the doc marten box on the bottom shelf of the bookcase in the dining room cum office looked innocent enough. since i had just cleaned out an old pencil box (consisting of a rusty tape measure, three purple crayons, a Ziggy bookmark, and a red dart), i attacked it without a moment’s hesitation.

that box should have some sort of mr. yuk or toxic waste sticker on it. it was my own personal pandora’s box. i opened that lid and every man who has plagued me for the past ten years came flying out. i sat on the floor reading through letters that Todd [one that was so far removed, i don’t think i ever even mentioned him here on iwilldare.com] had sent me back in 1997, there were cards from the outlaw, a letter from ben jones — even a valentine from the TTHM.

i started with the letters from Todd. i read through them, my eyes stinging, laughing at the insidiousness of his sentiments. the i will love you forevers, the you are the only for mes, blech. reading them i felt so stupid. there was no fondness there. so i tossed them. and i went through all the letters in there using the same litmus test. no fondness — they got dumped. if there was still fondness, they were kept. ben jones and the TTHM made the cut. the outlaw and Todd did not.

what’s the most disturbing, perhaps, is the number of letters in that box from people who i cannot remember. not for the life of me. that makes me sad. because either i’m a heartless bitch or i have alzheimers.

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i have a deep and abiding love of ms. phair, which started as a way to get back at my friend meathead in college. meathead was in love with la liz and was going somewhere eminently cool for spring break. Skal and I were not, and stuck in the midwest, deciding at the last minute to go see ms. phair at first ave and to get tattoos for good measure. before the show i had hardly given liz the time of day, and after the show i wasn’t much likely to give her any of my time. it wasn’t that good of a show. but a few years later, i think it was my friend Anderla who kept playing it and playing it and playing it, i heard “Divorce Song.” and it was over. i was in love, and haven’t really fallen out of love with her.

i know some people have been radio overkilled on “why can’t i” and “extraordinary,” and would rather eat their own fist than listen to them again, i just adore those songs. it was liz phair and those two songs that got me through all that ugliness with the outlaw a few years back.

also, a giant P.S.

the NY Times also said, AND I QUOTE, “in 1993 after she released “Exile in Guyville,” a gender-bent song-for-song retort to the 1972 Rolling Stones album, “Exile on Main Street.” that, that is for a smarmy musicgeek friend who was lecturing me about how exile in guyville had more to do with fuck, i can’t think of the band, it’ll come to me, come to me, yes, Urge Overkill and the old-boys club of the chicago music scene.

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and as i listened to johnny cash talk, i realized i had some unfinished business to attend to.

so when i got here to work, i opened up an e-mail and typed in an e-mail address i promised myself i would never use again.

i e-mailed the outlaw. i didn’t say much really, just said i was sorry about johnny cash. cash’s death will affect the outlaw deeply. there was lots more that i could say, but i didn’t. i didn’t say any of it. i didn’t ask questions, i didn’t wonder why. i just said sorry.

and now i think i might be able to let go of all the anger. all the bitter hurt and resentment i’ve been carrying about these past months. all the wondering why i wasn’t good enough. because, it doesn’t really matter.

none of it matters anymore.

because i know, i always knew, he wasn’t the one. i just really wanted him to be, because well, i just want one.

but in the last few months i’ve had quite a few new men enter my life. and it’s only now that i can realize how much the outlaw was not for me. i cannot love a coward.

and it’s these men, some of whom i’ve clicked with almost audibly, that have made me see that.

thank you men. goodbye outlaw.

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