Call Me Joe Read Online Free Page B
Author: Steven J Patrick
Tags: Fiction, thriller, Suspense, Mystery, Retail
off as parental reflex. The realization that it may be prompted by real distress was chilling. If true, I'm a bad son and nobody who has good parents likes to think that.
More shocking was the idea that my friends might be genuinely...worried.
Was I, in fact, a self-involved, oblivious jerk whose bitterness and fear slopped over onto everyone he cared about?
In purely self-involved-jerk terms, was it actually a bit eccentric - even perverse - to have taken this monk-like vow of isolation and chastity without benefit of the Cloth? That was too large a question for my tiny brain. All I know is it felt right when I started it and for a long time afterward.
One simple fact overrode everything else: The only area of life in which I hadn't succeeded after putting my mind to it was relationships. After seven serious attempts, I was batting .000. It seemed glaringly obvious that only a fool would look back on that dismal showing and say that it was always the other person's fault. I was the only common factor in all the disasters; therefore, I was the likely culprit. It seemed evident, too, that the solution was to step back, learn who I am, and pinpoint my mistakes if, in fact, I ever plan to try it again.
Overriding any loneliness or desire to pair off, my inability to accept defeat drove me to quit the dating scene. I've always been a good investigator because I don't color the facts with emotions. I see patterns, eliminate the static, and find the core of truth hidden in the thicket of lies, diversions, and misdirection.
Applying that to myself as cold-bloodedly as possible, I realized that I was the reason I was alone. I, period. I've always had a contrary streak, unbridled skepticism, a rooty disregard for niceties, and positively perverse impulse to rattle myself out of situations that seem too comfortable.
It's a package I have always equated with fierce, unflinching independence. I saw these things as virtues. They are in some ways. They are also the precise antidote to a healthy relationship.
Little regard as I might have for George Bush - either one - I found one of Senior's concepts very compelling: Kinder and Gentler. So I had spent the celibate years attempting a make-over - from the inside out. I worked at relaxing more, worrying less, easing off the ingrained impulse to engineer my fate, and becoming more accepting.
I didn't have any idea what, if any, the benefits of all that would be to some eventual partner but the good it did me - and anyone who had to interact with me - was undeniable.
I did one final piece of engineering: I simplified my life. I cut up my credit cards, paid off the balances, and jumped off that vicious little merry-go-round. I sold my boat - a $12,000.00 boondoggle that I lovingly restored but never actually sailed - for almost $50,000.00. Boating is difficult. Making bank deposits is simple.
I sold off the "vintage" Mercedes and the Indian motorcycle and kept the '94 Land Rover that I like best anyway. I went to my absurdly overstuffed storage unit, gritted my teeth, and boxed up anything I could possibly live without. This little purge resulted in a 12x20 space containing a tidy pile about the size of a largish refrigerator. The Childrens Hospital Thrift Store was delighted to get most of the rest. The lady at the landfill didn't seem to care one way or the other.
I cancelled 16 of my 18 magazine subscriptions, keeping only The Wine Advocate and Architectural Digest. After three weeks of piddling, I finally got around to mending the fence at the back of my yard and installing Clyde's dog door, so he could come and go as he pleased. It took him maybe ten minutes to remember where the door is and how to use it. He then spent a happy afternoon going in and out constantly, with what passes for a goofy smile plastered all over that handsome Boxer face. He's blind but he's not stupid. When something good comes along, Clyde wallows in it like
More shocking was the idea that my friends might be genuinely...worried.
Was I, in fact, a self-involved, oblivious jerk whose bitterness and fear slopped over onto everyone he cared about?
In purely self-involved-jerk terms, was it actually a bit eccentric - even perverse - to have taken this monk-like vow of isolation and chastity without benefit of the Cloth? That was too large a question for my tiny brain. All I know is it felt right when I started it and for a long time afterward.
One simple fact overrode everything else: The only area of life in which I hadn't succeeded after putting my mind to it was relationships. After seven serious attempts, I was batting .000. It seemed glaringly obvious that only a fool would look back on that dismal showing and say that it was always the other person's fault. I was the only common factor in all the disasters; therefore, I was the likely culprit. It seemed evident, too, that the solution was to step back, learn who I am, and pinpoint my mistakes if, in fact, I ever plan to try it again.
Overriding any loneliness or desire to pair off, my inability to accept defeat drove me to quit the dating scene. I've always been a good investigator because I don't color the facts with emotions. I see patterns, eliminate the static, and find the core of truth hidden in the thicket of lies, diversions, and misdirection.
Applying that to myself as cold-bloodedly as possible, I realized that I was the reason I was alone. I, period. I've always had a contrary streak, unbridled skepticism, a rooty disregard for niceties, and positively perverse impulse to rattle myself out of situations that seem too comfortable.
It's a package I have always equated with fierce, unflinching independence. I saw these things as virtues. They are in some ways. They are also the precise antidote to a healthy relationship.
Little regard as I might have for George Bush - either one - I found one of Senior's concepts very compelling: Kinder and Gentler. So I had spent the celibate years attempting a make-over - from the inside out. I worked at relaxing more, worrying less, easing off the ingrained impulse to engineer my fate, and becoming more accepting.
I didn't have any idea what, if any, the benefits of all that would be to some eventual partner but the good it did me - and anyone who had to interact with me - was undeniable.
I did one final piece of engineering: I simplified my life. I cut up my credit cards, paid off the balances, and jumped off that vicious little merry-go-round. I sold my boat - a $12,000.00 boondoggle that I lovingly restored but never actually sailed - for almost $50,000.00. Boating is difficult. Making bank deposits is simple.
I sold off the "vintage" Mercedes and the Indian motorcycle and kept the '94 Land Rover that I like best anyway. I went to my absurdly overstuffed storage unit, gritted my teeth, and boxed up anything I could possibly live without. This little purge resulted in a 12x20 space containing a tidy pile about the size of a largish refrigerator. The Childrens Hospital Thrift Store was delighted to get most of the rest. The lady at the landfill didn't seem to care one way or the other.
I cancelled 16 of my 18 magazine subscriptions, keeping only The Wine Advocate and Architectural Digest. After three weeks of piddling, I finally got around to mending the fence at the back of my yard and installing Clyde's dog door, so he could come and go as he pleased. It took him maybe ten minutes to remember where the door is and how to use it. He then spent a happy afternoon going in and out constantly, with what passes for a goofy smile plastered all over that handsome Boxer face. He's blind but he's not stupid. When something good comes along, Clyde wallows in it like
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