeezed into them! Victory! Then I looked in the mirror and - it looked as if I’d squeezed into them !!!! My love handles (the largest hypocrisy in English language) were bulging at the waist and my shirt looked really weird. Damn, damn, damn!

So I went into the ritualistic, hysteria lane process of changing clothes – and after 4 tries I decided black is beautiful, black is safe. Strapped on my brown boots (these boots are made for walking…) and left the house. Came to work listening to “Love is in my fingers, love is in my toes” in Gonzalo´s car. Thank God that tune is so corny it makes me laugh rather than daydream.

And I just went to tell my boss I wouldn’t be coming back this afternoon, as I’d meet Jake at lunch and he was so cool about it I almost cried. Plus, smart enough to say I look great today, which, whether it is or not true, definitely helps and lets me know he cares enough to want me to feel good. (did I mention he plays the bass and I like his music?)

Back to Jake. Which, by the way, I know is boring - all obsessions are if the obsessed protagonist isn’t into murdering the victim or papering the whole town with naked pictures of him.

I was expecting to have dinner with him last night, but he lost some connection and is only going to manage lunch today. Which is safer, as he has to fly out of town again just after dessert, making the possibility of my pouncing on him and forcing him to make love to me minimum. He could, of course, have a heart attack whilst he was at it and feel some of the pain I did, but handling a naked dead corpse is so not my style...

I am wondering what his approach is going to be. I had thought cold and final, but his last messages (no, no calls, he doesn’t do calls) called me “amore” and said I am still “his Diane”. Am I hopeful? Did an apple fall on Newton’s head?

On shoulders and suicide

I had my first date-after-Jake last Friday. Not too bad – 3 weeks since break-up, Diana is back to dating! Good for me! I dressed up (black power pants and shirt) and when Paul called, me, let my lovely new brown boots take me down to the road.

I was already ready and waiting when he called, of course. I figure we girls always are on first dates. We start being late when we feel comfortable with the bloke, or when we really don’t care much. On first dates we are ready, but will make the guy wait a bit anyway. Not too much. We don’t want him thinking we are disorganized, inconsiderate or totally lacking self confidence (should I wear black or red, etc).

A guy should wait just enough so he knows that we are feminine - a bit late is cute – and that we are not jumping at the opportunity of seeing them. Too eager is always urgh….and yes, I´ll admit it: I was eager to meet Paul.

So I ran into the coffee shop next door to get cigarettes before he got arrived. My dear Cuban friends who work stared at me and I got 2 “que guapa”, which was nice – but also made me wonder what I usually look like. Mental note: stop leaving the house in overalls, even to buy cigarettes.

Sometimes I wish Jake was having me followed, so he could see moments like that (the good ones, of course). Problem is, he´d also get to see the overalls and me throwing out too many wine bottles…not good. Is drama-diva back in fashion?

Paul got completely lost picking me up: he called when he figured out he was in the neighbourhood and he then drove round a roundabout 4 blocks from home for 20 minutes. I stood waiting for him by the road - and got one more “guapa” (from an ancient neighbour – female).

He finally arrived, though, looking nicer than I remembered. We chatted away about business all the way to the restaurant. We then chatted on about our current emotional states through appetizers and about our plans for the future during the main course.

He was proud the valet who parked his car thought I was his girlfriend. He said my mother must be gorgeous (she is) because of how beautiful I am. (Note: this is corny, but - as long as the mother is still alive - it goes down well). He said he wants to get married and have children. And even though I know this is the going line to bang girls in the thirties, I actually believe him. This is a good man.

He did it all: opened the car door, was nice about my refusing to have an extra drink and entertained me telling me all about the most famous ghosts in Madrid all the way home.

I don’t like his hair or his dress sense. Conservative and boring. Shoulders are an issue – not wide enough for my taste. Definitely not wide enough to carry boring clothes, you need to be hot to pull that off. These things can be worked on, of course. Those are the things one can change in men.

Unlike obsession for one’s career, selfishness and arrogance. Damn, damn, damn - I like Jake´s hair, I love his clothes – and I won´t get started on his shoulders.

I am in emotional suicide mode. I must be kept at home and tied down until I start admiring corduroy.

The way you wear your hat, the way you sip your tea...

Jake and I had a very weird relationship. In a nutshell, “he travelled a lot and she waited a lot”, my friends would say, but that’s really not all there was to it!

Jake transported me into a different world when we were together. A world of romance and caring, land of old-world good manners. In this world Frank Sinatra is still alive and couples slow dance to jazz and classical music in their sitting rooms.

Breaking the subtle and dreamlike reality of the world we created around us was not something I liked to do very much, so for the last year or so I didn’t go out as much as I used to. Nothing was as nice, as cultured, as interesting, so whenever he was not here, I preferred to sit at home in my old pyjamas, watch romantic comedies, drink wine and eat chocolates. Before you asked, Mademoiselle Diane (moi) is aware that getting drunk in my pyjamas is not glamorous. Make believe I was tipsy and that my pyjamas were Chinese silk. Think mascara and cigarette holders. Does this sound too much like Great Expectations? Bésame…bésame mucho…

In any case, thanks to all this good wine and great chocolates, I am carrying around an extra 7 kilos. I finally faced the scales at the gym and they weren’t at all diplomatic about it: "Wam-bam-you´re a fat-mam!" Damn!

So I am back to a very real and non-glamorous world of dieting and working out. Wearing make-up also helps getting over break-ups, in case you are going through anything similar. Smiling, encouraging gym teachers and personal trainers. All that beef…!

Jake finally let me know (via SMS again – got to value the consistency) that he will be in town so we can talk this break-up over next week. I have arranged to go out for dinner with Paul a couple of days before, so I can have at least one date behind me when I face Jake. Yes, I have fantasized that he will beg me to forgive his wrong choices, implore me to take him back and present me with tickets to his hometown, where he will finally introduce me to his family before popping the question on the seashore.

I will be wearing a white dress, a black panama hat, and a lot of pearls. He’ll be leading the dance, and good old Frank will be there, singing “The way you hold your knife, The way we danced until three, The way you've changed my life… No, no...They can't take that away from me…”

So, let´s compare: dancing by the sea with the love of your life x going on a diet and dating the only "he´s single!" friend from the last wedding you went to. It´s just so obvious, if Freud hadn´t existed, I´d be in AA, in a fictional world, in love with the ghost of Frank Sinatra.

Cheers to the Dead!

Another weekend was successfully survived. I decided it was time to “drink the dead” this weekend. This is an old Mexican tradition, which is also popular in the north of Brazil.

Basically, the Day of the Dead consists of celebrating the lives of the deceased and the beginning of this new phase for them, as well as the continuation of life on earth. The festivities start in mid-August and keep going for a month, so I figured I was just in time.

I got 5 friends together with the excuse that we should say good-bye to summer at home. I thought they might have second thoughts about the ingredients of my cocktails if I mentioned the dead, so I kept it quiet. No one wants to see an eye instead of a piece of ice it their drinks, at least not until Halloween...

Friends came bearing flowers and drink. All pictures of Jake removed, all personal items such as toothbrushes and shaving cream were successfully gotten rid of. My boss (yes, he dropped by, drank, smoked pot and flirted with a friend of mine… but I´ll get back to this one later) even said “I´m glad I saw you laughing so much”.

There was no mention of the dead at all. Actually, each one of us has a recent break-up, so it was fun to just talk about sex, the Internet and our heritage. No Mexican blood apart from larges doses of tequila in any of us, but no one cares, anyway.

Jake, RIP!

Freshly baked fantasies

One more day, one more hangover. Last night was Flora´s birthday and we were up speaking about Jake (yes, I know, this is getting boring) until 2am. And drinking. Flora is my closest friend in town. We decided on a quiet dinner for her birthday, at her home, including her family - husband, 2 kids - and myself.

We got all dressed up and I noticed my favourite party dress is tighter than usual. I officially hate Jake! Breaking my heart is one thing; making me gain weight is so not acceptable!

To make matters worse, I had a presentation first thing in the morning. A very boring presentation. But it did include fresh croissant, so Fatso and Her Hangover had 2. And 2 cups of coffee with milk and sugar. What´s wrong with me? Someone tie me down!

Flora said that Jake is a selfish bastard. She also said we are going to get back together, but I think she said that because she loves me and knows that hearing it from her makes me hurt less. She knows that it´s what I want and that I would love to believe it, that these fantasies make life possible when one is feeling down. Or hungover.

I used to have the best fantasies in the world. The house that Jake and I would share, how we would read by the fireplace and exchange intelligent conversation in our old age. Our gorgeous and brilliant children. Yeah, yeah, yeah – I know - going over these scenes is masochism, an act of self-inflicted pain guaranteed to keep me feeling sorry for myself and not get on with my life.

Like the croissant. I know it will hurt me, but I just can´t keep my dirty little fingers away.

Black guck

So here I am at work, fully functional after the all-consuming, life-altering pain I went through 2 weeks ago. Isn´t it poetic how one feels one will never survive a broken heart and tragic that one usually does? Maturity is so unromantic.

This morning I was coming to work with Gonzalo, listening to Bono going on about “Love is a temple, love’s the higher law, you asked me to enter, and then you make me crawl…” and I had to hold back a tear. Sucks how long it takes until the pain leaves the body. It’s kind of similar to quitting smoking, you spend the next month or so coughing up black guck…ok, gross, but thinking of Jake as black guck makes me feel better.

Yesterday Jake send me a message, saying he is in some conflict zone and will call me when he arrives in safe territory once more. And that I am still very special to him. Damn right I am. Damn him. Black guck.

So I am now wondering what the hell I’m going to do about Paul. Paul is the guy I met at Petra Downey’s wedding last weekend. Petra and I worked together at G&M, the great-global-advertising-agency. We are good friends, even though we had huge fights about her late arrivals due to extreme partying habits. Try being good friends when you’re a boss…

Petra met Phillip Duke partying and he turned out to be perfect. They got married last weekend at the family castle, so it turns out that partying was really good for her! I must be going to the wrong places, all I ever get from partying is a hangover…ok, and laughs, too. Must not get old and bitter.

Anyway, it was a big, traditional wedding. Jake promised he’d go with me. He was actually quite excited, said he loves weddings, dancing corny love songs (You’re my first, you’re my last…), etc. Then he broke up with me a week before because he realized he couldn’t make it after all because of work. And felt guilty about making me waste my time waiting for him. And was nobly letting me go, even though I will always be the love of his life…yeah, right.

And me? I was left sitting alone with three other couples at dinner.

Thank God for Paul. Paul is Phillip Duke’s friend and was introduced to me the night before, at a wedding-warm-up barbecue. The groom Phillip walked him straight up to me – “Diana, will you take care of him for me? He’s single…”(shoot me!) .

In any case, even after his opening line that left me wondering if he worked at border control “You live in Madrid? How come I’ve never seen you?” Paul was quite nice.

We met walking through the grounds of the castle the next day and had a good time. And, after I gave up hoping Jake would show up and beg for an apology at the wedding, he was right there to dance with me. Good man.

Problem is, he has now invited me to dinner. Next Friday night. He has nice eyes, but I am still suffering withdrawal symptoms about Jake. Alice Cooper (yes, I am a rock fan) said his lover was like poison running through his veins. Love and philosophy. Black guck.

My boyfriend left me two weeks ago. Over email. This happened one day after he told me he carried me in his heart and he loved me. Over SMS.

I´m going to borrow Ronald Mc Donald´s shoes, they are obviously what I need this time around. And the red nose. And the paint. It all matches my mood - "ridiculously foolish meets child nightmare".

Jake (the ex) is always travelling. He is 35, tall and good looking. He is also extremely smart and does very well for himself. The thing is, he works in some high-security government job - so he can never get on the phone when he travels. I knew about this and have been putting up with it for about 6 months, which is when he accepted this job. The way he put it, it was a clear case of "job of his lifetime x love of his life". And me...well, I fought the world, but the world won.

On top of being quite boring, I will probably be killed if I go on and on about what Jake has been up to. Think world leaders, rock stars, sheiks, etc. Believe me, sounds much more interesting than it is.

So now here I am, 32 and single (again). Over the last 2 weeks I have had insomnia, anxiety attacks, a whole packet of chocolate-macadamia cookies, way too much drink and started smoking all over again. So this guy has broken my heart and made me fatter and less healthy - talk about a fuck-up.

By the way, I´m Diana, I live in Madrid and I hate Mc Donald´s.