Personas and Vulnerability

John asked why it feels so much scarier to navigate the world without my persona. I needed first to clarify that many people feel the way I feel. But that doesn't answer the question, although I think it does validate that I’m not just a freak. There are various elements in our culture that help create that phenomenon, but I also need to decide which I want to continue and which I want to unravel.

So there are several issues I think are rolled up in this issue. The first is that my persona isn’t fake. I sometimes talk as if my persona is a lie, but she is actually a mix of the aspects of my personality I like the best along with the parts that are sturdiest and the parts that are the most socially acceptable. (In much of the art I love the persona is treated as a lie, so perhaps that has encouraged me to express it that way.) But it isn't just a mask that is fake--she is truly part of who I am and a part I relish. I totally get high off the performing elements of my work and volunteering. I love my engagement in the world. And I love that I can navigate that world competently and confidently.

So, what exactly is in my inner, hidden gal as opposed to my persona? Well, she seems younger and naïve to me. She doesn’t have the sophistication. She has little sense of perspective. She can’t take a joke. While she never wanted to be teased, she was an irresistible target when she got a lot of public time (which she only did when I was much younger--pre-high school). Her earnestness drew taunts and jeers. She is more vulnerable in part because she has had less experience in the world, but also because the more vulnerable parts of myself ended up there as a protection mechanism and because that side of me encountered less of the nitty gritty parts of life, and thus became even softer and more protected.

I don’t think it would be good to parade her to the world, even as I think I must become better about integrating her with a few select people. But I think of what happened at a volunteer gig a couple of months ago when two younger kids tried to lead a revolt against me. Had my private gal been on display, I would have been hurt, and the kids would have smelled blood and this entire group of several months would have been mostly lost (as well as a reputation that would take a couple of years to live down.) But public gal handled it beautifully. “I don’t care if you like me. I care if you make the changes you want to make in your life. You’ll never see me after Christmas.” I can’t imagine private gal ever being able to say such a thing. If she is seen, she wants to be liked.

It’s funny that John sees me as having very poor boundaries, because re-reading our early e-mails, one of the early things that stands out is how guarded I was with him. How fiercely I fought for ground rules, at a cost that seemed tremendous to me at the time. But I suppose that is a result of boundaries based on people, rather than behaviors. (I mean, of course, there are behavior-based boundaries as well--for example Republican face-slapper [although John can clearly take me to that place in a way that makes me bouncier the next day, even it I still don't like the action itself], but aside from the more extremes--just little comments, it really depends on who as much as what.) Perhaps is I had a better defense mechanism based on behaviors I wouldn’t have to screen people so carefully.

Inner gal needs protection from the scrapes and bumps of life. Public persona can laugh stuff off. She knows how to take a joke. Private gal, not so much. And when I protect private gal more carefully, I'm able to be softer with the people I trust the most. When private gal gets too much air-time, I end up trying to prove myself more, I want people to like me more. I can't relax, let go, let fly.

That said, Private Gal wants to come out more. She’s aching for people to be at home with. I have one best friend and John that are the only people she’s really at home with. She’s never been at home with my other best friend. She got to know the ex in an erotic context, but the ex never cared about her enough to want to know her outside of that context. Steven sensed her immediately and bounded with her and adored her and worked to protect her. I’d never really had that experience before. My dad would have loved to know her, but he’s part of the reason that public gal protects her so fiercely. Dad never really had boundaries for her, never let her exist on her own terms. As soon as he saw a sign she was like “I’ve been waiting for you, come, come, come.” Not necessarily in a bad way in a hypothetical world, but in a very, very intrusive way that made private gal feel that she couldn’t be known without spilling her secrets or fiercely defending them. Growing up, she couldn't just be in the moment. If she existed she had to bare all.

It is weird that as a grown-up, private gal is still so vulnerable. I think without the sense of perspective, she takes any criticism, no matter how minute, as an absolute proof she’s unlovable. So it’s damn good that is only a few things I over-react that way on. And being sheltered from the world, she is more able to feel joy, more able to grieve, more in touch with her emotions. Really, private gal is mostly my emotional side that isn’t anger and public gal is my intellectual side, my values, and the emotion of anger. Anger is safe to represent, because it is always focused outward. The rest of the emotions are inward focused.

Alcohol seems to break down my barriers with John, even though that is not the case with most others. But with John, the perceived cost of disclosure seems to recede with booze. It’s like, when I’m tipsy, I assume he already knows all this stuff. Or if he doesn’t, he has some inkling that might not be right. So why not say it so it isn’t like this big, unspoken wall between us. With John, I yearn for more disclosure and alcohol makes me say things the things I'd only type to my blog.

After last weekend, I SO wanted reassurance that I didn’t say or do anything wrong. I remember saying several things I’d never say sober, bordering on crassness and also I don’t remember everything with the clarity I usually have. But, I didn’t want to drive John crazy; more than that, however, I also felt in my bones that it was OK. Private gal knew that John appreciated her and public gal was mother-henning, saying “but, did he really like her? I don’t want to let her get hurt? Did he really?” And private gal said “he saw me and he accepts me.” There are times private gal is stronger than public gal realizes. Steven thought public gal was manipulative and controlling of private gal. Maybe. But maybe she's just a big sister and a little over-protective.

Steven commented (several times) that I had this weird split between being super-protective with my private side in real life, and then rather profligate with her with strangers (ala the blog). I can’t explain why the blog is an OK realm for her to play in, but it feels safe to me. John and Steven are the only two people who know who I am there, and I trust them both. And it is a safe place to claim and explore and own that side of myself. In fact, when I felt weird with the blog with not knowing if John was reading it or not, I really felt the lack of the outlet. Having a diary on my computer just isn’t the same. Private gal likes her moment in the sun.

In the future, I’d like to find a couple more places where private gal can come out. She needs non-erotic outlets (as well as a really fabulous erotic one). But I don’t want to be indiscriminate with her. I like her, and too much exposure would make her more sophisticated and less earnest. If anything, my public side needs a little more of the private gal's willingness to see the best in the world, happiness, joy.

Revisiting the Past

For some reason, I thought re-reading some of John's and my early correspondence was a good thing to do between Bridge, turkey and presents on Christmas day. I read the first two and a half weeks worth. That may not sound like much, but it is probably around (or over) 300 messages and is almost 100 pages, single spaced (in Word with 10 point font). Now, a page of that is some photos, and 2 pages are error messages, that happened at the most crazy-making time. I'd forgotten about those delivery delays. But mostly it is the two of us struggling to make sense, connection, and demand our own integrities as each of us experienced a searing (I believe) challenge. There are moments where I seem to be fighting for my sense of self, and wish like hell I didn't feel compelled to.

I think I was more into John than he was into me. He saw me as an interesting possibility, but one of many. If I couldn't meet his needs, he would look elsewhere--as he had to. This was a new world for him, and he needed to explore. I, on the other hand, had had my fill of that world and needed a reason to stay and trust in that world again. I knew there were no other possibilities (at least at that moment in that world). And I can't believe someone like John exists--so I compromised in ways that wouldn't necessarily have set us up well.

Reading it had a fraction of the charge that living it did. But it still made me weak in the knees and wet (several times) and sad and hopefully and excited.

The degree that we instantly recognized the other amazes me. By that, I think we saw in the other a true counterpart, with mutually simpatico intelligence, integrity and passions. We are amazingly trusting from the get go. I'm much less trusting of strangers on-line now that I used to be. I keep men at arms distance until they prove that I can trust them. Even my first name, or my phone number--I never give those out any more.

At first, I did not make it clear my fear of pain, and then I did, perhaps too much so. Or I let that define too much. I let the public persona define what is also true for the private gal. But I also don't think I made horrible mistakes. I clung to what I knew to be true--perhaps too much so. But, even knowing what I know now, I don't know how I could have been different and also been honest.

My fear and trepidation drove him crazy! Just crazy. And it has often driven me crazy. If I could wish away my fear, I would have long ago. I'm sure this blog would not exist without my angst.

I wish I had some profound conclusion. I don't. It seems like John and I have a depth that is amazing, and sooner or later, I'll do things that will drive him crazy. And, in my over-reacting to his frustration, I'll feel insecure, which may very well drive him more crazy. But I also see a willingness to sink in depth, explore and a joy in the other. I hope we can work through those better the next time.

A Reluctant Masochist

Pain makes me wet. It is a fact. And it is a fact I avoid. I'm not sure why this is a harder issue for me to accept than the submission thing, but I think perhaps it is because when someone says "do something" and I don't want to, I say "no." It is hard to abuse the submission thing. But when someone hits me and it feels wrong, but I'm already in a submissive space, I endure, and the cost of that endurance is very high. I feel worthless and abused.

I'm very clearly only a masochist is tightly defined ways. I'll never eroticize a blister or a sprain. It is easiest to embrace pain and surrender in liminal moments. Once I define a sensation as "pain" I say "ow." If it is the borders on the edges of pain, but not quite yet there, I soften.

I think my ex's mixture of pain with sternness really undercut my acceptance of pain. When we were living together, it was all about disapproval. About him demanding of me my surrender as his right. I never felt like it was 'fair' I was a submissive because I got so little out of it, and he took so much. Always pushing farther and harder and rarely giving the elements I craved.

With my ex, I could only handle more when either we were playing a scene (which we rarely, rarely did--he didn't like the 'drama' portions), or on very rare occasions when I had free reign and could be bratty. The fact of being bratty meant that I knew he didn't disapprove of me--he disapproved of a character I was playing, making it much easier to handle.

I've actually been known to crave it on several occasions, even once with my ex. When I first moved back to Seattle, before I had fully accepted that, at least on some level, I swim in darker waters, I ended up with a man from a local activists group, who claimed I 'smelled kinky.' (And the man with the good sniffer got me into the kinky waters for a few years.) Anyway, after dropping about 10,000 hints that all his friends were kinky, but of course, he wasn't into that, I finally said "are you really as vanilla as you're claiming to be?" and, of course, he wasn't.

The first time he spanked me, I said I didn't want any permanent marks. But his fingerprints remained on my psyche. Wondrous. Gentle, tender yet firm and demanding. And then he'd intermingle it with ice and clothespins, and to this day, those vie with raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.

The only time I ever got there with with my ex happened this fall when we were lovers, but denying it. He, for the first time, stopped because he didn't want to push me too far and I wanted to scream "More!" He had his hand on my back and tenderly rubbed my back while he spanked me hard. But he had a tenderness then that was unusual for him. I think it shocked both of us--a glimpse of how we might have been in an alternative coupling. Loving and lovely. And we tried to recreate that moment, but we never did. It felt like I was melting and yearning and relaxing into his arms. I didn't even realize it would register as 'pain' if I were in a different mindset.

It is almost like the process of surrender moves the world from the crisp, sharp edges of HDTV to the soft melding of a Renoir painting. I can feel the muscles in my face soften. I imagine if you looked at me, my features would be muddy. Then, when it works well, pain comes in and inscribes the bright lines of a Jackson Pollack onto a Monet landscape. But when it doesn't work well, instead of opening new landscapes it just shuts me down and I'm back to play sudoku in my head, trying to endure and feeling worthless and unlovable.

My ex, who dated self-identified "slaves," said I was the most submissive woman he'd ever dated, and I was far, far more masochistic than I ever admitted to myself. I don't know how stable that observation is. But I wish I could clearly mark the switch, or at least know what triggers it more precisely.

John seems to know his way around my triggers very well. A couple of times, I've been able to melt my defenses a smidgen, meeting his gaze and graze. It feels like, if things worked out, I might be able to learn to relish it, instead of feeling like 'this isn't fair."

Liminal moments

John and I had a wonderful time this weekend. Lots of alcohol so much (I couldn't believe how much I drank!) that it lowered enough inhibitions that we talked openly and honestly! What a weird concept. We talked openly and honestly over a year ago, and then, when things fell apart, we've e-mailed openly and honestly, but never talked openly and honestly.

One time--I don't remember exactly when--he read a whole bunch of past postings from my blog. I woke up to a number of e-mail responding to blog entries of previous months, and felt hopeless because I could do nothing.

And then, the blog remained unspoken. But I also think we'd never be exploring in this direction if the blog hadn't been there. It seems to me that time and again, my insecurities have demarcated boundaries with him. And occasionally things I have said have been interpreted through his insecurities. (It amazes me that he has any--he seems to me to have his life together so well. But I suppose we mirror each other, in that we seem, on the exterior, to be operating really well, but underneath feel less together.)

So for the first time in over a year, we blurred the boundaries between the intimacies of our e-mails, the friendliness of our face-to-face conversations and even a little bit of my insecurities of the blog.

He started it! ;) I seem to have this belief that men want what they can't have, and since John knows I'm interested in him, that makes me less interesting. I think he went off with that chick from Texas last spring because she was new and shiny. But once he broached the topic, we sort of let everything come out.

My fear is that he isn't attracted to me. That he wishes he were because I have my life relatively together, and it would be easier (no, not easier--he knows me well enough to know that nothing is easy with me--vital, engaged, exciting, but not easy), but I'm not some damsel in distress. And intellectually he might like to be with someone that isn't looking for someone to 'save' her. But he said that isn't the case: "Patience isn't rejection."

I said something along the lines of "you could have gotten me in bed a year ago. And I tend to think men go after what they want."

He replied: "I've had fast-food, and either of us could go out for a quarter-pounder. But this is too chefs planning a gourmet meal."

And he also made it really clear that if we ended up together (and neither of us knows if we would--we still haven't kissed--what if I hate the way he kisses?), he would not push me in the S&M area. Nothing is required of me. I actually said (and I don't remember all the details of the evening--it has the hazy fog of a 1920s filtered film) but I'm not usually this blunt: "If it makes me wet and you hard--we'd have to find ways to include it."

I believe (and I think he knows I meant well, whether or not he agrees) that he had to have a chance to play and explore the kinky world when he finally found it. I was the first person he talked to. And I, at the time, felt like an abused puppy. I needed tenderness and gentleness before I could get in touch with the masochistic side of me, which is absolutely there, even if I almost never admit it. I couldn't enthusiastically play with him. And now, when I'm in a much better place than I was, I still wouldn't be able to go to the depths that he would probably enjoy exploring. But then I absolutely couldn't.

So I told him something along those lines. And I said "After the Republican slapped me." I didn't tell him this, but when my ex and I got back together, I said flat out--"I never want to be slapped on the face again as long as I live." And the ex said "OK." And a couple of times he psyched me out, but didn't slap me, was tender, but the psych out was enough and I numbed out and he stopped even playing in that direction. Only ever tender with my face. And it started to heal that part of me.

And Saturday, John tapped me ever so lightly on my cheek, and then left his hand there, and I nuzzled it greedily, like a kitten. I think that is the first moment I've actually surrendered for him on a kinetic rather than an intellectual level. And then he looked me straight in the eyes and did it again, and I didn't flinch. "It's the person, not the action" he said. I don't love that and I doubt seriously I'd ever ask for it. But somehow I was a little stronger for it.

Looks and Personality

So OKCupid (the only on-line dating site I currently do) has this thing called "Quickmatch" where you give each person 1-5 stars based on pics and a truncated profile.

I generally, if I like someone enough that I think I might have coffee, give at least 4, even if I don't think their looks really are a '4' because it doesn't matter if they're a 2 or a 3 if I think we'd click. (To me, a "1" is "someone I couldn't really think I could date for whatever reason".) If both people give the other one at least a 4 in any category, the site e-mails both to tell them.

The vast majority of the time, you get 2 e-mails--one for looks and one for personality both being 4 or 5 stars. And, honestly, nothing more ever happens than that. I never e-mail 'cause I figure if he were interested, he'd e-mail me. And that's that.

So the really weird thing is, I've been getting a few of these where the guy likes my looks and not my personality! And even weirder--younger, cuter guys like my looks and older guys who aren't as cute like personality. Tonight, a 30 year old, very handsome Indian man liked my looks. And honestly, if he'd liked my personality too, I might have dropped him a note. He has a lively, light-filled, vibrant face and an engaged, grounded profile. Meanwhile a not-nearly-as-handsome 41 year old liked my personality. They were both the same height. The 41 year old has a lot less hair than the 30 year old and a look from the 70s. All of which might have been OK, except I'm not cute enough for him!

And I'm like--what the heck is going on? On two levels. The first is, I'd say I'm totally in the 41 year old's league, but there are a lot of older men out there who are far more picky about looks than the men in their 30s. Weird. And I wouldn't think I'd be in the 30 year old's league (not just based on age--I tend to prefer men my own age or a little older--the 30 year old is much more handsome).

Now, I expect men to reject me for my looks. That doesn't surprise me. But to like my looks and not like what I've written, that actually really surprises me. It doesn't surprise me that someone would not like my personality once we've met. I can be pretty intense. Say, just as a hypothetical example, if someone was a Republican and voted for McCain and started explaining that Sarah Palin was qualified, in some way, and I starting laughing and got some mimosa in my nose, and it burnt a little and tickled a little and, with the alcohol, I just couldn't stop laughing and then tried to stop, but then was like stifling a laugh at the whole Palin=qualified thing. And he actually thought she was qualified. Yeah, I could see why someone might not like it.

But my personality in my profile is, like, really damn good! Like a few people e-mailing me to say it's the best profile they've ever read good. I mean, I know how to occasionally use the keyboard.

So the whole thing just startles me.

Meanwhile, on the "John" front, we resolved our heated argument. I wish I could say we 'kissed and made up" but the kiss part didn't happen. I'm really proud of myself for telling him what I needed. A couple of other times similar things happened and I didn't because I didn't want to be demanding. But, if any friend I hadn't been romantically interested had done something similar, I'd be like "Hey--I need this." But he stuck through it with me. And I care about him more than ever. I just keep feeling like, well, why would he be willing to process an argument if he doesn't care. At least on some level? Why would he waste his time with me, if he doesn't care?

And I have this absolute fear that I'll finally meet someone I sort of like, and start going out with this other person, and then, just as I start to get emotionally sticky with this new guy, John will read my old blog postings at two the morning and it will turn out there was some misunderstanding and he and I will have missed each other again. And I will have to live with wondering what might have been for the rest of my life.

Round and round and round in the circle game

So "John" and I had a fight. Sort of. For me it qualified. I even cried. Stupid as it was. For him, I have a feeling it wasn't a big deal--a few cranky e-mails. But it does make me realize, at least for a moment, that he is right and we can't really be together.

For background, we were having a REALLY fun, smart argument, like in the legal sense of the word, about the economy. Each of us argued our side, which disagreed with the other. And then I cut and paste a couple of articles and it insulted him.

I tend to do that sort of thing--assume I have no credibility and I need other people to back up my arguments. It was part and parcel of my post-graduate education and I do it without thinking about it. He thought I meant that I didn't think he was as well informed. And he got mad at me. I over-react, SO much, to that sort of thing. (Although I think maybe we each pushed each other's buttons and each over-reacted.)

And I can see myself and John repeating the exact same dynamic my mother and father have.

Or maybe that is a lens I use to try and understand what is going on.

Either way--my dad thinks my mom is perfect and life is perfect and everything is perfect, until suddenly, life sucks and nothing my mom does is at all acceptable and she is a horrible, controlling, evil woman, the female equivalent of Dick Cheney water-boarding all the men in her life and then all of a sudden she's perfect. (Now, I should say, my parents are aware of this cycle and are working actively to change it. But it informed their relationship when I was growing up, and my dad, to a lesser extent, had that 'perfect/dreadful' dichotomy towards me as well.)

But for me it means that I really over-react to criticism. Criticism of just about any kind means "I always thought there was something wrong with you and now I know that you are inherently unlovable." My mom says when I was born she told me "You don't have to be perfect to be loved." Unfortunately, she felt the need to say it because everything else in my life told me "be perfect, or you'll never be loved."

I used to be surprised when a man would stay with a woman who, like, got cancer and lost her hair. It didn't really occur to me that a man would do something like that. Why wouldn't they just go get someone healthy, with hair? Woman are, deep-down, interchangeable, aren't they? Intellectually, I don't believe it. But emotionally, it is something that has affected me.

And then, you add all my fucked-up-ness. John got mad at me for throwing too many articles at him. And I've always known I was too engaged in issues. Way too opinionated! Cared too much. Talk too fast. Talk too loud. All those things that make me unfeminine. Why do I have to care about ideas? Why can't I just giggle and say "I hadn't thought of it that way? Thank you for taking the time to explain it to me." And smile. Then I'd be lovable. Not for who I really am, but the fake me might be loved.

It's odd. My ex used to have knock-down, drag-out fights with his ex-wife. But he and I NEVER fought like that because the second he'd get mad at me, I'd cower and apologize, and it would totally neutralize the situation. Then we could talk about it rationally and solve the problem. Like something out of a textbook. We were kind of amazing that way. All these "I feel _____" statements. But we weren't in love with each other. Textbook communication is a lot easier when there isn't as much at stake.

Stasis continues

Finally met Zachary. What a waste of energy. But I'm trying to figure out if I weren't still stuck on John if I'd be interested in Zachary. I don't think so, but it is possible.

He didn't remember stuff I'd told him 3 times. Important stuff. Like when I took a pill for pain, he asked what it was for and I was like "My ankle" and he was like "You hurt your ankle?" But I know I've told him that at least 2 and probably 4 times. And frankly, I didn't notice anything he had remembered from our conversations. Nothing built off the other conversations.

He believes in the 9-11 conspiracy theories with no evidence more than 'what I read on the internet.' I can't stand this sort of generalized paranoia that thinks Bush planned 9-11 (because he was just so competent he could pull something like that off?) and Cheney murders babies and drinks their blood. Anyone that makes me defend Bush makes me hate the person that forced me to do it. What is SO hard about having facts and evidence to back up your paranoia? He heard on the radio that there was a bomb the morning of 9-11 at the WTC so it must be true? Because no one reported wrong news that day?

It didn't help that his pictures were 10 years old. And I get paranoid if I don't have something less than 6 months up.

Instead of taking time with make-up this morning (I actually forgot to wear earrings!), I wrote John a long e-mail, saying something along the lines of 'look--I don't want you to read my blog in 4 months and find out we both wanted the same thing and we just messed it up again.' The secrets of a girl's 'drafts' folder. I broke up with my ex almost a month before he broke up with me, and never sent it. There are several e-mails to John there that, for better or worse, were never sent.

Funny things is, though, we went to a restaurant with lots of mirrors, and I looked really cute! I mean, really, really cute! My self image of myself is one of Renoir women. Plump, but beautiful and vulnerable. And I didn't really recognize myself. I wouldn't have called myself plump--just pretty cute!

A guy I'm nominally flirting with (if he lived less than 1,000 miles away, I wouldn't bother because he isn't my type--I eat meat and he doesn't think people should) said yesterday that I was 'totally doable' and it was a nice compliment. Not if he lived within dating distance, but outside of dating distance, it is.

So it is back to the status quo of adoring John and finding no one that can compare to him. Something will have to break the stasis. It always does. Life is not a Chekhov play.

Compromises and Disclosure

So I'm really enjoying getting to know Zachary. He reminds me of John in that we connect over the stuff that matters.

But. He has said bluntly he had no intention of every having kids. And I just don't know if I want kids, but I also know I don't want to say never. I guess that means I'm sort of leaning towards wanting them.

Should I just say "eh--I don't want to waste your time?" Later, when talking about apartments, I said "well, my current place is big enough unless I end up having kids" so I guess that let's him know that it is an open issue for me.

Oh, and we've never discussed kink of any kind. My add says "GGG" and he looked it up and said "absolutely." But he's clearly less kinky than me. And there are times I've had to dance around it. Like when we talked about my relationship with feminism and how I'm a 'bad' feminist. I never really explained the most obvious way I'm a bad feminist. I didn't lie, per se. But it did feel like I dissembled.


I just don't want to go there right now. I don't want to define and limit. Especially when I don't even know who I am.

Finally, and this troubles me, he isn't remember some of the details I've told him. We're having amazing conversations, but then he'll forget really simple stuff (like what neighborhood I live in). I have to think, if he were really 'that into me,' he'd remember where I live. Especially since I had reluctance in pinning down a neighborhood.

Getting Older

I listened to a talk by the chancellor of the state university that I attended and he seemed so... reasonable. Intelligent. Well-meaning. Balancing many different issues and doing the best he could.

Then, one of my friends started criticizing Obama and I said something like "he's balancing a lot of things--I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt. I trust him."

WTF? When did I get to be so old? Is youth more than rebelling against authority, whatever that authority may be? Intellectually, I'd say yes, but emotionally, it feels like I'm turning a new chapter and have to find new definitions of myself.

Meanwhile--back in my melodrama land. The last commenter was right. John just isn't that into me. And it is unfair of me to be pulling at him emotionally. I have to let the idea go of being with him. And I'm trying!!! It is hard. Really hard. I so wish I could go back in time and not have been scared when we first meant. Of course, that would mean not have been being me. But I don't understand why that fear I had has to define everything. Why he can't forgive me for that. Or maybe that isn't the issue; I have tried to give him his privacy and not be an insane stalker chick. But he was into me then and he isn't into me now. And I guess that's just that.

(And, I suppose the fact that I'm blogging more means that I'm taking a baby step towards moving on.)

My ex called and left me a meandering voice mail today. He finally acknowledged that we broke up twice, which sort of confirmed my view of things. He also said something like "you always said you were damaged when we were together this last time. You aren't. I realized I like fucked-up chicks and you just aren't fucked up enough for me."

Two things:
I said damaged, but I think perhaps "wounded" more aptly described how I felt. I feel like, on some level, I've been deeply hurt on a number of levels, and I had been hurt by my ex. I do feel like I need some healing before I can go back to the primal, submissive, slightly masochistic, playful, intense and erotically voracious gal. I sort of have a sense of how I would get there, but it seems like it starts vanilla and then turns into kink, but I don't know if I'd ever find anyone willing to just support me with lots of cuddling and gentle warmth, and then turn around, grab my hair and take me however he wanted, and taking me by my favorite places along the way.

Second:
Isn't it funny--my was trying to be kind. And yet, all I hear is yet another something I've done wrong. "You aren't _____________ enough" has been a mantra of criticism I've heard, so even when "fucked up" goes in the blank, it is still criticism. Yet another reason that I'm essentially unlovable. Intellectually, I know he never intended that. And frankly, I wouldn't want to be so wounded that I would have stayed with my ex. But I still feel like "Oh--that's what's wrong with me!"

Wow! Whoah! Wow!

In college I met the only man I regret not slipping with ;we'll call him "Zachary!" And we'll put the exclamation point at the end of his name, because he always did.

So Zachary! was married to a lesbian, in an open relationship (I think for financial reasons), and he pursued me for 3 years. And for a couple of months I flirted with him because, well, he was very seductive. One day he put a pencil up to my face as if to put on eyeliner under my eye, and I looked away from the pencil as he ran it along under my eye and managed to not blink. And then he ran his hand along my cheek and every cell in my body melted. One of the most intensely erotic, 'surrender' moments in my life.

And I kissed him once, and it was an amazing kiss. And then I freaked out. For two reasons, one is that I've never wanted an open relationship and two is that I thought I would get clingy and couldn't handle an open relationship. He is the only man I clearly had the opportunity to sleep with that I ever think about, that part of me regrets. Intellectually I think I probably made the right choice (for the second reason), but he appeared in my dreams repeatedly for a decade.

And this week, I've met another Zachary. Same name, same hair. Different man (who does believe that Monogamy is more than a Parker's Brothers' Board Game). We're having dinner on Monday. And this man has the depth of John. We've talked about things that matter. Hopes, vulnerabilities, successes and insecurities. (We're both shameless show-offs on our personal ads--we both have a photo with one of the top 100 celebrities in the world--although he actually worked with his celebrity and I just got a 5 minute conversation with mine. Oh, and I should say, I respect and admire my celebrity--I believe s/he's really important--it isn't just cynical star-fucking, but I just say 'celebrity' because otherwise it is too easy to figure out who she is.)

Zachary seems more vanilla than I am, but then I think maybe I'm more vanilla than I thought I was. And he totally agreed with the GGG label on my ad, so who knows?

And I'm like "What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fucking, fucking fuck" to quote Jerry Spring, the opera (not my celebrity). Damn damn damn damn. Now, chances are, it won't work. Chances are we'll meet and something will be off (he's a decade older than I am, but that seems OK). But it is SO confusing. It's the first time I've been excited to go on a date with someone since, well, John.

I adore John. I miss him. We haven't talked or e-mailed since Saturday, aside from a couple of little things, and I feel like life is a little less bubbly. If he and I have a chance to be together, ... I don't want to go off with some guy based on a few good e-mail and phone conversations. But I don't know what John wants. But I think he doesn't either, but it isn't me. If he wanted me, he'd know it.

Part of me thinks John wishes he could be attracted to me, but he's just not. That is the best rational explanation for his behaviour that I can deduce. Part of me feels like I'm cheating on him because emotionally I haven't been seeing other people, even when I've gone through the motions of like going on dates. I wish I could just sit him down and say "what's up?" but I think if I did that, it would destroy any chance we might have because emotionally, I feel like we might have a chance, even though my intellect screams "He's just not that into you."

Part of me, a cynical parts, says--play the field. Men are always more interested in someone that is harder to get. But there is a human toll, not just to me, but also to someone who seems like a good man. I wouldn't want to do that. I feel like I owe it to him to figure out exactly what is going on with John before I agree to see him, although I know that is silly. Dinner is not a commitment.

And, of course, if I did get involved with someone else, it might give John what I think he might want, which is me as a truly platonic friend with no pressures for a romantic relationship. If I were in a relationship with someone else, and I felt like John and I could be friends without flirting or hurting that relationship, I'd relish it. I just don't know if I can be attracted to other men if I'm seeing John at all.

It seems good to actually be mildly interested in someone. It is the first man since the Republican (aside from John), that I've been interested in. But what a mess!

Pain and Power, Hospitals v. wiitwd

So I sprained my ankle last night. Badly. I've sprained it before, but in the past I always knew it was sprained. Last night, the pain just kept getting worse, to the point that I thought I'd broken something. I finally went to the E.R.

There is an excellent hospital not far from my house, but in a shitty part of town. The next time, unless it is something life-threatening, I'm going to the shitty hospital in the rich part of town. Of the 50 or so people I waited with, I was one of the only ones with health insurance, and one of the only actual emergencies. And I waited. And waited and waited.

Four and half hours after I got there, and six hours after it happened, I'm in some of the most intense pain in my life. So intense, I'm blubbering in the hallway, nearly hysterical for the last two hours or so. Part of me wonders if I was faking--no, not faking--giving myself permission to let go--because it might get me through the system quicker. I've never seen myself lose control like that. Other patients starting complaining about my crying and moving away from me so they didn't have to listen to it. But I'm sitting in a hallway--I've told people several times that I'm in a lot of pain, and they won't even give me an ibuprofen. Meanwhile, there are people all around me who are not in pain, but have been there longer, who don't have health insurance and, thanks to our dear leader, had no other options. I kept having to remind myself that it is Bush's fault because I didn't want to be annoyed with people in a bad situation, but I had to fight that frustration. Especially when people just told me to be quiet.

I kept looking at my reaction to pain (partly as a mind-trick to try and distract from the pain). For about 14 minutes I tried to pretend it could be eroticized. No way in hell. Why the difference? Partly, I'm sure, is the intensity. But also, the dynamic is totally different. With wiitwd, I want someone to appreciate it. I want to be the center of attention, to know what I'm going through, to feel with me. To gauge what makes sense and push me, but just a little. Not to ignore me in a hallway as I cry hysterically.

Then I kept trying to distract myself. I actually saw myself using some of the techniques I used with my ex to try and endure. Solitaire (with my ex it was Sudoku in my head), singing to myself, repeatedly tapping my foot. Focusing on how much longer.

Unfortunately, the TVs are on the most gruesome forensics show I've ever seen. A flight attendant was microwaved to death in the plane and they are showing close-ups of the body. another woman burnt to death after being doused in gasoline. More close-ups. Who, exactly, thought "people in an emergency room--they'll want to see this?" I can't bear to look at it, but I have to listen to it because I can't listen to music or I'll miss it when they call me name. If.

I finally lost it when a nurse said there were 2 people in front of me. Then they let 5 people in. Then the nurse said there were still 7 people in front of me and I lost it. Panic attack! That always ended it with my ex when he was too rough. After a panic attack, there was cuddling, there was giggling and intimacy. But here, just more panic and more and more and more.

It turned from crying to coughing and crying. I kept trying to calm myself down because I began to hyperventilate. Quick breath in. Count to four (by hitting my palm against my thigh), a gulpy exhalation and another gulp of air. Now hold it till six. My ankle is tingling from having it up for so long, but so is my face. Much too much air. I know this intellectually. Count to eight. I can't anymore, I just want more air. And so on.

Finally, one of those people who really needed better options for a primary care physician went and told the nurse they had to see me, and I got to wait in a different area for another hour and a half before they gave me vicodin. Here I'm in a central hallway. There are 3 cops who get preferential treatement because one slipped on the job. They are clearly enjoying each other, talking on the phone to their girlfriends and goofing around. They watch me for a while, in a way that is invasive of my privacy. I put my hood over my face to have just a smidgen. I can't tell if they're watching me for entertainment purposes or to assess whether I'm a genuine threat. Finally, they move away from me because they don't want to watch. I think the guy who slipped feels guilty for getting to go before me. Better to move away.

Then, magically, a woman in a white coat comes and asks my name. She knows I'm not next, but she knows I'm in pain. And she says "we'll take care of you." And, amazingly, the pain recedes. What part of it is pain from my ankle, and what part of it is the helplessness, I don't know. Maybe all those times with my ex encourages me to be more melodramatic. Maybe it would be easier to bear other pain if I hadn't been able to end they days my ex was too rough by expressing that it was too much. (My ex and I always had a safeword. I just rarely used it.) Now I'm a little better. I can handle this, and half an hour later, I get a pill for the pain.

There is also a power dynamic. In wiitwd, I supposedly release power. But not really. I can stop a scene. What I wouldn't have given for a safeword last night!

There is nothing erotic about just being helpless, with no one to care, no one to support. Alone in the world. So alone. It happened at 6 pm. Finally at midnight (only half an hour and a half before they finally gave me pain pills!) I text messaged my ex, just to ask if he was up, and if he had been up, and if he had volunteered to come down, I probably would have gone home with him and all would have been forgiven. Or at least not talked about. And we would have slept together for a couple of weeks before something else broke any attempt at being lovers or friends.

Even though I would have been in no mood for sex and he would have had sex with me anyway (he loved seeing me so vulnerable I lost all composure), and I would have resented it incredibly. And it would have made me feel shitty about myself. Like I didn't deserve someone to just support me for an evening without having to pay for that support with really crummy sex that I just wasn't up for emotionally. I'm glad he was already asleep. Sometimes, I can't understand why this force for surrender is so powerful that I go through with it.

Replaying old patterns or making new ones?

So, I lied to John last night. For probably the first time, I think. He said I seemed "highstrung" and asked if anything was wrong, and I said basically no. I wasn't even aware of lying--more of making the saying the 'least bad' thing. When in fact, the truth is, but I didn't even realize it till I slept through the night, is I have no idea if he's flirting with me (I think he is--I really, truly think he is), or just wants to be platonic friends (there are other times I think he does). But I want to kiss him so badly, I ache when I'm with him. But every time I've tried to take too much of an initiative with him, I've fucked it up, so I'm trying really hard not to push anything. To just see where it goes. And I'm terrified.

He continues to delight me and drive me crazy. Intellectually, I'm terrified of falling into the Edwin trap. I have so much fun with him, so much. But I just don't know that I can be platonic friends with him and not put the rest of my life romantic on hold. I'm not seeing other people much because I keep comparing other men to him and no one can compare. And now I'm like "if they haven't truly captured my interest and moved beyond banalities in 5 e-mails or one date, it just wouldn't work." I should mention that John is the only man who ever had an ad as introspective, insightful and clear (and long) as my own, so we started with a level of depth and just went deeper and deeper and deeper. But now it seems like we're different on e-mail (much more flirty) than in person (more vanilla and platonic).

I just can't tell if he'd consider me as a romantic partner. He does things that make me think he might, but then he does things that scream "He's just not that into you!" Especially the fact that he hasn't tried to be romantically involved with me since I couldn't keep up with him a year ago. If he were interested, I expect he'd make a move. And he's said things that imply he doesn't want a relationship with me, or maybe not exactly--can't handle one right now. The kind of things men say when they don't want to be with a gal, but it seems like he's genuine. I'm not sure. I just don't know.

I crave clarity. I crave us sitting down and talking things through and if he doesn't want a romantic relationship, I need to know. I need to force myself to stop thinking about him that way and see other people. Or sleep with my ex again, or something. But I know that that M.O. has never seemed to work for us. So I'm continually biting my tongue so that I won't do it. I would do anything I could to give us a chance to work and if biting my tongue at my incessant desire for clarity and focus gives us a chance, then so be it. Maybe he is trying to decide if he'd want to be with me, and I need to let him have the time to make that decision.

I have so much fun with him. And I think he has that with me. I know he could get someone much cuter than me. I'm just not in his league when it comes to looks. But over and over he's implied that he thinks I'm attractive, and whatever the issue is, it isn't looks. Which is odd. And scary, because my looks are what I think of as most wrong with me. I'm used to being rejected for not being pretty enough. And then the fact that I'm too strong of a personality, too opinionated. But he seems to not mind that. And then the fact that I have this compulsive need to peel away the surface and find the meaty issues underlying the facade. But he does that too; we match each other there. Intellectually, I know this is irrational. But emotionally, I'm like "well, my three biggest flaws aren't an issue for him, and there's still something wrong with me--how the hell do I fix that."

We played chess last night, and it was interesting because I reverted to the middle school kid who quit playing chess because she wasn't smart enough and lost every single game. And the way I play chess is kind of the way I date. I assume there's something deeply wrong with me and I'm going to fuck up. So instead of trying to find a way to win at chess (or be genuine with a partner who could truly love me for who I am and who I'm striving to be instead of who I pretend to be), I look for the 'least bad' move. Not that dating is chess (I hope!) but I do seem to have this underlying "I'm stupid/ugly" mentality for the two. But John let me win at chess. ;)

Thinking Back

This week has brought countless comparisons with 8 years ago. I don't know a lot of the Obama people, but when I find out about them, it's all good. 8 years ago, I didn't know who Bush's people were, but their records terrified me.

But, the real comparison for me, is 14-10 years ago, when Edmund was my best friend and I couldn't figure out what to do. I spent 4 years thinking we'd end up together. 4 years talking with him for 20 hours a week (or more!) on the phone, doing all the silly little things that couples do. And I swore I'd never do that again.

But you know what they say makes God laugh? Humans making plans. So here I am in a very similar situation.

I haven't figured out the role of this blog if John is in my life. I asked him to pick whether he'd read it or not, so at least I'd know, and he hasn't. But he said he isn't reading it right now.

Sometimes I feel like Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction (not that I've seen the movie, but she's the scary stalker chick I always think of).

Sometimes I wonder if John would be more interested in me if I weren't so interested in him. I should go buy a copy of The Rules and stop just being myself. But that would wreck what I like so much about him--our honesty. Our clarity. Our vitality.

Deep down, my fear is that that he wishes he were attracted to me. He thinks it would be ideal if only I were prettier. He has never said anything to make a smidgen of evidence that that is the case. He has, on numerous occasions, complimented me looks. He takes photos of me that make me look lovely. But I can't think of any other reason that we wouldn't want to give this a try.

We have similar ways of finding joy. Similar ways of killing time. Our minds think in mutually simpatico ways. He's more visual than I am, far more able to frame an image and desiring to capture it (I've never been out with him when he hasn't taken his camera out, and he takes beautiful photos.) But on the stuff that matters--we're both introspective on a path that is parallel although not synonymous with psychoanalysis. Self-psychoanalysis if you will. We're both bright. Neither of us owns a TV. We both have an intellectual curiosity that is more focused on breadth than depth, although we both burrow in depth in whatever interests us that season and then move on. We both make silly puns. We find these silly/awkward moments when all the wiitwd stuff floods a moment with a second meaning and we're aware of it, but we never let that overwhelm everything else. Wiitwd is a subtextual spice--it is not the main ingredient. But I don't have to deny that part of me or feel like I must protect that vulnerability. It is safe to be vulnerable with him. Being with him is joyous.

He is thoughtful and playful and kind and considerate. He is a good man with an evil streak and he knows it and delights in it, and I believe would absolutely protect me from it.

I go deeper when I'm with him. And unlike any man I've ever been with, I don't self-censor. I didn't self-censor with my ex, but mostly that was because he didn't care much. I realized, I couldn't give him my blog URL because he wouldn't read it when it wasn't that much about him, and that would hurt.

So it is odd that I want to know whether John is reading this. And it is because I do self-censor with John. Not a lot, but a little. I think in some ways he takes for granted that he could have me anytime he wanted and I want to preserve a little mystery. A little semblance of having my life together. Of being intrigued without being obsessed. Not that I'm obsessed, but I am definitely smitten. OK, maybe I'm a little obsessed.

I have no idea if we're supposed to live happily ever after (although, if it were the two of us, I expect we wouldn't exactly qualify for the "No-Drama Obama" administration), but I just believe that we are supposed to be together. I don't know for how long. Maybe a month. Who knows?

But there is some reluctance on his part that I just don't understand. Twice now he has gone with someone else instead of me. I understood the first time. I don't understand the second time, and if it happens a third time, I'll be devastated, and far less capable, I fear, of opening up to another person. Not that I ever plan to get to know someone the way I got to know John. But I'm sure that certainity just makes God laugh.

High School

I just joined Facebook. I had to--my best friend's 11-year-old asked to be my "friend." How could I say no? Even if if her mother put her up to it (and I'm sure she did), I had to do it. I didn't want to do it, because it felt like it would be a time sucker, but I don't hate it. But the weird things is, almost none of my current friends are on facebook, but EVERYONE from my high school seems to be on it!

My friends now, for the most part, are very high achieving, single women in their thirties, pushing up to the 40s, but not quite there yet. In other words, people like me. Even my dad is impressed by the crowd I hang out with. But, I will always be someone who was a total dork in school. I have the mentality of an outcast. And I've made career compromises to live in the only city where I feel like I belong.

One of my high school friends is still my closest friend, so her marriage, kids, divorce, well her kid was why I got on Facebook, and it doesn't shock me. While I was a total dweeb in highschool, or worse, for some reason it is 'popular' kids that have been 'friending' me (maybe that's why they were popular? Or maybe because they were popular, they are totally comfortable going up to people they haven't seen for 20 years and asking to be their friend? Deep down, I think it is because I have a picture with a really cool celebrity--a total "A-list"--I don't think most of them would actually want to be "friends" with me, but we'll leave that aside for a moment.) Every single one is married with kids. And they look so old! So much older than me and my friends. I'm not sure if people in big cities take more care of themselves or because we don't have kids or if I'm deluding myself, or if is the gap between how I remember them and how they are now, but I swear they look so much older that I would have thought!

I got a new passport, and obviously the new photo is 10 years older than the old one. But I look better. My old one, I'm wearing a ton of makeup for and I tried to get as pretty a photo as possible (I've always been able to take the occasional good photo, and that's always been very important to my self-esteem). I had to cram this photo in while running errands. No make-up. I have a coat and scarf on. But I look much more comfy in my own skin, and more confident and more attractive. Aside from the blue squiggly lines on my face. Of course, it doesn't hurt that I'm thinner than I was in high school (not that that's saying anything--I was quite heavy in high school). So I certainly seem a cut above where I used to be.

But what's really interesting is that I'm more accomplished than the popular kids from my high school whom I have, to some extent, but proving myself to in abstentia. I realized at my 10th high school reunion (long, long, long ago--I didn't attend my 20th), that I had been trying to prove myself to these people, but I would have very little interest in being friends with most of them now. So how do I let go pushing myself, trying to prove myself? Instead of just enjoying who I am? Maybe if I accomplished what I want to be accomplishing instead of wasting time watching TV. Maybe it is easier to compare myself to others instead of comparing myself to whom I really want to become.

My inner freak

I was a freak when I was a kid. A total freak. And I knew it. I knew how much the other kids despised me, and while I developed multiple coping mechanisms, one came to define me. I can’t explain what it was, because if you know that fact about me, I’m pretty easy to pin down. But suffice to say that I made a career out of a coping mechanism (cm).

I also developed a fabulous inner-life connected to my CM. And sometimes the girl there is more real to me than my socially acceptable persona. But almost know one knows her. I hid her, for her own good of course, and let her come out to play occasionally armored only in the language of post-modern literary theory. She is safe hidden in the obtuse deconstructions because no one knows she is there, so no one can hurt her, hidden safely in nuances and obfuscations.

But there is one place she can come out to play, for real. And that is a place I am a completely different person. I’m a diva, popular, confident. And pretty. In that one little corner, I have star power. And palpable joy.

My best friend comes with me. She doesn’t understand why I love being there so much, but she loves being with that part of me. And she brags about me, because she thinks I’m worth bragging about there.

I always tried to get my ex to come with me. Tried and tried and tried. But he never would. He never understood that maybe, just maybe, if you love someone, you might give them an evening. Finally he came once, after everything was over, and made such a huge deal of it that my inner-diva couldn’t come out and play.

And today, he mentioned casually, that he did something comparable with another girl. On their second date. Not a big deal, just because she wanted to. And he devastated me. I felt so worthless. We lived together for a year, and he would never do that with me. Had no interest in getting to know that side of me. No interest in my inner-life at all. I was a buddy, whom he could fuck. But not like he’d ever want to know what made my eyes light with joy. Not like he cared about me at all. I know he’d say I’m over-reacting, and I suppose I am.

But I feel like such a reject. Like someone that no one will ever love. And I’ll die alone. With my blog and my cats and a shrink I pay $150 an hour to pretend to care.

Class and snobbiness

So I've been talking with a sweet, vanilla guy, that I've been enjoying . And then it turns out he is a fedex delivery guy. He wasn't exactly upfront with me about that, but my first reaction was that seemed like it would be a good fit with me. But I didn't want to be snobby, so I still planned on meeting him. He wants to teach karate. But he isn't yet a blackbelt, so it would be at least 4 years before that happened, and then he'd need the start-up money to get a studio. It seems like a very hard plan to have for a career.

But, then it turns out his ex-wife is paying him alimony. That totally threw me the wrong way. I could see being willing to pull more than half, but if it didn't work out, there's no way I would want to support him. They have no kids--why should she pay alimony (and yes, I would feel the same way if the genders were reversed. I can see alimony 30 years ago, and I can see it for a few years if one person helped the other through college. If Sarah worked as a secretary support Sam in college and then they split--sure, Sam can help Sarah get through college.) I've worked my butt off to get where I am. I work a second job around 3 nights a week to make a little extra. I love what I do, but I also made a lot of sacrifices to get here. He has sort of floated around, not committed to anything. Why should I risk supporting him? I know, I know. It would only be if we got married. And if we got married I could insist on a pre-nup. But if we got married, he would lose his alimony from his wife.

So, am I just being shallow here? My ex dropped out of high school, but he was more successful than I was and very smart. I was proud of what he did. It honestly was never an issue. Part of me thinks I should just be glad he's being open about this, but then I wonder if there's other stuff he hasn't disclosed. And the alimony thing just feels wrong to me.

Creepy old men

So I joined a new web site, PlentyOfFish. They have a feature where people can vote on how attractive your pictures are. You can turn this off, but for some reason I didn’t.

I originally put up a photo without makeup and had a guy in the 18-25 vote four and 3 guys in 33-40 vote 6. Then I changed it to a really cute picture with makeup. (This is a super, super cute photo--maybe the cutest photo I’ve had taken in my life. The camera is looking a little down on my. My hair is swinging and I have an impish charming smile. I’m in a party dress and you can tell my arms aren’t super thing, but it is a great photo.)

Here’s what the men voted on a scale of 10.

Average (33 votes): 5.21
18-25 (4 votes) 3.5
26-32 (5 votes) 4.4
33-40 (7 votes) 8.29
41+ (17 votes) 4.59

So this really seems weird. First of all, I’m kind of flattered by the 33-40 year olds. And surprised. The 18-25 year olds, they shouldn’t think I’m cute. I’m too old for them. But the 41+ is creepy. Now there are, I’m sure, 42 year olds who aren’t doing this, but, for the most part, what I’m seeing is much more judgment from older men. The number of older guys who have, out of the blue, contacted me to say mean things (really mean, like "You're stupid and ugly--why don't you give up") has really surprised me, and is a large part of the reason I left CollarMe. I never put a finger on it before (and, of course there are some very nice men who happen to be older than me that I’ve met along the way).

But what the hell is going on with these men? I mean why are there
a) so many older men checking me out (more than all the age groups under 41)
b) they are so much more judgmental than men my age?

I used to think if I dated an older guy he would be happier with my body, but I’m beginning to question that. (I should mention, I wish they had a better breakdown of age data--clearly a 43 year old is different than a 65 year old).

What if these older guys have never accepted that they are getting older? And they know they can't date teenagers anymore because the teenagers won't go out with them, but they are just angry at the women in their 30s for not looking like teenagers?

I also found it very interesting that about 5% of the men allow women to vote on their pics. And when men did, the men were SUPER-bitchy to the other men, giving them ones and two, but the women were super nice to the same guys--giving them 8s and 9s.

My Ex-ex-ex boyfriend

So, my “ex” hasn’t really been my ex for the last three months; we’ve been having a lovely, sweet time. My ex-ex. Lovely enough that I didn’t really want to think about much of anything. It felt good to be in his arms and that was enough. I think that's why I haven't been here much.

But it is time to add an ex there (we'll call him X³ for short). He wanted more. Much more. Marriage more. But he didn’t want to meet me half-way on anything aside from making sex not dreadful. It wasn’t just the kids things (which is a real issue in and of itself). He also didn’t believe he should have to compromise on anything. He’s never once heard me sing or seen me dance or read my work. For the most part, he doesn’t know the part of me that lurks under the socially acceptable mask. He doesn’t support my desire to accomplish something more than have fun today. And frankly, sex with him is boring. Much better than it was, but still predictable and rote.

Sorry to be pop-psychology, but it feels like I'm being forced to make a horrible choice. You can have the 3rd level of Maslow's hierarchy of needs (love) and that will and has helped you with the 4th level (self-esteem), but only if you give up on having the fifth level (experiencing purpose, realizing inner potential) and the 6th level (self-actualization). And my fear is that if I left my X³ go, what if I never find love?

My life, until 2005, was predicated on the assumption that I would never find love. But for a while I did really well on self-actualization. Then men started to see me as attractive and I spent less energy on realizing my potential. I didn't mean to, but it turned out that way.

Now, I want it all, but I'm scared I have to pick between love and self-actualization, and that seems a horrible predicament.

I’ve been in a weird place this week, aching for something more. Someone to care about getting to know me as much as John did, but at the same time want to be with me and plan a future together. And I’ve been deeply saddened because it feels like I missed that chance. I know it is, perchance, silly. Maybe something will happen. I hope. But in the last couple of years I’ve become interested in the possibility of having kids, and I know there isn’t much time left if I want to do that.

I hesitate to write about this again. (Believe it or not, this has been open on my computer for the last day) because I’ve mentioned it before and I don’t want to devolve into maudlin self-pity. But it just feels like there is something inherently wrong, inherently unlovable about me. And my ex says “You are the most amazing woman I know. I want to be with you.” And that is worth SO much. And I’m so grateful. But he has given me the strength to know I should let him go. I just hope he isn't the only man who ever feels that way about me.

Spring Forward, Fall Back

I love autumn. It always feels like the beginning to me. I know that isn't how you're sposed to think of the seasons. Maybe I spent too much time in school, but autumn always feels like anything is possible.

I'm sleeping with my ex. I continue to insist that we're exes. But given that we're spending a couple of night a week together, and I love waking up in his arms, ex is probably the wrong label.

But I don't want to spend the rest of my life with him. Twice he has asked what I'd say if he asked me to marry him. I said I didn't know. I think we both know that means no.

Being with him, right now, heals a part of me. We had a talk about what happened before, and he never realized how it impacted me. He didn't really see the hungry, vulnerable girl that surrenders. He thought that the numbing out was part of how I surrendered. He has never pushed me there since. He keeps an eye on me whenever we're together and when he notices me going to the edge he stops and pulls me back to the present.

There are 2 main reasons I can't commit to spending the rest of my life with him right now. The first has to do with my tendency to just hang-out when we're together. I'm more ambitious than he is, and when we're together we watch a lot of TV and I don't make progress on my longer-term goals. He hasn't read my romance novel (which is mostly done--I'm hiring an editor to do a once over this month and plan to send it out to agents by the end of the year). I understand, because he's a guy. But he doesn't read anything I write (although I expect he would read this blog, if given the URL). I want him to have some interest in my intellectual life--some support. Not just vedge in from of Chris Matthews and Keith Olbermann every night.

The second is kids. He's had two. He does not want more, and has had a vasectomy for good measure. I'm deeply unsure, but I can't seem to say "No, I'm not going to have kids" right now. (Although, nature will make that decision for me in the next 4 years, I'm sure.)

So there it is. I feel like I'm hibernating. But I also like I'm heeling in his arms.

Tone & Dreams

Two big steps for me this week. I programmed my ex's phone number into my phone and I gave the book that John gave me for Christmas away.

I'm finally over John. It was hard. (Truth be told, I sort of lied here because I knew there was a time when John read it. "Michael" was John--I just didn't want him to know I was still smitten at that point.) So the lovely book needed to go. Things tie me to people and I didn't want to stay tied to him.

Meanwhile, my ex. Is he still my ex? He. Wants. To. Marry. Me! Me. Little old me. He hasn't given me a ring, because he knows I'm too uncertain. But he has said several times he wants to marry me.

And he has really changed since the last time. We were always good friends, but he never really put my needs on par with his. Last week he said "If I hadn't been so selfish, I could have gotten everything I wanted" and this week he talked about how he'd bought into hyperbolic discussions about S&M that ignored the sub's needs, but he realizes of course no one would stay unless their needs were met.

We are having an amazingly marvelous time together. Sex is fabulous. He finally got it about tone. I had tried and tried to explain about tone, but I didn't make sense before. Evidently a submissive a couple of girls before me had thrived on a harsh, domineering tone, which was anathema to me. He has always been gruff and almost angry with me during sex. Then Wednesday he started spanking me in the loving, tender, warm way I crave and he spanked me hard. He couldn't believe the difference, and we really talked about it. Yesterday I told him something along the lines of "I consented to stuff I shouldn't have before. I trust you are
really looking out for me. But let me also take responsibility for myself--I don't consent to that tone anymore, not to play with, not for threatening, not at all." And he said "O.K. I don't think I ever needed it. I just didn't get it."

All of which leaves one great big issues. He doesn't want kids. Period. End of subject. I'm deeply ambivalent. But I don't feel like I can say I'm not going to have kids. I'm not dying to have kids, but I want to leave some sort of mark on this world. It wouldn't have to be kids. But my ex just likes to hang out a lot. He is content to be in the audience (plus has 3 kids from a previous marriage). I want to publish my novel, have some random editor read my blog and want to make it into a book. And maybe be president of the united states in my free time. It doesn't have to be kids. It has to be something, though.

PerfectMatch.com SUCKS

OK--this is trite and trivial, and I'm sorry to waste your time. BUT, www.perfectmatch.com buries, in the "terms of service" contract that is as long as they all are, that they do automatic renewals! (I got suckered for 4 months of payments before I noticed it on my credit card bill.) Also, they suck. I live in one of the ten largest metropolitian areas in the country. They had 4 "perfect matches" for me in 3 months, and the only guy I met could hardly speak English.

And speaking of kvetching about dating services--www.eharmony.com has gone from having ads for "medifast" on the women's pages to ads for liposuction! I find that evil. Just evil to prey on women's insecurities about their bodies. But, there was a really good deal--maybe I should get my calves liposuctioned. That will fix all my problems....

Sorry for the trivialities. I promise I'll try to have something profound, or at least interesting next time.

Over my Head?

So my ex and I have been hanging out more. Lovely evening last week. He took me to the restaurant I've always wanted to go to, and dropped numerous hints the entire time we lived together, but we never went. It is in a park, and we sat outside and had a lovely meal.

And then he said he didn't want to come over to my place. He said we either need to figure out if we're on the path to getting married, or if we just want to hang as buddies, but no more fooling around.

He also said, he had the conversation with himself about 'having another kid wouldn't be that bad.'

And he said "I can't have it on my conscious that I kept the love of my life from having kids."

Furthermore, he said he wouldn't be so selfish in the future, regardless of whether he got back together with me. He had this idea of D/s, but he has been doing more research, and he doesn't think anyone is able to actually make D/s work with his previous idea of it. That the Dom has to really take care of the sub's needs, not just except the sub's needs to disappear.

So. Whoa. And Wow. I don't know what I think or feel. First I'm touched and flattered he would even, in passing, call me the love of his life. I joked it off, but it meant a lot.

But I need to figure out what I want so I'm not using him, but I'm too confused to know what I want. I know that I enjoy being with him as friends. And I enjoy waking up in his arms. And for the last month, he really has been different with me. But I don't know that we've ever had great sex. At least for me. I know we have for him. But not me. We click intellectually, and that's a lot. I think I could fall for him again, if I let myself, but I have been very wary to do that.

So then we slept together last night. Sex, sex. Not just oral sex. And, again, he was lovely. Cherishing, adoring, tender, rough, demanding--all the good stuff rolled into one.

And after he left for work, I went back to bed. And had a dream about Michael. It wasn't even a good dream. He was dating a woman from Texas, but sort of wanted to check in with me to see how I was doing. But it wasn't like "drop everything--I realized I do want to be with you." And walking through the park today I went by a set of swings that Michael and I played on, and I could feel this sort of stab to my heart. I don't know how to let him go. I know I must. I know that if he were truly interested in me, he wouldn't e-mail, say "Let's go out for dinner and drinks" and then not e-mail for a week, then another e-mail a week later, then nothing for 2 weeks. A man that is interested in a woman, well he doesn't do that. But I don't understand why I'm still emotionally sticky towards him.

Part of it is that I'm still defended against my ex. He woke me up in the middle of the night to have sex a second time, and he was rough and demanding and it hurt and I remembered one of the reasons we broke up. I can't just let go and be with my ex as he is right now, without being suspicious that he will go back to how he was.

And maybe I'm just using Michael as a symbol of what I can't have. Maybe I'll never be satisfied with the possible. Or maybe I'm using Michael to not get in too deep with my ex. How knows. But somehow, I thought, we might end up together. I don't know why I adored him so much, or how to let that go. Part of me wants to e-mail him and just have it out with him. Not have a loose end. I hate loose ends.

But, maybe, just being with me ex, curling up in his arms, kisses and cuddles and conversations. Those will build. I'm sure of it. I'm much less reluctant now than I was. So who knows.

All you've got to do is ask me.

I was writing a post about beauty and aging, and how I'm far more concerned about holding onto the vestiges of my youth than I ever thought I would be. And then I took a break to go to the CD release party for Passing Strange (If you are going to take my advice on anything, run to see Passing Strange before it closes on Sunday, buy the CD on Tuesday and get the Spike Lee DVD that will be coming out in a year or two--the best new American art in the last few years) and I just started to wonder--how did I turn into this? What made me so cynical? So focused on playing the dating game? So willing to buy into a culture that I don't believe in?

There seems to be this giant chasm of regret that I never found someone who loved me. Steven loved me, but not enough to want me. There were several men I've loved. But none loved me back. And I'm scared that there never will be anyone. And I have so much I would love to give someone. I know: a cliche from the 1950s. But true, none the less.

I'm staying with a friend who lives at the end of the line, and taking the subway home (at 1:30 in the morning, by myself--and they say I'm not a New Yorker!), I was listening to one of the songs I'd downloaded from their website:

Now you are knee deep in your head's footnotes.

Is there a better description for me and my blog? Me and my life? I care about other people's head's footnotes too--I just love head's footnotes.

I've been thinking about leaving my fingerprints on your being.

So come down now, remove your mask, see.
All you gotta do is ask me.
I'll give you all the love life allows.

Wow. So I start to tear up on the subway. And then the narrator asks:

What does this feeling mean to you:
Both to be seen and be seen through?

And I start to cry. On the subway. I know the left coast wears its emotions on its sleeves, but that's ridiculous. But I have to take out my ipod and play Klondike to distract myself until I can get to my friend's apartment (who was, blessedly, already asleep).

I'm amazed at the amount of shit I do, like video games, to just try to numb myself out to what I'm feeling sometimes.

More than anything in my life, that's what I yearn for: "Both to be seen and be seen through." Someone to care enough about me, see the real in me and want to pursue the real enough to want to see through me. I honestly have a persona that is kind of impressive. Not like "top 1/10 of 1%" impressive. But probably in the top 1%. But who cares? I'm faking it. All of it. Every single bit. I don't care about that. Well, maybe I do. I love my life, actually. But it isn't fair that this chasm never disappears and I seem to have no control over it. I would trade my job and house and car for someone to love me as much as I'd love him. I really would. No. I wouldn't. Because I couldn't love someone that would ask me to give up my job that I love. But I'd trade my home that is the envy of all my friends with real estate envy. Gladly. More gladly, though, I'd share it with him.

I guess because I never got to be pretty when I was younger, and I knew it from a very, very early age, I just knew no one would ever love me. After all, Daddy told me so. And I built a life for me alone. And it is a good life. Hell, I can got to New York for the weekend just because I wanted to see Passing Strange one more time before it closes. And the feminists say "A woman needs a man life a fish needs a bicycle." Intellectually I'd believe it, but emotionally I'd say "but I need someone to love. I need to curl up next to another being and feel his heart beat. And have him care enough to want to see the flawed, conflicted messed-up girl that lurks, like an alien in Men in Black, under the well-put-together persona. I need that. Not like a fish needs a bicycle. Like a fish needs oxygen.
There's a Sondheim lyric:

In the depths of her interior
Were fears she was inferior
And something even eerier
But no one dared to query her superior exterior.

Probably the most brilliant lyric ever written in the English language. She is scared to make this vulnerable confession, so she uses the amazing rhyme scheme in order to distract from the vulnerability. I've always thought that that, more than anything else, described me. And, crazily enough, I've shared the lyric with tons of people because it is so clever, no one realizes it is vulnerable. People just here the ear ee er and don't realize that I'm sharing something about myself. And I've often wished someone would ignore the rhyme to realize the unguarded, exposed, unprotected girl and say "you don't have to pretend with me. I'll love you no matter what." But that, I suppose, is just a naive wish from a romance novel.

In a way, though, that lyric doesn't describe me. In a way, my inferiority is very much on the surface because of my weight. And I've struggled and struggled and struggled to have someone care about me despite it. And then I lost weight, and now I'm still plump, but in the sort-of normal category. And yet, still alone. All alone. And intellectually, it's all right now. But emotionally...

Buddy's Blues

My ex told me he loved me last night. Said he spent the whole year missing me. He's never felt that way about an ex before. He just wants to be with me.

We talked about why it wouldn't work between us. Mostly I'm not sure if I want a family but I clearly don't want to rule it out and he really, really doesn't want any more kids (and has had a vasectomy). I'm profoundly ambivalent about kids but I also really don't want to say "NO--I'm not having any."

So I said no intercourse. Vaginal or anal. And he really wants sex. More than sex, it drives him crazy that I'm obedient with this pre-negotiated, pretty big no-go area.

"I just can't do that outside of a monogamous relationship. I would have gone crazy on Sunday knowing you were fooling around with someone else."
"I can understand that. But I'll be monogamous."
"But I want to keep seeing other people."
"OK--I'll play poker while you date other people."
"But. That's not fair to you. You can't do that."
"I just want to be with you for however long I can have."

I just want to be with you for however long I can have. Wow.

It is interesting to have this record of my thoughts and feelings because they aren't always what I thought they were. I was clearly more skeptical about my ex before last Thursday than I remember being and clearly more insecure on Sunday than I'd want to remember.

His offer seems to good to be true. I don't see how he could possibly be happy with that in a month or two. And I also doubt I would have space to get involved with someone new if I were that involved with him. Right now, with us not having sex, I'm sticky towards him, but it is a post-it sticky, not an epoxy sticky. Sex would make it epoxy sticky.

But then, I wonder if I just want what I can't have and devalue what I can.

Horrific Fiction

The power of fiction to touch me, in good and shuddering ways, often surprises me. I just finished Topping from Below (TFB) and it made my soul shudder. I have fears about falling into the dark side of wiitwd. Some fears are quite quotidian--becoming bitter and harsh, like some of the women I used to see when I went to munches and discussion groups. But there are other fears. When I went to the police because of the man who was essentially stalking me. When I see my own inability to place limits after I surrender. I don't want to have to have limits. But maybe that is exactly how abuse happens. When I saw how I allowed my ex to essentially turned our relationship into something I had to endure, rather than something that I found joy in.

TFB seemed to reinforce so many of the negatives. (Spoiler alert, but I'll assume that me hating a book isn't enough to make you run out and buy it--a couple of sexy pieces I enjoyed were Safe Word (especially the ending, which I loved), and the anthology Yes, Sir, which is quite sexy.) TFB follows the pretty sister investigating why her fat sister, with no self-esteem, got killed in a clearly S&M related death. Of course, the killer likes the pretty, confident one. He treats her differently and the pretty one loves the S&M as well. He falls in love with her, unlike the fat girl, where the S&M was just abuse. (Of course, for most of the book you don't know who the killer is and enjoy the sex scenes, so the fact that it is horrible feels worse than if some of it hadn't seduced me, against my better judgment.) I can't believe a bookstore recommended it as an S&M classic on par with Anne Rice.

But it brought up a couple of interesting things for me.

I seem to have both the girl who relishes surrender and the girl who feels it can border on abuse, all wrapped up in one neat package. The thing about my ex, he never went very far with the S&M stuff. I rarely had bad bruises. A few on my breasts usually--that was it. Few welts. Never any other kind of marks. It was the tone that was all wrong for me (although last week was a clear exception--last week was as lovely as it was with Steven). I could have actually handled more pain if he had mixed more sex in with it. He wanted me scared because it turned him on. If I were turned on, or felt like there was caring it in. That's the only way it is sexy to me. I'm so vanilla/fudge swirl. Not all chocolate.

And, depending on who is doing the viewing, I'm either a pretty girl you'd want to have enjoy it, or a plain girl you'd seen what she could endure. I think my ex has seen me switch in his view. I used to be the plain girl you'd amuse yourself with, and now I'm the cute one, you'd want to bring along for a great ride.

It also emphasized how wrong the traditional approach to BDSM is for me. I understand that if people are 'playing' casually, then being clear about what play should look like becomes necessary. And I certainly think life would be easier if I could go that way. But I just don't. I'm totally comfortable being upfront about sex at the very beginning--if we aren't compatible, there is little reason to waste time. But once we've established the we might be compatible, then I'd like sex to just disappear. It isn't about activities. It is about relationships. For me.

Long ago, there was a discussion on our local BDSM list about how a Dom had a right to cut off a sub's ear unless she has clearly specified that as a hard limit. What the fuck are These Idiots thinking? And They wonder why the women all leave? (Obviously if we are having this discussion, we must get the capitalization right!) Those checklists, those ads saying "Few if any limits"--that's all nonsense. This isn't a game of 'gotcha." There are 87 million things I won't do, and there is no way I can come up with them. "Oooh--you didn't specify you won't go to a malaria country without malaria meds--you aren't really a submissive." "Oh, you said I couldn't break bones, but you didn't specify ligaments." What the fuck are these Men talking about when they say a gal shouldn't have limits. And they wonder why there are so few women.

I still remember a conversation with "John." He was new to all this, and I said something like "If you're a reaction junkie--I'll give you reactions, but if you're looking for a workout, I can't." And he said "the thing is, I am kind of looking for a work out." And that's when I knew I couldn't be his partner. (Later, much later, he remembered this conversation differently, and said that wasn't what he meant, so I fell for him again.)

When did sex become about activities as opposed to relationships? When did silly little checklists take the place of watching body language? Oh, and honestly caring about your partner? Wanting to protect and cherish as well as torment and tease? When did a sexual relationship become only about sex? The number of men who are shocked that I'd want to know what we have in common before I'd consider fucking them.

I've worked very hard not to become bitter. There are women in the local "scene" who have lost their joy. You can tell they've given themselves away too many times and lost their resilience. I expect there was a time they were vulnerable, trusting. Probably naive. Now, they are jaded, closed, bitter, angry. Some of them become Dommes because they don't want to be alone, and the betrayal of a sub hurts them even more. Because they never really wanted to be a domme to begin with. They were willing to do even that to find love, and it wasn't enough. I never want to fall into that bitter jaded thing. But I've had more than enough done to me to become bitter. (The worst thing that was done to me, I won't talk about it because I don't want to give any men ideas about how to make a woman's life hell. It was a very creative way of destroying my resilience for months.) I'm not bitter. I have moments, but only moments. I'm still capable of forcing myself to open and become vulnerable and trusting. But I'm tired of forcing myself to do that. Maybe I need to let a guy I'm interesting teach me he is trustworthy.

I do have a fairly traditional sense that promiscuity is wrong (for me--not for others--just for me). I simply won't get involved with a man that doesn't do the intimate dance of conversation. It can be as simple as election talk, or profound as John's 700 e-mails revealing the depths of our seemingly simpatico souls. That seems to be my only protection. I expect it is enough for my physical safety, but whether it is enough for my bounciness remains to be seen.

Through the Looking Glass

I slept with my ex Thursday. No sex-sex (which I define as vaginal or anal). But oral sex and other stuff. So here was my impression Friday:

He was sweet, kind, gentle. Dominated, but he didn't make my soul shudder or make me run away. He wants me back. But the weird thing is, as much as I enjoyed waking up in his arms. And I did enjoy waking up in his arms. I don't want to be with him permanently. I would be very happy to wake up in his arms a couple of times a week while we both continue to explore our own several ways.

When we broke up, I made him promise not to come after me for a quickie because I couldn't handle it emotionally. I didn't want to be emotionally sticky with him, wanted to get over him. But I'm more sticky with Michael than with my ex. And my ex is getting very sticky towards me. Part of me thinks I should just break it off because he is falling for me the way I fell for him when we first met, and I'm not falling for him the way he didn't fall for me when we first met. And I don't want to be unfair to him.

So it is Sunday. And I wish he'd call. I knew he had a date with a woman he has seen very occasionally for the last few months (she lives a hundred miles away, or so--but he fell for her very hard when they first met). And I know he probably had sex with her today. Phenomenal sex. And I know that she has left and he is alone right now, and I wish he'd call me. Not her, me.

Intellectually, I expect he'll be back. I'd lay odds he'll be back and I rarely bet. But I wouldn't lay odds that I'll keep from being sticky towards him. He is different than he was before. We fooled around once, a couple of months ago, and it got him out of my system. He was selfish and didn't take care of me. Exactly as he was when we dated.

But this week he transformed. Totally different. He had always forbidden me to cut my hair when we were together. When I cut about 6 inches after we stopped dating, he hated it, and let me know it. I cut off another 6 inches a couple of weeks ago and he grabbed my hair, in a way that made my knees weak and said 'look--there's still enough to grab' and kissed my throat. It was a way of saying--'you can be who you are--I love who you are becoming, and you can still come home to me.'

At one point, he edged towards a rough tone, and he could feel me retreating emotionally. Immediately he backed off. No panic attack on my part, no nothing except him picking up that I wasn't responding to his roughness. If we sleep together again this week, and if he is again thoughtful and kind, he will get under my skin. I can feel it already happening, in the change from my certainty that he wants me to wondering if he does, in my wishing he would call, in my having to not call him. He's the first man I've slept with since we broke up. And if I'd had an evening like that with anyone else, I'd be completely head over heels for him.

I don't even know what I want anymore. Maybe it is worth giving this a second chance.

Numbing out

I'm changing in a way I haven't yet recognized. I mean, I recognize that I am changing, but not where that shift is leading. Part of me thinks I should take a break from dating. Part of me thinks that would be a mistake.

If I quit dating, I think I'd end up with my ex; he invited me for a lovely, romantic weekend at the beach. I said no because I had plans with a friend. And because it is a really bad idea. Really, really bad idea. But if I hadn't had plans, I don't know what I would have done. And while I'm good friends with my ex and I like being his friend, I really don't want to be his lover, ending up in his bed accidentally because it is warm and I'm cold. I'm blue right now, and part of it is that we essentially broke up a year ago today. He would be comfortable and easy in some ways, and horrible for me in others. I wish we'd done something like that romantic beach weekend when we were still together. But he took me for granted when we were still together. Most people, it feels like (aside from my mom and my two best friends, and my ex now, take me for granted.) It would be lovely to do something like that with someone I really cared about. (I do care about my ex, but not in that way.)

But what is going on with me? Saw a sweet guy and he was able to find this blog from my e-mail, which was odd (I had done several google searches to make sure it hadn't come up, but he did a different combination). And it was very odd. "You're a piece of work" he said, and I'm not sure who was more embarrassed that he had read my blog. He seemed smitten before he read my blog. But I am a piece of work, even if I hide it from the world. We had tentative plans for yesterday and he disappeared, so that's that. I'm too old to date Houdini.

But it makes me wonder what the hell is going on with me. What do I want? I have more men interested in me than I've ever had, but something is wrong with me and no one seems right. Where do I want to go? I browsed Craig's List and so many of the ads that might otherwise be the direction I'd look had dollar signs in the ad, which translates into "what's in it for you? Money." I want someone to give me so much more than money. I want empathy, cherishing, understanding, love, joy, playfulness and kindness. How on earth could money substitute for those things?

On vacation last month, I bought some naughty books, and 2 of them have ended up really giving me the creeps. Tying the whole D/s thing into clear abuse. I wonder if the universe is giving me a sign.

Among my brother's friends, all the men seem to be with women who are relatively uncaring, ungiving. One guy just got engaged to a woman that only puts out a couple of times a month! And views it as putting out!! And yet I seem to attract jerks like fruit flies to over-ripe honeydew. Isn't there a way to have a balance, where both people get what they need and what they want, and both people take care of their partner? I had hoped, obviously incorrectly, that being clear about sexual needs upfront would allow people to put that on a back burner and develop a friendship, knowing that when we got there, we'd be on the same wave length. But that was clearly erroneous. But I don't want to spend three months getting to know someone and then find out either that I freak them out or they aren't capable of giving me what I'd need. And frankly, without a little of that tension, there's no way I'd hang around for 3 months.

Other stuff has me a little discombobulated as well. My sister is moving away--it means my closest family will be a plane ride, not a walk from me. I have great friends. And I've never relied much on my family, but in the last few years, she has become ingratiated into my daily life in a way I never expected.

And of course, there's Michael. Who appears out of no where. Says hi. And disappears. And I care. I care so much more than I should. So much more than the situation warrants. I don't know what to do. I know if I got together with my ex, the yearning my psyche gravitates towards Michael would disappear. Or maybe I'll get lucky and fall for someone else. Someone who actually cares about me as much as I might care about him.

When I got his e-mail, I could almost see the shadow of me, breaking down, trying desperately to hold it together, from an e-mail years ago when he told me he was seeing someone else. That shadow of my former self sitting in the same chair, feeling her soul torn asunder. It isn't the same this time. But more and more often, I can feel myself passing those shadows of difficult moments in the past. Ghosts of who I used to be imbuing the quotidian.

I always seem to remain sticky for the last person who touched me deeply, until someone else comes along and touches me deeper. I shouldn't be drawn towards Michael. It's been a very long time since we ever had a possibility. But the loose end continue to titillate and torment.