Is there an off switch? An off switch would be good.

I think I did it again.

I have been letting my heart lead, openly, and without any walls for a while now.  Like maybe 4 or 5 months.  In the reality that is my world, 4 or 5 months in NOT a long time.  I have been alive for almost 49 years.  I have children who are 11 and 13 years, respectively.  I was married once for almost 7 years.  I was *married* (not legally, but same difference) once for over 10 years.  I have been split form that same non-husband for over 5 years, the same amount of time I have been dealing with courts, and dating bullshit, and figuring out depression and dependency.  So you would think that maybe I would know that things in my world need time, and space, and patience, and that maybe, just maybe, I am moving in my head and heart too fast.  5 months?  Yeah, that is just a tiny sliver of time. Patience.

I went to lunch yesterday with a woman who has been in the *shoes* of my world in the most literal sense.  She was involved for years in the same relationship we both left, just a decade difference.  She understands, completely, that there are things inside that relationship and that person that we loved, and still find attractive.  Not the person.  He is toxic. But the attraction to who and what each of us believed him to be as we saw him.  It was, in both of our opinions, something worth having in new people, because the good qualities really were attractive, even if the person wasn’t. I don’t want to lose that piece of knowledge.

So I find myself thinking a lot about what I find attractive, what I know is good for me, and how to be vulnerable enough without losing myself in the process.  Please note, I am talking specifically about men here.  Men I want in partnership in my world.  I have an amazing troupe of people, women and men both, that are friends.  I have a really solid core group of people who I know I share emotional intimacy with, even on a deep deep level. The part that I have been vulnerable and open to is the desire to share all of that with a man I can also be physical with, enjoy his bed and body, and know that when I am not at my best (stupid, fat, and ugly, and, more recently, deeply lonely and missing being touched) he can be my soft place to land.

When I say I miss being touched, I probably should explain.  Sex with my exes never was an “issue”. We had lots of it. Daily for both of my marriages.  I have written about this before, so if you have read it, you will understand that.  This has almost nothing to do with being touched.  I want to be held.  I want to be kissed in a way that is both desire and comfort. I want to have my hand held, and my tears wiped, and  feel safe and warm and loved, even as I am falling apart.  I want to not be judged for it when I feel needy.  And by judged, I totally mean that inside my head.  My worthiness in someone else’s eyes.  I am good enough to be fucked, not good enough to be loved or touched in a way that belongs to me.  I want to be told, in all the ways available through words and actions and touch, that I am important. (Fucked up much?) How does it feel to want? 

I am sure this is part of my current spin.  The timing of everything feels so good when I stay in the present.  I am not jealous or clingy.  I am not in a hurry, or planning my future.  I am reveling in happiness and only making plans that enhance that.  I have actually gotten really good at that in the last few years (see, measurement in years again, damn) and even my children know that I am always present, with them as things emerge and evolve. 

So why the doubt?  I am important in a lot of different ways to a lot of different people.  I am the stable and resilient rock for my children.  Anyone who has ever met them will tell you that I rock that shit, and my kids are amazing little monsters growing into amazing people.  I can model for them and provide for them the strength I cannot seem to find in myself.  I am a confident and competent employee.  I know my job, can facilitate growth in others, and accept responsibility by figuring out what needs to be done, and just doing it.  I am sure my employer recognizes this, though they don’t pay me enough to justify some of the work they assign me.  I am just that good at it.  I am a pretty good friend, all in all, though I hope to continue to grow and learn.  People before things, and I always strive to understand and participate, and love with an open mind and heart.  I can honestly say that the mistakes I make are never ones of intentional neglect, so I ask forgiveness if you are reading this and think I have injured you through my own selfishness.  I am just an idiot sometimes, with a way of saying shit without a filter.  So again, why the doubt, when I am really, truly, fucking awesome!

Because every single time I “knew” that the man in my life was exactly where I should be, happy, I was blindsided by an absolute stop.  A boyfriend of almost two years, that I had spent the day with in absolute bliss, who left in the middle of the night.  A husband I made love to in the morning, and taught how to give me the shots for the fertility meds we were using to try to have a baby, who asked for a divorce the same day because he just found out his mistress was pregnant.  The father of my children, and a decade long relationship, on a date to talk about love and the future and holding each other as the best part in each other’s lives (my agenda for the evening, clearly, being in love and all, even after a decade), who told me he had no issues with getting married, he just did not want to marry me.

So back to the attraction part.  Every one of those relationships had something in common.  I wanted them.  I was attracted to all the same things.  Stability, focus, honesty. They each had some quiet places that felt contemplative, some energy that felt exciting and fresh (yes, even after years), and some potential and openness to growth and understanding whether they were actually working on it or not (and usually not, but that is a different blog).  This is about me.  My wants and desires in the face of extreme self-doubt.  I have decided not to beat myself up for wanting this, for wanting a partner that not only has all the things that I am attracted to, but a complete openness and willingness/desire to share that with ME. Again, this is where I freak out. 

Wouldn’t it just be easier to be NOT vulnerable? Not open? Not willing?  Shouldn’t I just tell the man (that I am attracted to for all the right reasons) and that I have been doing this new found patience and openness with that “Hey, yeah, everything is going just fine, but that means it is all gonna hit rock bottom any day now, so I am just gonna check out now, ‘kay?” because I have zero experience with it working.  I might as well just shut off now because any minute he is going to figure out I am actually a basketcase and run screaming.  Or worse (as has been the case before) is just going to be done in a way that I won’t see coming.  The one that says I am not enough and proves it with vacancy.  Self-fulfilling prophecy I don’t know how to control.  And I am scared.  Not scared of him.  He is great in ways he does not even realize and that I have no word for (and I always have words). But scared that in the process of feeling all of this I am going to go missing.  Scared that I will crawl back into feeling nothing because all the other emotions are so strong, so powerful, and (fuck) so new.  Just 4 or 5 months.  Nothing at all.  I am hoping for years to feel it, without shutting down, because I let myself be here this time, eyes wide open.  

So (friends, lovers, family) please be patient with me as I do this again, but differently, and with more love.  And kind.  And honest. And let me be a wreck knowing that it is my wreck.  If I shut off, come after me, because honestly, I am totally worth it. Right now, present, I am totally worth it.

Scarborough Fair

Sometimes you get to have a great weekend. 

Sometimes, the weekend gets to have you.  This is about one of those weekends.

In my continuing journey of figuring out what to have in my world as a foundation, and what to let go of, I spent the weekend in a series of emotional, heart opening, all in, don’t walk away until I was clear kind of conversations.  I learned some things.

First, I am not always present.  When I am, I know it.  I recognize this as grace.

I have written about this before, about how I think I know what someone else’s story is before they have told it, just from the gleaned details and sometimes even rumors.  I work on this constantly, realizing that I like things in little boxes that I can control.  My own tendencies towards co-dependency and the need to rescue and fix things.  It is hard for me to watch someone in pain, partly because I hurt for them, and partly because I hurt for myself at not being able to help.  I caught myself starting to do this. Not much, just a little, and thank the Universe I have made it this far. 

Lunch on Friday was divine.  Heartbreaking and village building, and hard, but divine.  I didn’t understand my friend’s level of commitment and forgiveness in the face of some really hard choices.  I didn’t understand how anger had not taken over.  I couldn’t imagine spinning in her Universe and holding it together so well.  

I stopped and listened to her heart.  She was holding it together by sheer will because really, if she didn’t, her whole world would implode in a nasty ugly way, and the wake would take out everyone it her path.  She was breathing, and making mistakes, and owning them, and being honest, and rambling, and confused, and scared, and moving forward and backward, all at the same time.  And I love her more than she could possibly know for allowing me to see her strength, and her need for support, all while downing a diet coke and fiddling with her bra straps.  I will be present for her any time she allows me. Love is like that. This was grace.

Dinner on Friday was divine.  I cooked dinner at a friend’s house, while he sorta puttered and played with is dog, and did dishes.  He left me alone to chop veggies and make polenta, after I had just told him that cooking is therapy for me.  He had been working on a friend’s car when I walked in, so we hadn’t really greeted each other.  So now, 45 minutes into my arrival, he stood behind me and wrapped his arms around me, and sorta snuggled in.  He whispered against my neck the words “Thank you for being here”.

I melted.  Not the way you melt with crushes or hot messes.  But the way that relaxes your whole body without even knowing you were needing it.  Actual physical touch.  Until that very second, I had been only in my head.  Spinning the conversation I was anticipating having, trying to figure out words that I had no idea how to create, tensing my muscles, brewing my own storm.  Thinking I knew already exactly how this was gonna go.  I had been in this place before, or thought I had.  Closed. Confused. Walls up. Afraid of what kind of hurt was possible, what kind of daggers I could throw, what kind of devastation I could create?  Just how badly could I fuck up my world, with no mercy?  

I stopped and listened to his heart.  He had been spinning the same things.  What kind of devastation was he bringing to my world?  How much heartache could he command before he lost himself?  How would he find the words he wanted to say, feeling like he had no practice at getting it right himself? Would being quiet and grateful be enough?  Would his vulnerability cause chaos or understanding?  Would all his walls up be better because then he couldn’t fuck up yet another relationship (romantic or not) the way he felt he had fucked up everything else. His world spinning, and he just wanted some peace, too.  Both of us slowing down just to enjoy dinner, and fresh washed flannel sheets was divine.  Love is like that.  This was grace.

Second, I am sometimes angry.  I am not at my best understanding when I am angry. When I choose to stop, and not walk away when all my instincts are telling me to run, I recognize this as trust.

Saturday night (it was really Sunday morning) I got into a fight with someone I love deeply.  He and I have known each other a long time.  Too long for the bullshit we spun with each other. He yelled.  I yelled. We both used the work fuck a few too many times.  We both walked away a few times with the other eventually convincing us to come back, or seeking them out, not allowing them to walk away.

I knew, even while we were arguing, that this would pass, and even if strained, we would be fine.  I could wrap my brain around that his anger was not directed at me, but was frustration bottled up in an out of his control situation spinning his world.  A life changing kind of out of control, that, for self-preservation’s sake, he had checked out on.  His fear and disappointment at the wasted possibilities and an unclear future had him feeling alone.  He could not trust me that I wasn’t walking out, too.  How could he?  What possible proof could I hope to provide that everything would be fine, when I didn’t have any?  

I could wrap my brain around that my anger was not directed at him, but at my frustration over not understanding.  How could he be so angry?  How could he not see how amazing a time this is right now for him, even in the chaos?  How could he not see that he was pushing away help and complaining about being alone at the same time?  How could he not see that right then, even though I was pissed, I wasn’t going to let him wade through his shit by himself?  No, this was not me being co-dependent (at least not in any way that put me at risk, please read my other blogs to get this).  I was not taking on his problems or fears, just shining a light that checking out is not gonna help, and angry that right then, at fucking 3am (probably still drunk, because a fight like this never happens without alcohol), while holding his hand, I had zero skills to convey this to him.  Zero, none at all and I was trying anyway.  Strength would come.  One step in front of the other.  Love is like that.  This was trust.

Monday morning I sat in a room with a whole bunch of other people struggling with unfulfilled expectations.  I held a friend’s hand as he accepted love from this group in the form of a small piece of aluminum. A tiny little reminder that for the last 60 days, one of those expectations was not quite as unfulfilled.  I was there, listening.  Keeping my heart open to my own way of understanding something that is not my issue.  My friend hadn’t asked me to come, not really, just told me he had someplace important to be that morning, and would I still be snuggled in flannel when he got back.  I knew all about it, of course, I had been paying attention for the last few months, and can recognize both jubilance and trepidation at the journey he is on.  It is new, and old at the same time.  Putting, for the first time, faith in himself.  For that morning, he needed a little bit of celebration and cheering in his life.  I think it is rare, and I had it to give without any cost to my own journey.  Maybe I needed to know, too, that he is strong, and I don’t need to take care of him, and couldn’t even if I wanted to.  But that I wasn’t afraid, because one step in front of the other has been working for me with my own special breed of addiction, and it could for him, too.  The whole room knew it. He was not alone.  Love is like that.  This was trust.

Third, and most important, I am sometimes doubtful and fearful.  I can spin things.  I can find fault in myself without even having to pause.  This weekend was not like that.   I recognize this as strength.

In all the times this weekend, I put people first.  For a woman like me who has spent years building walls with traps and devices and barbed wire all around to keep people out with fear of hurt and depression, that I didn’t wall myself up is amazing.  I was tempted, to just shut down.  Not connect.  Not join in.  Comply. Wait. Judge. Compartmentalize. Overthink. Spin. 

I let whatever was going to happen, happen.  No rules.  No shoulds.  No judgments.  I kept myself present, always in exactly what was happening, and not planning the next thing.  Not checking out. Not shutting down.  Not throwing matches.  I am sure there could have been some fall out, and I don’t pretend for one fucking second that I may not be a basket case in 5 minutes, but not this weekend.  The genuine me showed up.  Turns out, love is like that.  This was strength.

What happens next, I have no idea.  I am going to let grace and trust and strength find me again in all the small places I let in find me this time.  Maybe the word that sums it all up is faith.  Yep, love is like that, too.

Cornerstones

It is the new year.  You might think this is the time to leave old things behind, and move forward.  Trust me, this was my thought, too, as I started.  The whole letting go process is a strange beast, and I have had several conversations with friends recently about where our lives are moving, keeping ourselves open to possibilities, and just being happy.  I like it, and am actually in a really good place.

Except for tactile memories that keeping pulling me back into the past, and then (because why the fuck my brain works this way I don't know) start spinning about every single memory associated with that time.

This is one of them.  As this it the year of "bricks and matches" (bricks to use as foundations and solid pathways, and matches to burn the rest. No regrets.) I have an old memory to share.  A brick. Truth is this story belongs to one person, and a second person who I wanted to share it with.  That isn't going to happen any time soon because I don't fit in his world, but that does not change my need to share it.  Bricks and Matches.  Foundation and Letting go.

Sophomore year.  I was 15.  It was early November, just after homecoming, and in my confused little world, I had a small group of friends I was completely loyal to.  Sophomore girls bonded by being busmates, and periodically giggly, and senior boys that several of the girls were dating.  I actually think that is how we became friends with the boys at all.

I was NOT hooked up with any of the guys.  I was invisible and a tag along for the most part, and also for the most part, I liked it that way.  There was one guy in the group that was kinda like that, too.  Not invisible, but also not hooked up.  He and I spent lots of time together, not kissing, not holding hands, and not being giggly. We were friends.  Keep reading, because this distinction is important.

As football players (they all were, the boys, so of course), our regular routine for that autumn was to go to football games.

The last game of the season was out of town.  It was not an important game and, like all out of town games, was not really going to be well attended by our side. We, as a group, did not really attend the junior varsity game, saving all of our attention for the main event and meeting up after the game.  So when my friend asked us (the group) to show up to this out of town game, and to be sure to make it to the JV game, it seemed important.  I paid attention.

Of our group, I was the only one, besides the guy, to show up by the start of the JV game. 

In the space of the maybe ¾ of an hour he and I were alone in our section of the bleachers, one of those once-in-a-lifetime conversations happened.

I know I specifically asked him why he wanted us there at this game.  If you had known him, you would know he was one of the most reliable guys around, but not much of a talker.  Even in my childish immature brain I knew that when he started talking, whatever he said was important. I listened.

He told me he had to be at the game, start to finish, because his brother was playing.  His sophomore brother.  My friend would be graduating and this game was the last time, ever, that he would be able to do that. As a kid. As a highschooler with no responsibilities. With one small connection to his kid brother.  It was all about love.

And we talked about it.  About love.  About sex.  About responsibility.  About truth, and friendship, and showing up.  It was just me, and him, and the whole world.  I heard in his words, and his presence, that connection was important, even when we were too young and too dumb to have words for it. We felt it, in a big way, and it was everything.  Nothing else mattered, no matter what ever else we ended up doing, stay in the moment. And for that magical 45 minutes, we did.  Just us.  Wrapped up in a friendship we could not possibly have known would happen, and could not possibly sustain.  The moment, right then, was what mattered, at least for me.  It changed how I saw lots and lots of things from that moment on, even when, as an adult, I forgot. 

If it mattered to him, I have no way of knowing, if he even remembers the conversation at all.

Of course, I was young, and stupid, and could not possibly have come up with the words to tell him I loved him.  Could not possibly have come up with the words to tell him how the conversation, short and intense, had just changed me.  How him loving his brother, and then staying present with me, in the only way he had, had registered in my immature little world.  I had listened and learned and had no way to thank him.

So as things in my life this year have become more and more amazing, this theme of staying present has resurfaced. Maybe I never lost it, but that conversation three decades ago really has been a grounding spot.  Some truth I forgot or ignored.  And staying present to not be afraid of the deeper meanings and connections has been amazing.  It is freeing. And grounding.  And real.  I am grateful.  Turns out love is like that.  My friend knew that.  Actually I think we both did, right that second, in the bleachers, in November of 1981.  A brick I did not even recognize, that is truly a foundation I cherish.  I hope he knows that I love him, somewhere deep.  I hope his brother knows it, too.

Cracks in the mortar

I met someone. 

Before you starting thinking this is a sappy love story, or worse, a crap breakup story, it is neither.  Not that I wouldn't write about either of those here (It is my blog after all, and well, if you have ever read it you know that I write what ever I am feeling with no apologies) but this is not that.  This is about gratitude that I wasn't even expecting.

I divorced a little over five years ago.  And having never actually been legally married in the state of California to my children’s father, this was a rather easy process.  I packed up all my shit, with the help of overly organized friends, and several pitchers of watermelon margaritas, and just got shit done.  My whole house, with everything that I considered mine or my kids’, accumulated and scattered, now neatly packed in boxes and ready to carry out to the truck.

That giant wall of cardboard really was the beginning a larger internal wall I created.  Not just created, but cultivated.  I would even say proud of because all that heartache and loneliness that came with the end of my decade long marriage was barricaded.  All that emotion could stay there, and I could just go on with my life, empty though it was, in relative peace.  I could be strong and compotent.  I could be reliable and steady.  I could be heartless and distant, all in the name of never feeling hurt.  I had had enough hurt to last me until the day after forever (read the other blogs, you will know this) and this would be no different. It was familiar territory.

A few months ago, at an event I wasn't even planning to be at, something changed.  To back up a bit, and to be fair to the other people who have wandered into my life, I HAVE been able to “feel” something a few times, and even tentatively try to move something forward.  All with limited success, which I take full responsibility for because I don’t think I was all in, and my fear based attempts kept any of them (read that as men) from actually getting to know me.  My previous models had taught me that you hide your true self, only ask questions you already know the answers to, wait and give only what has been deemed proper for the situation.  In my case that has ranged the gambit from going camping (I hate camping), to eating out at places I did not enjoy, watching movies that I thought were stupid, to sex, and lots of that, without bothering to ask for anything. 

That may seem strange to those of you reading who are well adjusted, not depressed, and functioning in the healthy world. But in my head, how could I possibly ask for anything?  I wasn't worthy of things.  I don’t deserve them, because, well, you only get things when you are beautiful, and strong, and loved, and as a complete failure at that, proven by the end of my first marriage, the end of my relationship with my children’s father, and the death of my son, I did not deserve it.  Yes, all that stuff still spins in my head.  It is complex and simple at the same time.  Logical and insane, both.

So back to the event.  I was there, having a great time with people I had not seen in a very long time, and one person connects.  I was not ready for it, but I didn't fight it either.  That was new.  It was easy.  Granted, there was alcohol involved, and since none of the people in the room are in my same everyday circles, I could be whomever I wanted, and no matter what that was, didn't matter.  I could have been the ruler of Nigeria and a Nobel Prize winner, and it would have been the same.  That kind of energy is periodically wonderful, until that one person presented as real and genuine and, without even knowing how it happened, I was doing the same.   The real me was there.  The laughter and the happiness was real.  The conversation was delightful and witty and charming, and before I knew it, the evening was over, and I was missing it already.

Missing it?  Missing what?  My big old wall up around me, sealed with a history of abuse and insecurity and pain, there to protect me from feeling anything that could hurt, was no where to be found.  It wasn't there.  I was a big vulnerable dork, doomed it seemed, to figure this out without any walls at all.

So I did.  I admitted to the man that I had been thinking about him.  I admitted I wanted to spend time with him. I asked for times just to get to know more about him.  I listened very very carefully to everything he said.  I was paying attention, looking for all the good things, and not being my usual doubtful fearful self.  The self that finds ALL of the reasons why something won’t work before anyone with a sledgehammer comes anywhere near my wall.  Scared, and out of my comfort zone. There was no wall.

To his defense, he could not have possibly known any of this.  He could not possibly have known that his presence in my world came with old, old memories of someone he and I both love, and a story about him I (still) badly wanted to share.  He could not possibly have known that when I was asking him questions about himself and his world,  I truly wanted to know, and not just as superficial conversation.  He could not possibly have known that my persistence at wanting to see him was just excitement and happiness that for the first time in a really long time I felt safe enough to not hide. He could not have known that I had been screaming from the other side of the wall, and that an unexpected whisper was what made the wall evaporate.  He probably thought I was needy and insane, when nothing is further from the truth. I was confident and happy and letting whatever I was feeling and thinking just be.  It is disconcertingly calming, making being in my everyday world happier.  No fear. and that should have scared me, but weirdly, didn't.

I am sure he is just a regular guy, with no extraordinary powers or God-given insight into healing hearts.  I am sure he is nursing his own wounds (I was paying attention, remember) and just living his life. So really, this wall being gone is not about him at all.  The small cynical side of me that says I know better than to think that connection like this happens as a two way street, is fully aware that he was not asking questions and listening to me the way I was to him.  The small cynical side of me knows that I was making all the effort, and that he was just being polite to respond at all.  The small cynical side of me knows that he could not possibly have kept up with, or even understood, how I could sustain the excitement, because this was ME, tearing down my own wall.  I let him just be a catalyst, and the small cynical side of me has no doubt that he has no idea, (any more than the person we both love has any idea just what kind of importance he played, decades ago) in me figuring out a tiny portion of love for myself.  If he does read this, I hope he recognizes himself as important and loved, even if I am not part of his world.

So yeah, I am feeling a little wounded, but mostly I feel grateful.  Yep, that’s what I said, grateful.  It means that that wall hasn't taken over completely.  That I am not so damaged that there is not truth and possibility, and love.  I am grateful that I am being kind and good to myself, and could recognize that kindness in someone else, even un-reciprocated. It means that I get to allow hope back into my world with out feeling like I am going to die if the wall has any cracks.  I am not saying that the wall isn't back up.  It fully is, without a doubt.  I just know now that it doesn't have to always be there, and that I am just as strong on this side.

Maybe instead of a wall next time, I will just find wings. It isn't about meeting someone after all.

Back to our regularly scheduled writing.

It is the middle of the night.  Like insomnia Hell.  Too many thing rattling in my brain. If I were to write a blog right now, and I am still not sure this will end up as a blog, I would start by telling you that I HAVE been writing, just not here, and not about my life.  Maybe that is a problem. I guess I am about to fix that.  After midnight is a strange creature.

I have been working on short stories and novellas.  I hope to submit them, eventually, and that portion of my creative juices have been all over the map, much like my life, and I have been enjoying the process, for the most part, when it happens at like normal hours.  No such luck today, but whatever. 

November is National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) and I have succeeded in registering.  That means only 10,000 words to go and I have more of the never-ending-novel done.  This is completely unrealistic, and deliciously un-doable, but I will be attempting it anyway. Not tonight, because the spinners are taking all my time.

So,  THAT writing process will not happen at all it I don’t get some of the things spinning in my head and heart out on paper first, thus, this blog. So here goes, a sorta stream of consciousness about where I am at.

I was dating a very *nice* man.  Yes, I met him online.  He is cute, has beautiful blue eyes (they melt me), has a job, is buying his house, has grown children, and likes puppies.  He drinks his coffee with cream, brings his dog breakfast leftovers, and knows how to fix anything on a car. He is a good kisser (more about this in a second), and is a gentleman when it comes to things like opening doors and paying the check (I tried to pick it up, he wouldn’t let me). I met him at his house one time, and (found out) he smokes heavily (like lighting one cigarette with the other one), his house smells like he chain smokes, with the additional lingering smell of “medical marijuana” (his roommate’s) mixed with stale beer (his, in bottles all over the counters and kitchen table). I have only been to his house that once, because previous to that one time, I had met him for dates at public locations, he didn’t smoke in front of me (never mentioned it actually, or had it listed on his dating profile), brushed his teeth and wore clean clothes,  making the kissing at the end of the dates very nice.  During those times he smelled like soap and laundry detergent, and coffee (we usually met for breakfast), and that good kind of man smell that goes with nice, hard working guys.  The time at his house was the most turned off (I didn’t even kiss him goodbye, and I liked kissing him) I have been in a really long time. It made me sad and unable to really talk to him because I haven’t yet figured out exactly how to tell him that I liked that being near him (yes, just the one time, the other times away from his house were fine)  but now it makes me want to take a shower.  Without him. At my own house. Immediately. I think I was in shock.  It goes with how much more I must really need to work on, because I can’t accept it, and don’t want to even try to move forward with it.  He has texted me every day since then, and I have answered, reminding him just how much I hate text conversations, and could he please call later that night after 9pm (kids in bed, priorities) and we can talk then.  He starts these texts (yes, every day) with “Sorry I couldn’t call last night.  Had a couple beers and fell asleep watching a movie”. I want to tell him why I won’t be seeing him again, but not via text. So I guess I have breakfast with him one more time. Publicly. No kissing.  I know this sounds like I am a bitch, but it would make me crazy on about 100 different levels to never be able to go to his house (presumable for sex, eventually, which would be a turn off, sorta defeating the whole thing, right?), and I don’t want to change him at all. I don’t even want to try to live with it.  I know, bitch.  But I have done this already, both the expecting a guy to change AND the saying nothing about it but living with it.  I am not saying that relationships aren’t compromises, but if something as basic as smoking and drinking is the thing that turns your partner off, shouldn’t you just acknowledge it and move on.  Politely (though how the hell I say “I’m sorry, can’t kiss you anymore, or come to your house, because you kinda smell bad.” is beyond me). 

I totally know that I need to be okay with this decision, letting go and all, so read on.

  

There is another man I met recently.  Not online.  Not in a bar, though we were drinking.  The conversation was funny, interesting, easy, flirty, and we both mingled, talked to other people, had a great time the whole evening. I stole his Karate Kid button from the front of his shirt, and he kissed me good night.  It made me feel tingly.  I know, that sounds so teenager, but I don’t have a better word to describe it.  I am sure he has zero interest in going out with me, and we didn’t exchange numbers or anything, so it is kinda moot, but it reminded that I love that feeling.  The easy attraction.  The laughter and no jealousy.  The end of a really good evening, and the idea that it could be that easy all the time.

I miss that.

Some of you will read this and think what a pathetic loser that sounds like.  Giving up a guy who is interested in you because it doesn’t feel right, and feeling squishy over someone who doesn’t know you exist in the real world.  But it doesn’t sound pathetic to me.  It sounds, for the first time in a long time, as NOT desperate.  That if I really thought about it, I want someone in my life who makes me tingle without trying.  Maybe it’s not the guy with questionable taste in 1980’s movies paraphernalia, but it is not the guy with the pot-smoking roommate, either. 

And it is not a bad thing that I want it.  I want someone who meets my values, my interests, my background, my work ethic, my desires, my past choices, my beliefs, and my plans for the future.  Is it really too much to ask to meet someone who has not been arrested for DUI (I never have been arrested, is it really that hard?); or who doesn’t borrow money from his parents to pay his electricity bill (I haven’t done that in almost 30 years); or who votes (yeah, like for President) and doesn’t think you are wasting your time when you do; or has a passport (because it is an important document for things like, um, travel); or who has books on a shelf anywhere in his house (books he might actually have read)?  I can do all of that for myself, so why would I want anything less from a partner?  Why would they want anything less for theirs?  I WANT the conversation and I want the lust.  I want the giggles and I want the shoulder.  I don’t want someone just to sleep with, but someone to wake up with.  I want someone who I love and trust when we aren’t sleeping together .  I want a best friend who is also a lover.  A lot to ask, but why not?  The other way hasn’t worked, and I’ve end up feeling stressed about not getting enough, or frustrated by giving too much.  And since I am clearly single, and not really that sad about it, why is picking something better than what I have had a bad idea.  The worst that could happen is that I would still be single, duh, and make choices for myself that I get to enjoy. 

But I would watch Fast Times at Ridgemont High.  Maybe while writing, since, no doubt, this whole blog was just to kill time (and clear my head) instead working on my novel.  A little over 1400 words, too.  Just about what I would need to write daily for NaNoWriMo to have it matter. Good job, Elise, now that you are not spinning stuff in your head, maybe a good short story is in order. Or sleep, whichever.