Writing about my family makes me think about every romantic relationship I’ve ever had.  How and where was I looking for Daddy?  It’s interesting that I don’t like dating tall men.  If they are over 6′ I’m probably not interested.  My father was 6’7″.  My mom was 5’2″.  I had one date with a guy who was 6’10” and that was too much for me.  I couldn’t deal with that.  It felt really disgusting and inappropriate.  Which is kind of a strong reaction to an otherwise really nice guy.

I forgot something when I went looking for an affair.  I forgot that I want people who give me a lot of slack and a lot of space around my “issues”.  I want people who are already broken in because I don’t know how to tell the story piecemeal any more.  I lost that because of Noah.  Noah can handle such ridiculous intensity from me that I don’t know how to tone it down for other people.  Noah can handle me sobbing and screaming and beating on pillows in the middle of an otherwise normal conversation and transition straight into sex when I want it.  I’m pretty sure I have scared Noah or made him feel put-off at some point, but I’d be damned if I could remember when.  Whatever I throw at that man, he just rolls with it.

I forgot how special that is.  I’ve been alone at home with Noah for years growing ever more entwined.  I can use increasingly terse shorthand and he knows these elaborate stories.  After Noah talking to a new person is hard.  It feels frustrating because I don’t know how to explain things in easily digestible chunks anymore.  Now I want to hurry up and finish the book so I can hand them the whole story in advance and say, “Either you can handle this or you can’t.”  That’s not how normal relationships go though.

Last night I went to sleep with my muse.  When I woke up I came over to Daddy’s house.  I haven’t had sex with Daddy in… six?  seven? years.  It’s been a while.  It was similar to and different from what I remember.  I feel like we make fewer assumptions now.  He has so many years of being a close friend that there isn’t much I can’t say to him.  I can be as stupidly blunt and tactless as I am without feeling like it’s going to alienate him.  If he was going to be alienated, it probably would have happened when I dumped him seven years ago.  Instead he remained one of my close friends.  There have been many times over the years when I have shown up at his house at odd hours and he has held me while I cry.

It’s weird sitting in his house now.  I’m killing time until I go to therapy.  He’s working.  It feels comfortable and uncomfortable.  This isn’t where he lived when we dated.  Somehow that’s a good thing.  I’m kind of sad his housemate hasn’t come out of her room.  She is another former lover.  I haven’t seen her much in years and I miss her.  She is one of the few women I’ve had one on one sex with in the last ten years.  I kind of hope I get to give her a hug before I leave.  She came out!  I got my hug.  Yay.

This feels like visiting a part of me I left behind.  These are people from my old life.  In some ways this is like walking into a weird old movie and in other ways it feels like getting to relax.  I have nothing to prove.  I don’t need to show them who I am.  They know already.  If I start crying in the middle of breakfast fairly randomly I don’t have to worry about that being a deal breaker.  I’m not going to risk rejection in this house.  Not unless I do something extraordinarily egregious, which I can’t imagine doing.  This is nice.

I’ve been sitting here thinking about similarities and differences among the men who have tried to handle me.  I do best with men who are able to be still and silent while my emotions rage.  It’s hard on them.  I know.  It’s hard not to take it personally when I’m freaking out.  Noah handles this better than anyone ever has.  He listens really intently to what I am saying and to what I am not saying.  He’s good at ignoring the hyperbole and figuring out why I am actually upset.  He has spent so much time listening intently to me that he knows before I do when I am avoiding a point to get upset about something standing next to it.

Daddy doesn’t make the same leaps.  But he listens.  He stays present.  He has yet to be scared off by anything I’ve told him.  This is why people are poly.  Because there is more than one person who can be present with me.  It’s hard to have the same reservoir of trust with a “friend”.  It’s a different kind of trust and support.  After more than seven years he has certainly earned my trust.  It’s neat finding out what it is like to evolve in a relationship.  I’m doing it with Noah.  I’m trying to do it with Sarah.  I’m trying to do it with Daddy.  I wonder what my life will look like in five years.

Daddy told me that it’s been neat watching me grow up.  He doesn’t think I would have been able to be a mother when we met.  I was still too hair trigger on leaving.  He’s probably right.  It’s really nice knowing that he can look at me and see that I’m not perfect, but I’m still pretty good.  I’m still worth keeping around.  Because he loves me.  Even though I’ve hurt him.  Even though I feel like an unending river of fucking up.

This is so confusing.