here i go

So I figure that if what I think is as interesting to you, as it is to me, then I'll have a pretty good following pretty soon.  Todays latest quandary is that of "the lost love".  A timeless and relatively common dilemma of the "one that got away".  In the past, I would have said that if they got away with less than your bank account numbers, and credit cards; or hell, with out impregnating you, then consider yourself lucky.  But today, I experienced a longing for not necessarily the person that I loved, but the lost love itself. I was passionately in love.  I abandoned myself to the intoxicating, romance that for some reason made me look over my shoulder, paranoid, like I must have been doing something almost criminal.  To be so all consumed by the awe and wonderment of some other human being felt dangerous.  Over the years I have played it off as "love addiction" but now coming from a place of authenticity and wonderment I am curious what exactly was so wrong about that "I got your back" kinda love anyway?  Other than, that kind of vulnerability can leave me sobbing on the floor, wishing I could some how trade that pain for something more tolerable like a say, a heard of elephants stampeding accross my back.

 Now back to the "got away" part, as if I had some choice or say in the matter.  I met him Martin Luther King Day, 2002.  His name was Garp.  For the purpose of clarity, I wont go into how it was that I received phone calls at my house, in the middle of the day, from strange bored or lonely men (in this case they were bored, lonely AND drunk; making the best of MLK Day) so that I could come and keep them company, by shakin my money maker, and, well...makin money doing it.   But I digress.  They called.  I got my stuff together and drove over to the westside where Cafe Lola once stood and made my way inside the apartment of the address they had given me.  Garp was chillin on the couch and his house- mate had one of those Dr. reflector thingys on his head. As I recall, Garp also had dotted lines in marker circling his head.  It looked as if they were about to perform some kind of  improve- drunken-amateur- brain-surgery comedy sketch.  I can only imagine what could have happened had they not decided to call a stripper to entertain them for the afternoon.  Who knew that I would find myself in such circumstances, soon to be swept off my 7 inch platforms by a fellow by all appearances was a drunken, barely launched, garage band bassist who stole my heart like some ridiculous character in a nursery rhyme........to be continued.