Reflections on Relentless Insanity

I had one final "thing" with the Relentless Tease last week. Well, more than a thing, it was a "major thing." Whatever that thing is that you do with the person who makes you miserable and takes your breath away and drives you to drink light beer straight from the cat dish.

Once, the Tease and I were having a "thing" on the phone--he in the parking lot of the club where I was supposed to meet him and me in the parking lot of my friend's apartment complex. Each of us in our respective parking lots on our respective cell phones, screaming at each other at midnight and taking turns hanging up and calling back. During one brief intermission, after I screamed something like this: "Oh just fuck off and die, you giant Mountainous TURD!!!" I hung up and lit a cigarette while I waited for him to call back. I turned to find that my friend had sent her husband out to check on me. He sat quietly on the steps, having heard all of the ridiculous things I'd been shouting and probably some of the ridiculous things the Tease had shouted as well, through the tiny speaker of my cell phone.

"Ah, it's one of those relationships, huh? Where if you were in the same room together right now, you'd be ripping each other's clothes off instead of fighting?"

I had time to chuckle at his apt analysis of our "thing" before my phone rang again for the next round. I had to admit, I felt turned on like never before. I felt like adrenalin was pulsing through my veins and squirting from my pores. If we continued much longer, I'd tackle some poor stranger right there in the parking lot and start humping them like a dog. As angry as I was, I went to sleep that night all tingly and smiling. I never wanted to see him again, but I knew I would and I couldn't wait. It was going to be so fucking hot.

And so, though I was "so DONE with this, I mean it!!" I shagged him rotten the next night, leaving me feeling like a drunk Indian on a wild horse, digging the ride but wondering how to get off before I throw up.
What is that? Make-up sex? No, it's not even that. Did we ever really make up? As silly as it sounds, this started, literally, the moment we set eyes on each other. He passed me as I waited in the lobby for a job interview, and we exchanged a look. Not just your average smoldering glance, but a weird "fuck you, I want you" look. It wasn't long before we were saying it out loud on a near-weekly basis.

What does one do with a relationship like this? Now that it does appear to be over for real (depending, I suppose, on my ability to tolerate extreme levels of sexual frustration in the weeks to come), I reflect upon the year that I spent doing that "thing" with the Relentless Tease.

You might expect, after years of therapy and study on dysfunctional relationships, I'd be wise enough to belay the drama and steer well clear of a man like this. But remember, a drunk Indian never knows how wild the horse really is until the urge to throw up is more a reality than an urge, or she finds herself suddenly, painfully ejected from the horse and bouncing gracelessly upon her buttocks.

And yet, I recognize that this ending represents a break in the pattern. Certainly I could have hopped back up on that wild horse and let him take me for another ride, as I have done so many times before. I did not, and I sense no real urge to do so. Is that progress? As much as I seem to crave stimulation and drama, my strongest craving now is for peace. Maybe I am finally growing up.