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.