I Will Survive!

So I didn’t sleep with my ex tonight, but I really think it is only because Gloria Gaynor came in at the right moment. Before the show, he took me to a restaurant that I liked (and asked me if I’d like it), and he picked out a play that he thought I would enjoy (which I did) and actively enjoyed it as well. During the show and he had his arm around me, which is pretty typical for our outings. But then he started running his hand through my hair and along my cheek. And that, for me, has always reeled me in.

After the show, we went to a diner and we played handsies (you know that sort of flirting with hands that happens) and then he took my hand and we flirted and shared a piece of carrot cake. But several times I dropped hints that I wasn’t going to get involved with him again. And I told him that I wanted someone to love me as much as I had loved him and to cherish me and I was only ½ of what he was looking for. When he said he wanted to get married in the next few years, I said he should marry a Gemini (he just needed to find the right set of twins for him) but he asked if I was a Gemini. I said “Scorpio” and he replied that he would marry a Scorpio. He asked me to go home with him and I said ‘no.’ Although, if it had been a Friday night, I might have been more hesitant. He sized it up pretty accurately: “you want to, but you are scared that nothing will be different this time.” And he continued: “You’re the only person I really care about. And I could have brought out the other side in you. I can’t promise things will be different. But we can try.”

And then: Gloria Gaynor came on the radio of the diner:

It kind of wrecked the flirtation.

But as we left, my ex kissed me goodnight, and I kissed him back. For the first time since he moved out, I kissed him back. And he’s a good kisser. He told me I was coming home with him, and I said “no” and laughed when he grabbed my bag, but something shifted just a little bit.

I don’t know if it means anything. I think I have the strength to remember that we weren’t healthy together. But he has made an awful lot of changes to try and accommodate what I want and show me he could be different. I doubt it would be different enough, but I think he would try, at least for a little bit. Not long enough though. That’s what I have to remember.

The Lady's got the Blues. (Again)

I'm amazed at how unstable my mood really is, and how closely linked it is to the dating situation (although, recent setbacks at work have deeply affected my mood as well. It seems that work can help stabilize my mood when the dating world sucks and the dating world can stabilize my mood when work sucks. But when they both suck, my mood gets really erratic. Work has me blue enough I don't even want to think about it, but when my current contract expires at the end of the 2FQ, I'm not quite sure what I'll be doing.)

Objectively, dating is, I suppose, going fine. Last Saturday, I went to a city about 100 miles from here, for a date with a guy who lived another 100 miles beyond that. He was nice and I had a good time at the local museum, but not enough to start that much commuting. I have a date tomorrow with the ex (why? What was I thinking? But it is just dinner and a show--it won't lead to anything else. Although, lately, I've been wondering if it would really be SO bad to get involved with him again. I know it would. I know I would need him to change far more than he could. But, I ache to be held. Frankly, I ache to be held by Steven, but Steven can't make up his mind. At least my ex would drive images of Steven away!) Thursday, I'm having a drink with someone I saw a month ago, right before he went out of town. My gut feeling is that it won't lead to anything. I think he is more interested in 'play,' and I don't want to go there.

And, of course, there are several more men I'm flirting with on-line. So, objectively, it is fine. But emotionally, I feel a little hollow inside. Part of it seems to be a string of men who have disappeared after they've gotten my photo. That's never happened to me before. I'm not sure why, given that it is the same photo I've been using for the last 5 months. I don't think saying "this is from September of 07" is really so long ago that it is a red flag. I did mention I go to the gym on my new ad. Maybe that needs to disappear--I do go to the gym, but I don't look like the kind of gal that goes to the gym. But something is going on, and that, of course, is hitting my self-esteem.

And I'm getting obsessed with the food I'm not eating. I don't think I've ever been this obsessed with food before, but I'm also been pretty damn disciplined about eating healthily (although that seems to be slipping, and it can't slip--food issues and weight and self esteem are things I may someday have a little more clarity on, but they are scary things to touch. Even here.)

So I'm watching the mood swings (and I should ad, I don't think anyone else is aware of my mood swings--I keep that closely under wraps) and trying to find an equilibrium.

Just Words?

A debate between Obama and Hillary has centered on language. How important is language? Can it shape reality? Can we justify ourselves only with language? How important are deeds? I find different parts of me drawn to each side of the argument. (Of course, another side would just like to follow John McCain's lead and jump in bed with a cute young lobbyist --Joke--it was a joke--I don't think he slept with her--just traded influence for flirtation).

Part of me completely identifies with Hillary. I often don't believe, in my bones, that I'm lovable the way I am. I truly believe I need to prove myself, work hard, be smart and accomplish things. And, to a certain extent, that works really well. I'm quite thoughtful, taking wonderful care of the people I love. But there are times it isn't reciprocated, in part because I often give more than I should, and I can grow resentful. But I totally understand the woman saying "look--I've done everything you could have asked of me. Isn't that enough?"

A great part of me wants to just be loved for who I am, not want I do. But I don't know how that world works. I'm used to earning recognition, not having it handed to me.

Meanwhile, words. Words are SO important to me. This blog is part of that. If I can just figure out what I'm feeling, with words of course, then I'll be able to control it better, or create better conditions for it.

And, if I can just correctly describe myself, then, maybe, the pieces will fall into place. Either some man will see his counterpart in me, or he'll have the keys to actually claim me. Most men can't claim me--Public Woman is just too strong for most men to actually trust that private girl is there too. This week I carefully recrafted my personal, with help from a lovely gentleman on the other coast. Words do bring me hope.

Trivialities: A lack of profundity

I keep trying to come up with something worth blogging about. Usually an idea forms and I play with it while I walk. But both Sunday and today, nothing. Nothing brilliant. Nothing personal. Work issues. No one on the horizon that has piqued my interest. An OK date with the vanilla guy a week ago, but no chemistry on my side. An amazingly bad date with a different vanilla man (Gentlemen, your fascinating description of how evil your ex wife is really only is interesting for the first half hour or so. Oh, if you want to talk about how "the Jews" run everything and are responsible for all the wars, you might want to ascertain whether your date is Jewish before going that way. Good old eharmony!)

Stunningly beautiful theatre. Sunday in the Park with George. Wow.

But, I'm afraid, I haven't got anything profound to say. (Not that I'm usually profound, but I'm usually able to tease out a theme.) But I'm sure I'll be back with all my usual angst soon!)

Being Real

"Your hero is searching for the real. And that is something that doesn't exist in life. Only in art." "But for us art becomes more real than life." (Very rough paraphrase from Passing Strange, a flawed, and extraordinary new musical (hey, that sounds like me!). Go see it if you possibly can.)

So it got me thinking--what is it that I yearn for? To me, 'sex' in American culture is this commodified shell of what sex can really be. There is this deep eroticism that is so much larger than just body parts vibrating and frictionating. It is like the moment in Beethoven's 9th when the voice's break the form of the symphony and ordinary life becomes 'quotidian'--something of beauty and meaning; transformed and utterly the same, ordinary and sacred. It is this thing that happens in the mind, where the mind stops thinking. No thoughts. No analysis. Just light and the space of a shell unfolding to reveal itself. And then you look at this person. This ordinary, boring, average, extraordinarily beautiful person who can take you out of your own sense of self and into places you never dreamed of.

And then I wonder, am I asking for too much? Maybe, sex is just sex. Nothing about eros and the life force and the transcendental. Nothing all that special. Nouns verbing. Bodyparts adjectiving. Emotions adverbing. Cigarette. That's it--maybe I really just need to try drugs!

Maybe my quest for the 'real,' or really the thing I'm yearing for is the 'sublime,'--maybe it is unattainable. I spent years actively searching for God. Praying to believe. Trying to show up to find a mystical experience. Only to decide that the quest validated itself, but I could no longer continue on a quest I didn't believe in. Maybe "sex" is just sex and God is a metaphor or a myth. I don't know.

And yet, I've experienced flashes of that sublime (and when I say sublime, I mean it the way the Romantics used it, with terror and aws), with Peter (a guy from long before the blog, 2005) and with Steven. Only brief flashes, fleeting and ordinary and extraordinary and beautiful. But if I've experienced it (although never with a man I actually had sex with), then it must be possible? I hope the 'real' I seek can be found in life and not 'just' in art. But I know how to find it in art. Over and over. Beethoven's 9th. U2. The 7th track of Sunday in the Park with George, Silly Wizard. Tchaikovsky's First Piano Concerto. The Beatles. Gershwin & Kern & Michael John LaChuisa and Caroline or Change. I know the sublime is alive and well.

Music and sex are the two things that make the knowledge of our own mortality somewhat bearable. Probably drugs too although I don't think I'm wired to find joy there. We, as a species, have moved from wine, women and song to sex, drugs and rock-and-roll. We keep trying to reinvent the wheel, make it 'real' and make it our own because living only in art is a way of ignoring, killing part of your soul. We have to have it in our quoticial lives. We crave the real. We need to make it our own. And the quest for the real, like the quest for God, validates itself because it keeps our soul vital and real.

How do you make a DQ (tm) blizzard?

So I have a vanilla date tomorrow night. (This is from PerfectMatch.com, which I can definitively say isn't worth the money--$100 for 4 months and the only man worth e-mailing isn't listed as a 'perfect match' and lives 100 miles away, but he's willing to drive in, so we'll do coffee. There are 4 men listed as a 'perfect match' for me after 2 weeks, and 2 of them are over 50! And one looked like he sent his picture for American Gladiator--I'm not much into pictures generally, but pictures where men are nakes or look angry seem like major warning signs to me.)

And the question becomes--how the hell do you make a blizzard? I love Blizzards (although I don't allow myself to have them more than once a year). You start with vanilla icecream, and then you add snickers (it has to be snickers--all the chocolate and caramel and peanuts, and the caramel freezes and gets a little crunchy and sticks to your teeth--yummy!).

DQ's vanilla ice-cream is just bland. Boring! And it would be too sweet by itself. It needs something to set off all that vanilla sticky, sweetness, boring. But do you ask the vanilla if it is OK to add something in? Does the vanilla say "ooh--snickers, come join me?" What if the vanilla wants more, but gets scared to ask. Or looks at all that vanilla and assumes ice-cream only comes in vanilla?

And the snickers--what if the vanilla rejects it? It is scary to be in little pieces, with one part of your self over there and another part over here, and how can you feel whole when you keep cutting yourself into smaller and smaller and smaller pieces. You already feel like a freak, what with your wrapper off and all--you have to take your wrapper off before you have a chance to merge with the vanilla, but how do you find out if the vanilla is interested? The advantage of only hanging out with snickers if you can leave your wrapper on till you crawl into the the other snicker's wrapper. But with vanilla, you can do that! Can you just open the end of the wrapper, and pop out a bit? And what if the vanilla is busy looking at the TV and doesn't realize you've popped out of your wrapper for a bit? Or clueless? Or horrified? (My current eharmony profile, under "stuff only my best friends know" says "I'm kinda kinky." I say it with a little more poetry than that, but I changed it yesterday to say it flat out instead of with hints. Today I had more men 'close' communication with me than I'd typically have in a week! But if that freaks them out, clearly it would have been a waste of time!)

And then, if the vanilla says "oh, yes--I've always wanted snickers," or, more likely "hell--a pretty cute, smart, funny chick that's interested in sex, will do anything I want if I just take charge? Sure, why the hell not? She's got nice tits!" (I've worked fast food--you'd be shocked what the food says when it thinks no one is looking)--but what if the vanilla doesn't really know how to get the snickers out of the wrapper, does the snickers instruct the vanilla on how to take charge?

And another thing--how long should the snickers flirt with the vanilla until she starts to take off her wrapper? How many vanillas will look at her and say "oh, no way!--Skittles, maybe, or Starburst? Even Nerds, but no way in hell can I handle chocolate! And caramel! And Peanuts!!! NO!!!!" And how much time does the snickers want to waste on the vanilla if he's just going to hate the way the caramel freezes up and sticks to your teeth anyway? Especially if the vanilla lives 2 hours away?

So it is all very confusing.

And yet.... We as a country, maybe as a "Western Civilization," well we seem to suck at navigating gender issues. 150 years ago we all of a sudden said "women--you are no longer property. You now get to have some modicum of self." Jane Austen said "cool--how does this work?" And the Brontes said "this is how it might work." And Tolstoy said "this is how it isn't working." And Ibsen said "but this is what happened under the old way." And Strindberg said "this is why this is scary!" And DH Lawrence said "this is why it would be worth it to make it work."

And then something bizarre happened: we stopped talking about it! We said "poof--men and women are equals! Nothing more to talk about." And it is scary to talk about issues of gender (or race or religion) because people get touchy and get hurt or angry. So we just don't talk about it.

So, part of the reason I write this is because I think we need more honest dialogue. I don't have much hope to learn how to make a blizzard tomorrow. But maybe, just maybe, this process will teach me a little more about how to figure it out.

Trivialities: Consolation Prizes

I've started a new labeling system. Sometimes I come up with posts that I think are more interesting. I've tried to avoid posting just a bunch of little details. For example the last post--"Public Persona v. Private Self"--is, I think, worth reading by anyone interested in my private life, and hopefully I'm not the only one struggling with such issues. This one is not. Just a bunch of random details. To save you time, I'm adding a "trivialities" label to this and future posts that fall in that category.

Yesterday I stayed strong and said "no." Over and over.

First the young'un very clearly wanted me to get involved with him again. And the kid has NO social skills. I had agreed to see him mostly because when I had difficulty with my career making me unhappy, the universe sent me 2 wonderful people that helped me a great deal. Quitting my prestigious job was the most difficult decision I've ever made, and the best one. So, while I don't feel like I 'owe' the young'un anything, I do feel like I need to give back some of the support I received. But it won't be to him.

The entire evening was about 'would I go out with him again--even if just as a friend.' The kid remembered that my roommate will move out this summer and tried to get me to let him move in with me! After at least 10 questions about 'would I come over to his place,' 'how much he missed talking with me,' etc. etc. etc.

The young'un has two and only two reasons for thinking he is in love with me. The first is that I'm smart and engaged, so we can talk about a whole host of things. My problem, is that it never goes beyond surface knowledge. It is 'Trivial Pursuit,' not anything with wisdom or how it affects the world. In fact, I find it rather boring.

The second reason is that I'm the only woman he has dated who, instead of seeing dollars signs and thinking "wow--I can live off him," saw that he was unhappy and encouraged him to cut back on his expenses and find a job that he loved thought it would pay less.

I spose in his mind those are important issues. But he doesn't know a thing about me. He has no clue as to my 'public-private' sides, or frankly anything about me because he never asks a question beyond where I'd like to go for dinner. He could never dominate me (and we met on CollarMe, so it isn't like he doesn't know what I'm looking for). I would define every single aspect of the relationship. Whatever I wanted, I would get, instantly. Except all the intangibles that I really wanted. In all honesty, if I hadn't broken up with him in November, he'd probably be shopping for a ring for Valentines Day. But he would never have kissed me. Never ask about how my life went, or understand me.

Meanwhile, my ex called. Again. This time to discuss Romney's dropping out, and could we get a fiscal conservative to run on a third party to siphon off votes from McCain, and agree that Ron Paul would be ideal in that respect. Oh, and did I want to come to him birthday brunch with his kids and dad? His current fuckbuddy is encouraging him to try and get me back. And I said, in a very straight-forward manner, that we weren't good for each other. I didn't want to lead him on, but we weren't good for each other.

He said all sorts of very nice things, like he has never missed anyone the way he misses me. He doesn't understand it, but he misses me. And the fact that we were able to share that 400 sq. ft. apartment for a year is testament to how good we are together. And he wasn't able to make me happy at the time, but.....

Meanwhile, his current ad on CM says that his sub needs to make all her actions based on meeting his needs and pleasing him. Reward would be the pleasure that comes from knowing she has pleased (and the unspoken issue is that is just about the only benefit she will get from the relationship--oooh, sign me up!). He said to me, when I mentioned that it is indicative of how different we are, that he wants someone mentally healthy, and he just really, really misses me.

Neither the young'un or the ex tempt me. I suppose if either did, they'd have actual names here. But not being alone tempts me a little. Not enough to give up what I seek. I do believe, however, that it is a good sign. It is the universe testing me, asking "are you sure?" And generally, when the universe tempts me with a consolation prize and I stay strong, what I'm actually looking for is far more likely to appear in my life. Not today or tomorrow or next week, but someday. Consolation prizes are just a way of letting you know you are on the right track. Reject them and it gives space in your life for the good stuff. Accept them, and you have no room in your life for what you really want!

Public persona vs. private self

In the depths of her interior

Were fears she was inferior

And something even eerier

But no one dared to query her superior exterior

(Stephen Sondheim "Ah, But Underneath")

Steven pointed out that I'm basically two people. He called them my Public and Private selves (although I tend to think of them as "me" and "that little girl deep down"). Steven is absolutely right, but I had assumed everyone has public and private selves, although the split may not be quite so large with others. But, given that Steven thought it noteworthy to point out my split, it is possible that I am unusual in how utterly bifurcated I am.

Public me is pretty darn competent, maneuvers the world well and can handle most anything. I do what I set my mind to and accomplish a lot. I'm grateful to feminism for opening doors and I walk through them gracefully. Set me down just about anywhere in the world, and as long as I have a Lonely Planet, I'll be fine. (OK, not Baghdad, and I wouldn't want to be a woman, traveling alone in Saudi Arabia, but that isn't a question of competence.) Whatever the world throws my way, I'll deal. I can take care of myself and have some pretty impressive accomplishments on my resume. While I'm not as successful as I had originally hoped, I made a series of compromises on my career that have left me much happier and I have few regrets (aside from my current procrastination & perfectionism that has paralyzed one element of my career for about 7 years now).

I'm strong. I don't need help. I'm generous--and I'm there for people when they need them. I'm smart. And I love fabulous conversations. I get excited by them. Any man that would hope to woo me would have to start with my brain. That is inevitable.

Sex with public woman is boring. Very egalitarian. You stroke my back and I'll stroke yours. I'll analyze intellectually what the other person would like, but I don't even know how to enjoy myself erotically when I'm in that realm. There is no fire there. And frankly, public woman isn't very interested in sex.

Meanwhile, deep under all that, there is this little girl (that Steven called the private me). She always seems younger to me--maybe 15 or something--and innocent. Not that she hasn't had sex, but that she believes the best in people--it wouldn't occur to her that people aren't honorable and decent. And she is vulnerable. She greatly appreciates assistance, because she knows the world can just be a little overwhelming at times. She is uncertain. Loves it when people are generous, loves to be cherished, and even petted. (When I'm freaked out or overwhelmed, a man rubbing my cheek is just about the most wonderful thing in the world.)

Private gal is a 'girlie girl' that missed the women's rights movement. She doesn't do or accomplish; she just is, and that's enough because she doesn't have much to prove.

Sex with private gal is absolutely magical (when it is good). She trusts, she is led, she yearns and she is filled. She is absolutely insatiable.

Ultimately, private girl and public woman want the same thing from the same person: to be loved for who we both are, as we are. Not to dazzle anyone--just for him to enjoy public gal and to see private gal, and have them both be OK. Steven said he could only have fallen in love with private gal (he gave me permission to post his letter, if I wanted to, so an excerpt seems appropriate): "Although I enjoy the public woman, I really only can respect her and superficially enjoy her. It’s really only the private woman who I can love. It’s only the private woman who I safely can be intimate with; to whom I safely can disclose my own vulnerabilities, my own fears, my own shortcomings. My heart draws her to me and me to her. I want to hold her and I want to be held by her. I want to trust her and I treasure her trust in me. I can be absolutely real with her and adore her own realness. I can love her strengths and, also, her vulnerabilities. I can wash away her insecurities and her longings and she can wash away mine. Making love with that private woman is what making love ought to be about." I couldn't ask for anything more.

Both Steven & John might point out that I do a damn good job hiding private gal. I think that is a result of the strong criticism from my dad, and also his attempts to practice therapy on me. I shut down because any vulnerability was pounced upon as a pretense to 'process' all the things I didn't care to process. I had no privacy without hiding my vulnerability. It may also be linked to a long period of time when men didn't find me attractive, so I just froze that part of myself.

With regular people, there might be a brief flash, but public woman is simultaneously very protective of private gal, and also embarrassed by her. She knows private gal wouldn't make it alone in the world. Too many mean people, thoughtless people, evil people. Private gal has enough of a hard time accepting kind people who respect her, but can't make life work with her. Steven saw her, completely. John saw snippets of her. My ex saw very brief snippets of her, but not nearly as much. To subject private gal to the world with no defense mechanisms would just be cruel. And frankly, having her rejected would hurt much, much, much more than having public woman rejected. And yet, Steven pointed out, this blog is private gal. For some reason or other, I can come on-line and let complete strangers see my inner-most vulnerabilities.

I (is that the public I? The private? Both? Who knows?) hope to find a way to be less bifurcated, but I don't know how. To a great extent, D/s is about someone stripping down public woman to get to private gal, and then taking damn good care of private gal. The construct includes an implicit pledge to demand the submissive's vulnerability and simultaneous to protect the person surrendering. The blog also lets private gal out, in a safe, controlled way. John and Steven are the only beings on the planet that know who the author of this is, and I trust you both completely. The rest of you (if anyone else actually reads this thing) you have no idea who I am. And there is safety in anonymity. Private gal can come play, a little (ideas to me are play--writing is play--I don't 'play' in the D/s sense), and public woman can realize there is strength in vulnerability, or at least in learning who you really are, owning it and being at peace with the world.

Maybe, someday, I'll find a way to take Steven's advice: "You know, if I could “fix” you, Constance, I’d do it in my blunt fashion: I’d tell you to “Cut the crap!” What do I mean? It’s that I’d tell you to stop with the public vs the private personas and just be who you are when you’re not in the professional or truly public arena. Just be yourself. Merge the two incomplete women into the one whole, healthy, incredible, beautiful woman who you are. Stop trying to control others’ perceptions of you (again, in personal relationships, I mean; not professional ones). Just be yourself and if that’s good enough for the person you’re with, great; if not, well, the objective truth is that it’s their loss. I literally mean that." Being with Steven for that lovely weekend allowed the two to start to merge, but now private gal is running away again. I don't know how to fully embrace her. Therapy actually makes me worse because therapists come in and start prodding and poking and private gal says ever-further locked away. I'm afraid, the only way I can get the two integrated is with someone I can trust and love, and no one will really be interested in me until I am able to address that issue. The blog, I hope, allows some intellectually integration, but I know, too, that it takes years after an intellectual to have a visceral shift without some visceral envelopment.

Super Tuesday

HILL-uh-REE! HILL-uh-REE! chant the happy, smiling people on the corner. oh-BAA-muh! oh-BAA-muh! the equally happy supporters on the other side respond.

I want so much to belong to one of the groups. This is the first primary since 96 that I haven't been out working for my guy. I even went to Iowa for Dean! And I love it. I love being a part of a group, hoping it will work out, and if it does, the future will look so much better. The optimism. The sense of purpose and belonging.

This time, I like them both. My head (and my vote) went to Obama, as I think he can beat McCain. My heart goes to Hillary. I'm worried I'll be her age before I have another chance to vote for a woman for president. He'd be better in 8 years than he will now--why not let him get more experience and let her be the president? But he can beat McCain.

But that is an issue for my political blog. The issue for this blog is that I've lost my bearings. I feel unanchored. I long to walk over to one of the groups--either one really, and join it, but it wouldn't be honest. And I'm saving my energy for the general election.

And that seems true for my life as well. My ex called twice today to see if I wanted to hang out. And he invited me over to his place to watch election results, and I really wanted to go. On November 7, 2006, we went to a sports bar that had dedicated all the screens to election results, and it was a blast. But I knew going to his apartment would lead to something. I was tempted. Very tempted. I checked hotmail 50 times today, hoping to see an e-mail from Steven. But getting involved with the ex would just be silly. Especially after I saw what eroticism could be like with someone more in tune with me.

And yet, just as I yearn to pick up a sign, any sign, I yearn to curl up next to someone. There is this primordial urge to feel his heart beat, his arm around me. That magical day with Steven started to melt my longings. Keep them less controlled. And I feel more alone than ever. But I can't just pick up a sign to belong--I have to support a candidate heart and head. And I can't just curl up next to someone--I need someone whom I respect, admire, adore and laugh with, who can also claim me. A very tall order.

The good news is, we should have a candidate soon, and then I can join that campaign. But I'd rather find someone to curl up with at night. Someone exactly like Steven, but wanting a partner to face the difficulties of life together, someone to grow roots with. Or maybe he'll be completely different, but we'll have a similar energy. But it feels about as likely as Al Gore winning the presidency this year.

I can happily live with Hillary or Obama. But I can't happily embrace a future that is just about me, without anyone to root for.

God Laughs

Steven dumped me. All you regular readers (both of you?) won't be surprised. He was a Gemini through and through. If he was telling the truth, and I'm inclined to believe he was, because we didn't sleep together, and he totally could have if he'd tried, so I don't think he was just playing, anyway, if he was telling the truth, it isn't me--I'm fabulous, wonderful, beautiful, magnificent. But he doesn't want a relationship, doesn't want to feel that way about anyone. Wants to keep to his life plan, and he would come to resent me (through no fault of my own, if he was telling the truth) and so, he must break it off.

It came out of nowhere. We were making plans to see a singer at the end of the month, but they only had general admission, but I've been there before and thought general admission was fine in that space, but then, out of nowhere, he was having grave doubts and just couldn't go through with this.

He sent me the most beautiful e-mail last week. Just incredible. He really saw me, not as I try to pretend I am, but the me that I'm scared no one could like. And he said "I love you--you're beautiful--you don't need to hide."

"What makes God laugh," goes the saying? People making plans. I wonder if God (if there is a God) is laughing with me, or at me. Is something else coming along, someone that would have life goals that are easily intertwineable with mine? Or is it just another emotional roller-coaster ride, pointless, just to see how much I can take before I break.

They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over again and expecting different results. Now, given that the men are different, there are certainly changing variables. But it all seems to have such a similar narrative, logically, I would think it probably is me. The variables I can change are:
a) where I meet men (Steven would say "real life"--but I never meet men in real life)
b) whether I open up or not. But I'm already hidden a great deal. Or maybe I need to hide less? But I don't have it in me to be any more vulnerable--it takes every single ounce of strength I have in order to be as vulnerable as I am. Perhaps I'm vulnerable in the wrong ways? Someday, when I have a little more resilience, I need to go through Steven's e-mail of last week because he hit on several key things. But I don't think I could bare to open it right now.
c) how I deal with break-ups (if they can even merit that title, but emotionally they do).

The last is the only variable I can control tonight. I feel myself torn, back and forth, between pain and cynicism. It would be so easy to say "well, men, can't live with them; can't live without them." Or even "He was a Gemini through and through." Something to define, to contain, to explain. And I want to define, contain, and explain. Especially explain because I feel like this is one more bit of proof that, ultimately, there's just something different enough about me that I will never make connection. No one will ever be able to understand me as I am, which means no one can ever appreciate and love me. Just me. The good, the bad and the ugly. I'm like one of those stereotypes of an old spinster: "I have so much love saved up for you!" and yet, well, I want so badly to share my life with someone and share in his. But if that isn't going to happen, better to know now and just freeze my heart and my eros than continue with this roller-coaster.

I don't know how to open my heart again. But I seem to always find my way through it. And yet, I wonder, how to pick up the pieces this time. I have less and less strength. I wish I believed in God so I could just freeze the eros that seems to run, uncontrolled, through my body and enter a convent. How many more swords through my heart? How will I have the strength to endure?

Wow!

So, Steven and I seem to have come to an understanding, which is that I will continue to see other people (as will he), and we both love each other and want to be with each other right now. I seriously doubt I could sleep with someone else at the same time that Steven and I are involved. And he knows I would want to peruse the possibility of finding a soul mate, when such a thing becomes possible. (We talked really openly about this. Plus, he knows this URL. It amazes me I'm comfy with him reading what I'm thinking and he seems to be comfy with the fact that I have the blog. I have a sneaking suspicioun he wouldn’t find this blog boring—I’m always intrigued when someone writes about me—Hi Steven!). So we’ll let the future take care of itself in whatever way it does. But in this moment, here and now, Wow!

We spent most of Saturday in bed, or around the bed, or backed against the wall, or, well, you get the point. And this hosting site doesn’t allow ‘obscenity.’ But wow! Who knew all of this could be, actually, fun?

Steven used several things on me that I would have thought I couldn’t handle. Especially a riding crop and a TENS (that is some sort of electrical thing) unit. At 30% that was delightful. At 70% it was odd and close to something that might be defined at pain. Really intense but not misery creating. It fell into that transitional place that is difficult to define.

Originally, he had me standing, and that brought out all my fears. All the things I hate about wiitwd and being that way. He was SO sweet. He undressed me that way I love—carefully unwrapping me, like a present. Telling me I wasn’t supposed to help. Kissing every square inch of my body. But when he flogged my legs and butt, very lightly I just got so tense. I wasn’t there anymore. I was enduring for my ex. Then he started flogging my shoulders and I just relaxed. Softening into his presence, I could unwind and let go of what has happened. And I actually enjoyed it. Later, he had me tied, spread-eagle, to the bed, and I just wanted more and more and more and more. I handled everything—even the pointy end of the TENS unit running all over. I wanted him to devour me.

It made me realize how much my relationship with my ex wasn’t healthy for me. I won’t say it was ‘abusive’ because he would have stopped if I said so. I was a full and consenting party, and I accept responsibility for that. But I really grew to dread everything except snuggling.

Now, I should say, my ex gave me several wonderful gifts—most especially the self-esteem to finally leave him. He continually built me up as a human being, even if I felt torn down as a submissive. For the most part, he thought I was beautiful (if a little plumper than he’d like, and he wanted me to dress in less conservative, more revealing, sexier clothing). More importantly, he relished in my mind. Instead of hiding my mind, feeling like it was something someone would overlook if I was lucky, he taught me how much fun it could be.

But, we were not well matched in the erotic world, and I think we both knew it from the beginning. From the start, we agreed that I would compromise by not having many limits in the bedroom and he would compromise by not demanding obedience outside the bedroom. I was OK with that because it didn't feel like I was denying my erotic self and we clicked on a vanilla level.

The biggest problem, for me, is that he liked me scared. And he was angry whenever he moved towards sexual relations. This made me feel like I'd done something wrong--I wasn't good enough the way I was. And he managed to make me scared, which I don't enjoy. The more scared I was, the more turned on he was. (There were other problems too—most especially his belief that I shouldn’t have any sexual needs and that all my needs should be met by the pleasure of pleasing him--I’m just not wired that way. While he finally came to accept that I just got bitchy if I wasn’t having regular orgasms, he always treated that like a chore that I was allowed to handle after I’d done the important stuff of pleasing him, when he was groggy and didn’t really care anyway. I’m not quite sure why I put up with it for as long as I did, but that’s another issue.)

Anyhoo—I used to act. I’m actually pretty good at it. I even got a couple of leads in local theatre productions. Stanislavski--all the way. It wasn’t an attempt to manipulate things on my part (although it may have had a similar effect) but, I couldn’t ‘act’ scared. I could just be scared. It is hard to explain, but every time something happens, I have a choice as to how I respond--do I take the red pill or the blue pill? The blue pill is simple--I focus on the present moment. I take a slow breath in and out, focus on my breathing, listen to my heart beat, and know that I’m OK and I’ll be OK. The red pill is different. I don’t focus on my breathing. Instead, I focus on my helplessness. My inability to make the situation different. I breathe too fast and lose control. And I get scared. And as soon as I start there, I get more scared.

By a certain point with the ex, I was having panic attacks a couple of times a week. It was actually a routine that grew to work for both of us--he’d get off on my panic attack, then he’d comfort me and I'd love the comforting. The problem was, a panic attack leaves a chemical residue in my body, where I feel more helpless and jittery until I’ve had a good night’s sleep and it did something weird to my self-concept, so going to that place on a regular basis, it made me even more susceptible to it.

Sex with my ex was like a bad fight with my folks. I hated it. I really did. But it was home. Not everyone likes their home. I’d put up with bad vanilla sex my whole life--it wasn’t worse than that because at least it was honest, and I was home. It was the way the world was supposed to be, right? I just drew a bad hand, and this is what a relationship looks like if you are in the kinky world. I’m finally learning, that is what a bad relationship looks like in the kinky world, but it has left traces on my soul and scripts in my head that I don’t want to replay for the rest of my life. Steven actually talked with me about it (in part, because he knows my secrets--he knows my fears and he is so lovely with them), and I think he will help me let go of those scripts. Who knew all this could be fun too?