There must be a reason, right?

 Writers block, writers block, writers blocks.

That is all I have to blame this three and a half year absence on. Probably that.  Maybe that. Could be that.  Or maybe it is just some laziness, or some huge fucking self doubt that anything I wrote will have a readership.  Do I need a readership?  Apparently, yes.

I had already decided not to enter the contest.  Because it both bores me and frightens me every single year.  How hard is it really to write a complete story in 101 words or less?  Really fucking hard if truth be told.  And yet I write them easily as soon as I sit down, popping out at least three of them without much effort, and knowing that if I enter them, at least one will be published.  Sad, but true, that I can now pick the one that will get to the final printing without any effort here either.  Because, honestly, they are good.  Well, at least one of them is always good. One is usually okay.  One is almost always crap, but finished just the same, so entered, along with the rest. One is all I need.

And one is what I got this year. Again. Another one published.  That makes at least one published every year I remembered to enter. I think the blahness of it, broke my desire to write at all. All the excitement I could muster amounted to shrugged shoulders.  The word meh completely defined.

I found out yesterday that one of the stories was published.  I opened the online edition and found the pages for the contest results, and poof, there it was. Black and white.  Proof that I am either a good writer, or a small crap writer with a good formula.  Still not sure which.

To that end, I am starting the blog again.  I need to write things longer than 101 words, and write them more frequently than once a year.  It has been a while since I sat down to type, and just let the words come, and have them mean something, or nothing, and not be worried about any potential audience.  The blog seems the best place. Especially as the new year is about to start, and instead of feeling thrilled about being published (again), I am disappointed that it is the only thing I did. Legit. Nothing else.  Not on my blog.  Not in word doc.  Not in my really beautiful journal. Zilch. Nada. Zero.

This is it.  Day one.  Writing so that I can say that I did.  Maybe work on my craft more than what I did for 99.99% of 2021. 

And maybe do some work on why I haven't bothered in 41 months.  I know there is a reason.  No idea what it is yet.

I don't even need a band-aid.

I thought I lost a friend this week. 

Turns out I didn’t “lose” anything.  I know right where he is.  And though it is a claim that he was walking away, and that I was going to be no longer allowed in his heart and life, truth is, he hasn’t been going anywhere but in circles under a wandering star for a long, long time, and I had been making steady progress on my journey of self-reliance and solid values, and he had not come along at all. And when it got hard, and required actual putting foundation into practice, test the stability he so desperately needs, he bailed.  

I thought I would be hurt.  Truly, I love him.  But what I feel more is relief.

In the past few years, I have had things happen.  If you have read this blog at all, you will understand the road, and know that getting myself out of an almost debilitating depression and codependency has been a tortured path.  I was not always successful, and had lots of times when I stood still, or took steps backwards.  This often happened when I was hit with a 2x4 to the back of the head, bleeding and damaged, and some ugly monster came out and tried to pull me back under. 

It was, and is always, a fight. It is not pretty. I can get moody.  And by moody, I mean fucked up neurotic.  I am selfish, and distant.  I get quiet, then unpredictably angry.  I forget things. I cry. I am not particularly helpful and have a hard time understanding your world while I am caught up in mine.  But, to my defense, while this used to be my norm, it is now my exception.

Let me say that again.  It is my exception.

Recently, I had one of the exception times show up full force.  My ex (you can read about him all you want in other blogs, and it will give you some insight into who he was/is and how I got out) decided to drag me back into court. The reason and justification for why is not even the issue, because honestly, he and I will not be happily co-parenting, ever, and this is just one more way I have to deal with him.  It was a 2x4, for sure. It put me on the floor, the way it does for most people when they are smack in the middle of their old lives without much choice but to get through it with some semblance of grace.  I was not succeeding in the grace department, but was blessed with knowing I would get out of it. I had before, I would again. I just needed the reminder.

The reminder came in the form of being held while I cried.  It came in the form of long conversations with my children.  It came in fun activities. And movies. And good sex. And a truly deep happiness that I would try to suppress, because, well, I am stupid about my own happiness sometimes. And stability. And being still.  It did not need to pursue anything else.  I already had the tools and the gifts. 

What is did not look like was the constant instability this friend lived in.  It did not look like pretty words without a lot of follow through.  It did not look like a list of desires without any work towards them. Or blame when personal actions caused the instability. Or like excuses for others who did not move forward together.  It did not look like having to find myself in a different place because I could not face any of the mess. 

On the literal contrary, it looked like actually being in the mess daily.  There was no avoidance on my part.  I was blunt, maybe to the point of shock.  I was non-accepting of people who were also a mess and doing nothing about it but felt empowered to try to drag me there, too.  There was no more desire for connection to people who did not meet the rules of the Yes List, or who were flat-out on the No List.  I would not develop relationships with rude alcoholics making noise in the middle of the night.  I would not wait for yet another phone call from a manipulative suicidal narcissist whose needs were so heavy that it stopped all progress toward other goals.  I would not try to get to know temporary romances from 1200 miles away that barely sparked of passion and could only be had in 48 hour blocks of time once every 6 weeks or so.  I was in no position to create yet another black hole emotion vacuum just for the sake of the newness, when I wasn’t making the stuff I already had my sights set on, work.  I was staying put.  Roots. Fight. Stability. Grounded.

This is not where this friend is. At least not with me. I had picked moving towards strengthening MY emotions with the people in my life who said they would stay. I had to trust them. I had said that I thought I didn’t have a tribe, but what I really found out was that I do have a tribe, just, sadly, one that did not include him.  I thought maybe I had just been too raw with someone else who was also too raw and that maybe we could not support each other.  But that wasn’t true.  I might have pushed hard, and been distant, but I never walked away, never said encouraging connected words only to not mean them, and I never used the excuse that there were others that thought I should eliminate people from my life and then actually listened. I have come to trust myself, my core of knowing where I came from, how it plays in my life, and what I am both willing and unwilling to do to keep it that way. My core about it is totally defined, and not at all by others, even when I listen to their counsel.

Nope, I take full responsibility for my own choices, supported or not, because that is part of my journey as well.  I am no longer interested in how things can’t be fixed.  I want to stomp and whine about them, and then put in the real work, even when it is hard.  Even when it looks like I am alone.  Then I want the people who say that they will stick by it to actually do that. If you can’t? Well, you can go.  I will not be examining it further except to realize I want the stability I have created.  My job that pays my bills.  My lack of bills to begin with. My house. My running car.  My amazing children and the learning they are doing, even with the bumps, and my role in that.  My belief in parenthood and everything I have done to make that as my first priority, regardless of the boulders that sometimes seem to block my path. My desire for communication inside my partnership, and having that get stronger every single day.  Love on a much deeper level.  One that knows that in order to actually have all the good stuff, you have to get through the bad stuff. And that even when it looks uneven, it all comes around to settled when it is working.  No books, no meetings, no unprecedented clarity. Just everyday ordinary heartbreak and redemption.  I take it. Life, with all of its compromise and thorns, and joy and forgiveness, and ache and laughter.  I get to have this. I get to stay.

So yeah, I thought I lost a friend. Turns out I didn’t lose anything.  He is right there, still spinning in his universe wondering what happened to get him to where he is at, and how he believes he will have to change his life and start all over. Again.  I am grateful for getting to stand perfectly still this time and just kinda wave as he floats away on yet another star. I am not going anywhere, and for that hard won stability, I am grateful.

9 years and 24 hours later.

My first breakdown happened almost immediately. 

I felt sucker punched with the irony of having the envelope handed to me by the same son who the letter was about.  It seems that my children’s father has decided to show up now. Now, after almost 9 years, is when suddenly his father-son bond desire has decided to kick in.  And my son, every bit of a 14 year old entitled teen, is buying it. Hook, line, sinker.  And sadly, it means, in his head, that I have never cared about him, never loved him, am trying to keep his life from being his choice, and basically stopping him from the amazing and one true relationship he is missing.  Yep, his dad. Like me, his sister, his best friends, his grandmothers, my partner, my adult friends, and well, everyone in my village who has shown up and covered that lack of relationship he has had with his dad for, um, ever, are somehow not really worth much.  It hit me hard to hear it.  Almost on the floor.  My reaction was to be angry, but that was just a mask for how sad and hurt I felt.  The breakdown, well it was loud, and then immediately quiet.  I wanted to cry, but it was stuck in shock.  I had been served with papers asking the court to grant his father custody. 

The second breakdown happened in the car while driving. 

I called my partner, and my best friend, and without even remembering to breathe, I was sobbing on the phone to each of them, separated by minute of cell phone time.  I don’t remember how I could have still been driving, and yet I was.  My SO telling me to be safe but get to him.  My best friend telling me to go let my SO hold me and reminding me to be grateful for the many people in my life that will have my back.  I would not go to a court battle alone.  This time, unlike 9 years ago, I would not be alone.  They knew better, and would support me, and prop me up.  I cried anyway, and drove, and tried to remember that, and not feel like a failure.

The third breakdown happened in the night. 

I had crawled in to bed with my boyfriend, and what I wanted was sex.  Yep, not gonna lie.  Sex, throughout my adult life, had been my go-to to feel connected. The need was raw.  I had shut off, felt too hurt to let myself cry or explain.  It, too, was my go-to, when emotions were too in-my-face and out of my control, and shutting off seemed easier that facing anything.  I wanted to be wanted.  I wanted my son to want me as his mother.  I wanted my ex husband to want me to continue to raise my son with all the wonderful things I could and have exposed him and his sister to.  I wanted to be the kind of woman that really could have and do it all. I wanted to know I was strong, and composed, and in the right.  I wanted to be powerful and aloof, and so above it, that I could fuck and have it not even phase me. No pain, no fear, no commitment to being a mom.  Just me. Oh yeah, and my BF was gonna have to be there.  Or at least the part that would get me to an orgasm was. The rest, well, it was not something I needed to be connected to, since I wasn’t connected anyway, in my shut off state, and I just fine with being just a body right then.  He was having none of it. He was not going to let me run away.  He was not going  to let me be emotionally vacant.  So, instead, he held me.  Turned me down flat, but held me as I balled, first not able to breathe, and then until the sobbing took over and shook me. Then as I fell asleep.

The final breakdown on day one happened while out shopping.

Everything looked like something I would buy for my son. Everything.  I didn’t even want to touch things because in my head I already would never even be able to show him any of it. He was already gone, like the court fight had already happened and no matter the outcome, everything had changed.  I could do nothing about it.  I would have to comply.  The shutdown was back in full force, and that is when I broke again. Something inside me said it was going to have to be okay, because it already was. I had not died, as if that was even possible, and I was not alone.  The world had not stopped. This breakdown happened silently. I was broken, but knew I would survive.

So, what’s next?  Court, I suppose. And trying to figure out what to do with this new space I have to live in with my son.  And my daughter. And my boyfriend, and my supporters, and my friends, and my village.  Not so broken down after all.   Bruised and still fragile, and completely exhausted by the last 24 hours, but present. This time around, unlike 9 years ago, I am writing about it immediately, owning it before it owns me.

What does Proverbs 31:26 know?

I hope the decisions I am making stick.

That sounds like I could be flaky.  Maybe, but only to myself really.  I can’t tell you how many “eat healthy” plans I have started, how many resolutions I have made to exercise, how many times I have made plans to clean, purge, organize, only to feel like a failure when not one, but all of them have fallen apart. I have not finished (or even worked on) the novel.  I have not bagged up all those clothes that I hate (they are still on my closet/bedroom floor).  I have not cleaned my garage, or my Tupperware cabinet, or my bathroom cabinet (or floor, really). I own a really good set of hand weights and a treadmill.  I try to dust them periodically.  I think I still own a bike.  Somewhere. Maybe.

But that is such a different thing than what I do for people.  Everyone except me, it seems.

I make it to work every day.  I make sure my children have underwear and lunch.  I have gone on field trips, and baked cookies, and been the taxi for a lot of events. I visit friends who are only in town for the day, or travel to them when they are “close”, having come in from another state or country and really, California is not *that* big, right? I make phone calls to meet time zone requirements, even at the price of sleep.  I listen to heartaches and joys, sometimes when the space between us makes me ache to touch them.  Truly. I love doing it.  My children, my family, my friends. Connection. People are the reason I breathe. 

So why is this the wrong thing to do inside of potentially romantic relationships? Or actual romantic relationships? Or just dating? Or sex hookups?  Why is the connection not allowed?  They are people, right? These men I invite into my head and heart and bed, they *are* actually people, right?

But that doesn’t seem to be the case.

I get really excited meeting new men.  Very much actually.  I figure I have weeded through 10 gazillion profiles, of men who are cheating on their wives (please don’t tell them), who are bi and just want a chick to hang out and watch them while they take it from the guy (maybe my boyfriend, you know, if I could just arrange that for him),  who are only looking for FWB-hookup-bootie-call-wanna-do-it-in-the-park-car-rent-by-the-hour-motel-could-you-pay-cuz-I-am-behind-on-my-child-support. So if I got past all that, to an actual date, I have to be both insane, and stupidly hopeful.  And one date is great.  Two dates is better.  Talking on the phone, texting to say hi, laughing as we get to know each other is perfect.

But maybe not.

Because I have got to date three or four a few times.  I have been hopeful that the guy meant the texts and comments that said they were enjoying themselves, and please could we see each other again.  I have for sure kissed them.  I probably had sex with them.  I have probably contemplated how to have a date that includes my friends (vetting, it is a real thing), and I have probably shared some of my disasters.  We will have laughed, because we are all just people, and people are more than likely similar, and have the same stories in different packages.

So when did it become a terrible thing that I actually WANT to be in contact with someone I am getting to know?  No, I did not invite you to move into my house.  No, I did not ask you to let me move in to yours.  No, I did not ask you to come to my daughter’s debate team luncheon (I barely want to go to these events, I would not torture you with it), or be an umpire at my son’s baseball game, or help me sort books at the Friends of the Library sale.  I didn’t ask you to pay my taxes, or drive three hours for a lunch date, or meet my brother, or even ask you to stop dating other people (yet.  We haven’t had that conversation.)  I didn’t ask you to get a tattoo of our anniversary date, or buy me a ring, or get on one knee.  What I asked for was to say Good Morning back when I texted, maybe just once every couple days.  I asked you to actually call when you said you would. Like at 9 or so, after the game is over, and the kids are in bed, and you are not too drunk to hit redial. I asked you to plan a date you said you wanted when you left on Sunday morning, sometime before I accept another one with someone else because you didn’t make plans. 

I am not clingy or needy or bitchy because I want you to be interested, too.  Get to know me, too. Is it too much to expect you to find out a little bit about why I told you I like the new Maroon 5 CD, or why I am pouring a glass of the new Napa Valley Riesling, or if you had ever seen a particular movie, or if after telling me you were gone hiking without cell coverage on Friday, though the weekend, that you say you made it safely out on maybe Monday or Tuesday?  I am not trying to take over your world.  I am trying to share mine by whatever means we have available to each other in the limited amount of time and space in our very very busy universes.

That said, the fact that you are not coming through says something.  Maybe it is me.

Am I just flaky, or are you expecting me to be because of what society has said to you about the nature of commitment? Should I be a FWB, GGG, DTF, BDSM, 420, BBW, DDF, and HUR? Is that what I need to be to get your attention?  How about instead of all that, I just be myself? 

So this goes back to my original line about hoping my decisions stick.  I have made some of the decisions about relationships, and weight, and exercise, and cleaning before.  Resolutions, promises, plans, blah blah blah.  What I think has been missing is a really true loving kindness to myself.  I am kind to others, why not to myself? Why do I need to be sexy, thin, seductive, demure, readily available yet distant and uninterested, a mom, a cheerleader, super forgiving, never angry, AND have a clean house, no baggage, and the self-esteem of a mosquito to meet another person’s requirement?  And more importantly, do I HAVE TO keep beating myself up about it because I am not perfect?  Of course you didn’t call back, because I know all my flaws and I could not possibly live up to being normal, much less fantasy, material, right?  I know it, because kindness and forgiveness to myself is not really possible in this body, in this house, in this history.  I don’t deserve you.

So the decision is to not feel that way with EVERY.SINGLE.PERSON I meet. It is about finding value in exactly who I am and in the amazing things I offer. While at the same time being kind and willing to see my flaws, embrace them and change the ones I can, without judgement. I seriously wonder what that is gonna look like in practice.  Maybe like a clean kitchen.

*She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.* ~~Proverbs 31:26

 

 

 

 

The day to day of a working girl

Tomorrow marks the end of the first three weeks at my new job.  I am bored.

Don’t get me wrong, I actually like the new job.  I just already know it.  Like pretty much everything about it.  I have done this kind of work for years, and but for a couple little tricks and local policies, this is the same job.

The cons: 

The new office location is in the basement of a really wonderful building.  Truly, the architecture is wonderful, the grounds are wonderful, the artwork is wonderful. I just don’t have a window to see any of it. And worse, the basement means zero cell reception.  So while I can connect to the network and have internet on my personal device, I cannot receive any phone calls or texts. None.  Which meant that I changed all the emergency numbers for my kids’ schools to my actual office number and I now receive all of my school notices for things like PTA meetings and basketball games to my work voicemail.  The upside is that I have visual voicemail so it gets sent to my email to listen to or read.  The downside is I have visual voicemail so it gets sent to my email to listen to or read. It is funny that the same technology cannot enter TWO numbers at the school in case my child is bleeding to death, but it CAN call me 17 a day to remind me that my child needs a good night’s sleep. Basement location is a con.

The new office is super friendly.  Which means you say hi to everyone.  Every six seconds or so. We have a bell the clients can ring if, for some strange reason, we did not see you standing there, saying hi every six seconds. And more than a few people we have already said hi to think that ringing the bell is just sweet, like a noise that we would not find annoying because, well, they said hi while ringing it.  Super friendly like, and often while giggling about ringing it to begin with.  Three weeks in, and you would not believe how many people ring the bell when we are actually talking to them.

The work never changes.  There are no problems to solve (but for the little bit of learning curve already mentioned). It is the same thing, different person.  Truly it is the same questions, the same logic, the same concerns.  We babysit everyone, and (see above) they are super friendly about it, but really, three weeks in, and unless there is some specialized type of something that comes up, this will be it. Every day. Forever.

There is not enough work.  I know that this should not even matter, because I make the same money, don’t have to fight for parking, have a computer, nice coworkers, music to listen to, a fan on my desk, and a cool stapler. And a friend pointed out to me that maybe I just forgot what a normal workload looks like, because it had been so long since I had had a normal workload, that this just might be what people who have regular jobs do. Like they go home at the end of the day with a semi clean desk and having accomplished some things, and then the work just continues without being fucking stupid busy all the fucking time (clearly I still have some resentment about my last job). But I feel like I could use a little more work to fill my day.  Even if it was just more of the same, just a bit MORE would be good.

I see military officers all day.  Like fit, hardworking military officers.  Sexy, hot, funny, intelligent military officers.  This should not be in the con section, right? Um, yeah, they are all really young, relatively arrogant, and taken.  Yep, married/ engaged/ GF/ BF/ committed.  So eye candy, but not a single actual prospect for dates and stuff. 

The pros:

It is not my old job.

I have plenty of time to update my resume and apply for other jobs and it does not even effect my work.  Like not at all. Work is done, still got time. No one even questions it, like I am adult who can manage my time and all, all by myself. *snicker*

See this blog?  Yeah, I got to write it at work. Best. Pro. Ever.

 

 

 

A little sugar on the side

I have come to the conclusion that there might be a chance that I am a terrible romantic partner. Like truly sucky.  Totally fucking clueless.

Let me back up a bit and tell you where this is coming from.

I love men.  Truly.  Men are amazing.  They offer things that women just can’t.  It is not sexist, or bashing in any way a woman’s abilities (women are more badass than most give us credit for) but men offer me a point of view about myself that I crave.  Is it lust, or fierceness, or certainty? I don’t know.

Don’t get me wrong, I know where my boundaries are with most men.  Married men are off limits, though, honestly, I have seriously sexy married male friends.  The fact that they are in loving, monogamous relationships is probably one of the things I like about them most, and I would be stupid not to notice it.  It is hopeful that maybe, just maybe, one of those kind of men will show up and be like that with me.  It is not really that hard to imagine, because, contrary to the way I behave with some men, I am never ever stupid with my married male friends.  I respect them and their wife/lover/partner too much.  It is not an issue.

I also know what men are not right for me (or me for them, for that matter) for a variety of other reasons.  Gay, living in another country, in prison, underage, the maturity of someone underage, really long nose hair, drives an H2 for all the compensating reasons, hates their own children and has never paid child support, or votes based on Fox News endorsements all come quickly to mind.  I know better (you would think so, at least) that I would be able to clearly differentiate the “yes” and “no” list by now.

But maybe not.

I have, with the help of a very good friend, been exploring a concept I call “cupcaking”.  It is the thought that, inside of relationships, you give in completely to the other person’s desires, and even, if not intentionally, CHANGE who you are to meet their needs.  In the clinical diagnostic sense, this looks a lot like codependency. But being a cupcake can be deeper than that.  It is deeper because it is not always to the knowledge or desires of the person who is the cupcake, and it is not always bad.

For me, it happens almost exclusively inside of relationships where there is a romantic component.  I give too fast.  I give what they ask for.  I do not hold them accountable for bad behavior. I let them dictate how and when we see each other.  I ask for almost nothing in return.  I play the victim, I act perfect, I profess love and devotion, I spin perfect scenarios of community and connection.  Fuck, I must be exhausting.  Who the fuck wants that?  I mean, I am a cupcake.  I am pretty for a while, sweet as sugar, devoured in a temporary bit of normal human desire, and then easily licked or washed off as if I didn’t exist to begin with.  There are always more cupcakes, so what makes me special? Nothing. Nothing at all.

That is why I suck at romantic relationships.  I pick men who know this and will use it.  I am drawn to the devourers.  To the hot heads who confuse anger with intensity.  The ones who say they want something, ask for it even, but given the actual chance to prove it, will brush it off.  Not their fault, I picked them.  I know there are amazing men out there, and that boundaries for interaction are good (see a few paragraphs above for the things I know my place about), I just have no success at doing this when it comes to romance.

And I want it.  I want the men who are single, sexy as fuck, driven, passionate, honest, caring, focused, determined, trustworthy, to see in me what I see in them, and help me by not being an asshole in the process while we get to know each other, and accept each other because of and despite the flaws we both know are there.  Until then, I will probably continue to be fucking clueless.

I plan to explore my cupcake tendencies further.  See how many ways there are to cupcake relationships that I have been guilty of.  Try to work my way out of them, and ask for people (read that as both friends and men) to go ahead and hit me upside the head with a 2 x 4 when they see me doing it.

Today, I am going to go get my toenails all done instead.  I hope there is a cupcake bakery near the salon.

Single-hood-ness-ish-like

I have had a lot of folks around me in the last several weeks talking about their current relationships. 

Some of the relationships are ending.  Some are leaving marriages (or have been left).  Some are dumping boyfriends or girlfriends.  Some are even mutually agreeing to go their separate ways.   These always have reasons.  Reasons for some of them seem obscure and out of left field, and I am sad to see these end because in the world-that-I-spin-in-my-head these are the relationships I had pinned my hopes to, the ones that offered the best glimpse of connections that are working.  I feel shocked when I hear the stories, always from the side of the person I am closest to at the time of the split, because who are we kidding, none of us are really gracious enough to stay truly neutral to friends who were “couple friends” once they aren’t a couple any more.  I can say, at least for myself, that I have very few couple friends even among the friends who are still in relationships.  I wonder if they ever really were “couples”, and that was how I always saw them, or if I really ever only wanted to be friends with one of the two, and the other person was just part of the package deal. A two-fer that I didn’t mind, but would not have picked. So hearing that person’s side sorta divides the camp anyway, but there is still a person missing at the end.  I wonder who I miss.

And there is always some terrible story.  Dishonesty in heart and body; addiction and selfish behavior; finances lost; lack of sex and affection; complete and total loss of love.  It breaks my heart.  I so want them to work, right up until I don’t, and then I have an opinion and can’t go back even if I wanted to.  I get it that I will support the friend that is left, and help them through whatever emotional disconnect they reign upon themselves, even if they are (in my opinion) stupid for trying to get back together.  I mean, didn’t I just hear their entire story of adultery and betrayal.  Didn’t I just hear about the gambling, and the drinking, and the never bathing, and how he or she wouldn’t change a diaper, but had no problems hoarding the remote?  Wasn’t I supposed to form an opinion?

But those who eventually recognize all the misery they are leaving, even if it was by mutual decision, are not the ones who worry me.  They will be fine.  They found love, found their limits, let love go, and moved on.  There is an adjustment time, depending on the severity and reasons for the split, but eventually, they do okay.  Time will heal them, and, given the right amount of friends who landed on their side of the line and a good vintage on a few bottles of wine, they won’t regret it.

The ones I worry about are the ones who jump out of one relationship they have labeled as “bad” back into another one.  It is my friends who have just been cheated on and so the relationship ended, who started dating someone who is still married.  It is my friends who left a relationship because there was never any money who hook up with someone who is unemployed.  It is my friends who have been fighting with their children’s other parent about lack of child support coming on time and missed visitation who get involved with someone who hasn’t seen their own child in months, and can’t remember the last time they wrote a check or called on a birthday. I want to shake them and yell “What the fuck are you doing?”  What makes that guy who is still married and cheating so great?  Why is the chick who ran up $70,000 in credit card debt and asks you for grocery and cigarette money so hot?  Since when is the dude with his drug dealer on speed dial and a history of having domestic calls to his apartment all that?  Misunderstood? Doing his best? Really a great guy? Emotionally mature but just fearful of commitment?  Who are these losers, and why are you even speaking to them? 

Maybe my friends are just living the life I would live too if my head was wrapped a different way.  I used to think I needed to have someone (anyone?) in my life who would have me just to keep from feeling alone, being alone.  Yes, it is crazy making to be raising two kids on my own, and a little adult help would be awesome.  Yes, an adult beverage in the form of happy hour after work with someone of equal desire for a laughs would be so welcome.  Yes, sex on a regular basis with someone who has a toothbrush in the cupholder on the sink would be great. But what of myself do I have to give up (again?) this time to have that?

I have been legit single from my marriage for about 6 years.  I have been single from a boyfriend of 9 months for about a year.  I have dated several people for a couple months at a time, and also not dated at all.  I have had both the excitement and tingliness of new people, and the boredom of it when they are not the right one and I stay anyway.  I have both turned into a mushy little cupcake of wanting to please the person by becoming what they want most (I am actually really good at being a codependent little flake), and being exactly the opposite of what they desire on purpose so they can just go away.

What this says about me, mostly, is that I am no longer accepting of behaviors that don’t move me, my likes, my life, and my love forward.  It says that I actually kinda like my life, flaws and all, as something I want to not compromise.  That really strong feeling that I am happy, all by myself, and that if I am blessed enough to meet someone who can move me to believe I want to change that, I will be open and willing.  Whoo hoo, a whole person I do not have to fix, who’s best quality is going to be his love, and life, and authenticity as it melds in my world, as much as I meld in his.

Back to the relationships of others for a second.  Trust me when I say there is no judgement in my desire for my friend’s happiness, I mean it.  I want them to feel whole all by themselves, and feel valued and loved in healthy, happy ways.  I also want them all to find the line that makes another mistake minimized.  Not to cut off love before it starts, but to cut off heartache.  Is that really too much to ask?  Too much to model?  Too much to work every day for?  I don’t think so.  But then again, I am single, in a really amazing relationship with myself.  I will (continue) to let you know how that is working out. Maybe over coffee (or wine) and we can share some of it together.  Build a good relationship that lasts.  I’m in.