Teen Holliday

It's a difficult holiday, and has me singing the blues, or at least feeling them. Most people in my life would look at me askance if I actually sang.

I feel like I'm back in my teenage years.  It is interesting, because until this trip, I felt like I was much of the problem of my problematic teenage years.  Typically, when I take the time off to see a family member, they try to spend time with me.  My mother is so distracted right now that even though I took off time to be with her, she doesn't even have time for me to help her beyond running to the store for her, doing a small construction project, being on the phone to get her internet working, that sort of not-fun-thing.  And she's moving--I get that.  It is tough for her.  But it is also tough for me.  This wasn't what we'd planned on.

If I weren't having a hard time, with my dad and in general, I wouldn't be having a hard time with my mom.  I'm needy and my mom is kind of ignoring me this trip.  Not ignoring me, but it isn't a holiday.

Everyone thinks I'm so cavalier and strong, but I get hurt so badly and so easily.  I just hide it.  I was 'fun to tease' and my dad blamed me, so now, almost everyone just sees this mask. I guess we all do that--but then I meet people like Nate, who really don't seem to do that.

Maybe it is good that the tears are at the surface right now.  But sometimes I'm scared that the only thing that happens when I allow my emotions to the surface is that I get more easily hurt.

My family doesn't really consider me an adult because I'm just a single woman, and truth be told, I don't really either. I keep waiting for my life to begin when I meet someone to share it with.  So much of my energy is spent on being ready and open for a relationship.  And yet, maybe I'm just too severely damaged.  No, that's not true--I could easily be married right now to the ex, if I'd said yes, and maybe a few other guys along the way if I'd been willing.  I have a friend who only ever dated a guy for a couple of months, and he clearly viewed her as a fuck-buddy.  I'm not that damaged.  I'm just too picky for the men that are interested in me, and seem to be interested in the men who are not.

Tears at the surface

I feel like I'm blogging a little too much to keep it interesting.  I don't want this to turn into "and then for breakfast, I had eggs with toast."  At the same time, it does feel like a lot of emotional stuff is coming up right now, and that is what I use this for.

So Edwin was sweet and warm and genuine and lovely.  We talked about our lives, and things that mattered.  It sounds like his marriage is hard, but good.  He had all sorts of Jesus-stuff in his car.  "My little book of God" and Jesus loves me stuff for his 3-year-old.  It is interesting to think how very different my life would be if I had ended up with him.  When we were close, I was pretty involved with church, but mostly because I was showing up, trying to be present to get some sense of a spiritual life.  At a certain point, with no sign of a spiritual presence, I quit trying.  (I hope that isn't a metaphor for my romantic life.)

I mentioned John.  He is a kind, good man. He could tell when my tears were close to the surface and was empathetic.  He would clearly like to be friends again, and I don't want him in my life too closely.  It is just too painful.

I feel like my tears are on the surface a lot.  Maybe it is good in the long run, but it is kind of exhausting.

Brunch

So, Edwin called.  And he sounded so excited to see me.  (It turns out he lived here years ago, not months ago; some family member must have had an amazon.com address.)  I said something like "well, now you have an another Christmas present" and he said "Two--it is so great to get to see you!"  And then he said "Do you want to get together?" and he sounded unsure, which made me realize that I was deeply ambivalent about seeing him, but of course, I agreed to get together.  It has been years. But it made me sad, and a little panicky.  I've been out of sorts all day.  It's just brunch.  I don't know why this scares me.

A Mark, A Yen, A Buck, or a Pound

I don't like to ask for things.  In part because I make enough money, for the most part, to be fine.  I have had short-term money woes this year, but I'm fine long-term.

But I think my dad and I have to talk about money.

First of all, my dad has started an approach to presents that I call "Buy and Bill."  He tells me to buy myself something and send him an invoice.  I don't know if he notices that I don't ever invoice him for them.  Last year, he didn't even send me a birthday card.  I know he hates it if I buy him something.  He can get really angry at me for it.  (It is actually something I've written pages and pages about, but nothing coherent--just a list of 'you yelled at me when I bought you this., and you were angry that I bought you this....')

I REALLY wish my dad would notice that I never bill him for presents.  He promises me expensive things, but never follows through unless I send him an invoice, which just feels so wrong to me.

In addition to not really getting big presents (which my siblings don't have a problem billing him for), my parents are giving more money to my siblings.

A couple of years ago, my brother started a business and my parents gave him 10K.

Last year, my sister bought a house and got married, and I'm pretty sure my parents gave her 10K.

In the last few years, with me buying a house, freezing eggs, and remodeling my house, my parents have given me 4K.  And I should say, I'm grateful for their help!  But when I needed more help, my parents were very clearly about sending each sibling a matching check every time they sent me one.  (The only exception was when I was in college, but then they put money in a trust fund for the siblings.  Also, I went to a state school and both my siblings went to Ivy League colleges.  And I worked the entire time and my siblings didn't, in part because I really encouraged my parents to let my siblings go to Ivy Leagues--I really thought the school I went to wasn't great.)

When my sister got married (5K), my mom spoke with me and said that the trip (the one my dad cancelled that precipitated this mess) would be how things would be balanced out.

I really don't begrudge my sister or brother their gifts (although I do have to say that while I'm fine, they are more-fine; both are DINKs (for the time being, and I'm sure when grandchild arrives, there will be tons of resources thrown towards the grandchild, as there should be)), but when dad cancelled the trip, I do think money was a really big part of it.  And I think that means, we'll have to talk about it.

Oy

Coming Together

“If I could take all my parts with me when I go somewhere, and not have to say to one of them, ‘No, you stay home tonight, you won’t be welcome,’ because I’m going to an all-white party where I can be gay, but not Black. Or I’m going to a Black poetry reading, and half the poets are anti-homosexual, or thousands of situations where something of what I am cannot come with me. The day all the different parts of me can come along, we would have what I would call a revolution.”  (Pat Parker’s “Movement in Black.")

I'm a privileged, straight, white girl.  Protestant.  From an educated family.  Our family has silver, each piece engraved with our family crest, goes back to George.  Yes, I grew up eating with Georgian silver (and I love it). I was surprised when I saw Follies that that was a mark of privilege.  My grandmother had wealth growing up, but married out of it.  (And married late.  She was lucky she didn't end up an old made.)  But her sister married into the unbelievable privilege of her family.  We often had the aspirations, but not the wealth.  

But we were still well off.  Not 99%, but probably 97% (although I, myself, am only 67%, according to the Wall Street Journal). 

So why do I have this deep, deep, deep sense of not belonging?  Part of it was the bullying.  My parents lived on a hippie commune and made me go to school with a bunch of fucking red necks.  The bullying was horrible, consistent and incessant.  Not that I had my arm broken every day, but I was probably physically assaulted once a week.   The fact that my parents had advanced degrees and their parents probably dropped out of high school didn't mean anything to me.  What mattered to me was that there were 30 of them, not one of whom would give me a covert smile, and most of them were older (It was a 1-room school house, grades 1-6, and I was in the 1st grade).  I know the bully was a huge part of it.  Another part of it was that I was too smart for my own good.  "A lady always laughs at a gentleman's jokes."  But I couldn't play that game.  

My parents didn't protect me that much.  They didn't view that as their job.  I think that is quite common among parents of the Me-generation.  And so I learned to be stronger than I would have been on my own.    Probably stronger than was healthy for me.  Which, all-in-all, probably made me even less datable.  Few men want to date women who are strong, who also know their way around a pneumatic nail gun.  I remember the first time I had a D/s scene, the guy wanted me to struggle.  He told me to.  It was fun.  I struggled away from him.  He lost interest.

And, on top of it, I was fat.  I'm still plump, but now in the 'normal' range, whatever that means.  But growing up, I was fat, before kids could even get plus-size clothes.  

I usually had a couple of good friends, but I didn't make friends easily.  I think I'm prickly when I first meet people, but once I make a friend, I have that person for life.  I have 4 women in my life that think of me as their most important, closest friend.  While I love them all, I think of one of them as my closest friend. So I know that people who love me think I'm pretty extraordinary.  

But most people don't take the time to get to know me.

The parts of me are my intellect, my commitment to making the world a better place, my kink, my soul-searching and my little-kid-who-wants-to-play-on-the-swings.  

I know that I have been the beneficiary of incredibly societal privilege, but all I really feel is the shame that society levels on those that do  not live up to the paradigms that keep the hierarchy in place.  There are the few places where I feel accepted, but I would wonder, when I was at church, what they'd think if they knew about my kink.  And when I was at a munch, I'd wonder what they'd think of me going to church.  I segregate these different parts of myself, because it seems so hard to find a place to welcome them all together.  And so, I just want one person to cherish all of them.

Edwin

It's a small world.  My parents bought a new house, in a city about 4 hours from where I grew up.  And today, UPS delivers a package to my parents' new house, addressed to Edwin.  (I think I've also referred to him as Edward on this blog, and probably something else that began with a vowel a few years ago, but I forget people's blog names.  He and I went to college together, about 1000 miles from this city, then we both moved to a large city on the other coast, where I currently live, and he moved to the city my parents are now moving to--we were very close friends from 1989-1998.)

It turns out, Edwin was living in my parents' new house as a renter while the previous owners were selling it.   Which means he has probably separated or divorced from his wife.  I hope he is doing OK.

I found his work number on google and called him.  I haven't heard back.  I don't necessarily want to see him, but it seemed kinder than returning his present to Amazon.

If this were a movie, it would be a cute-meet.  But it isn't a movie, and I absolutely know that even though I really, really did love him, it wasn't mutual (aside from him doing things like kissing me on the eyes, cuddling with me, holding my hand, talking on the phone for maybe 20 hours a week on average, for about 3 years, sometimes even talking about how no woman was attracted to him, when he knew I was, all that kind of stuff).

I don't regret breaking off the friendship with Edwin.  I really don't.  I'm so relieved he isn't in my life.  He took up all my romantic energy.  I only regret having allowed it to go on for as many years as it did.  But I can see why I did.  He absolutely sent mixed signals.

I don't understand why I draw men to me that are absolutely committed to being friends, who rely on my for that emotional energy, who do lots of things that could be read one way or the other, but ultimately, they don't want to fuck me, or don't want to have a relationship with me.  It makes me feel so unlovable and hurts my soul.

Is desire is the root of suffering?

I'm not a Buddhist.  Life would be much easier with my dad if I were.  But I'm just not.  I tend to plan for the future, rather than live in the present (but my present is a hell of a lot better than my friends who lived in the present).  I don't do much drugs; I save for retirement; I exercise, all for the future.  I think having connection with people I love is more important to me than saying whatever I feel in that moment.

But I do see a lot of wisdom in some parts of it, and I'm sometimes wondering about desire being the root of suffering.  It is probably true, but I am still going to ache for things I don't have.

Over the holidays, Bobby was supportive in a way that Nate didn't even realize I wanted.  Nate was sweet and sexy, but when I told him my dad and I were having a hard time, but we're working on it (I left out the hours and hours and hours of therapy), he said "That speaks highly of you both," which is fine. But I really would have liked him to ask about what was going on, or how I felt, or something.

I suppose it isn't fair to compare, as Bobby reads my blog and Nate doesn't know it exists (nor will he, as far as I can see).  But Nate just doesn't have that introspection (or at least I'm not aware of it), and Oh, do I wish Bobby were open for a real relationship and not just fucking around.  Intellectually, I think I shouldn't allow myself to ache for something I can't have.  I have absolutely no evidence that Bobby would want to try something, but I can't help but crave that.  I still believe that Bobby could have been a kindred spirit, and a partner in all meanings of the word.  It is so rare in my life that I meet someone like that.

Originally, I tried to give up kink because I thought I couldn't have it and all the soul work.  Then I figured I couldn't give up kink and gave up on trying to have the soul work.  Nate is as good a man as I've dated in a long time.  But if I think of my soul as a bell, Bobby could make it ring, and Nate doesn't know the bell is there.  Maybe he'd learn to appreciate that side of me because he seems awfully smitten with me, but I feel like it would be watching me figure skate or something--oh, isn't it cute she does that, rather than something we could explore and share together.

I crave more.  It leads to suffering.  It means I can't be friends with Bobby because it just slaps me all the time that I want more.  It means I'm not appreciating Nate, because I want more.  Not being Buddhist, I try and remove the person I crave because I've never been able to control the craving.  I'm not being fair to Nate. Or to Bobby. Or to me.

Daddy & Dementia

At dinner, we all decided to sing a Christmas Carol as grace.  My dad didn't genuinely feel the Christmas Carol, so he started singing a drinking song over the Christmas Carol.

This didn't touch some deep nerve.  It didn't make me feel insecure.  It made me feel scared for my dad.  What the fuck?  Who does something like that?

Throughout the day, it felt like my dad needed to be the center of attention, whether he was lecturing us at breakfast about how much better the world is getting (and being frustrated if we questioned his fact--according to him an average of only 1,000 people have been killed in war each year in the 2000s whereas 65K were killed a year in the 1930s, so clearly life is getting better.  And I was like "but, if you count 9-11, I think about 10,000 U.S. citizens were killed in the 2000s in war, and that is just the U.S.  How many were killed in Iraq?  What if The Lancet  is right and it was over a million?  What about Darfur?  Those number just don't make sense.  He got annoyed and lectured us about rising incomes and was annoyed when my sister asked if his numbers were adjusted for inflation.  He seemed like a kid practicing a speech for class, wanting to be the center of attention.

If my dad does have more medical issues, I will, absolutely, be there in whatever way he needs.  Always.  No matter what.  And I have to say, I'm really wondering if there is something else going on.  Everyone else in my family thinks that I jump to that because of John, and maybe I do.  But something, in addition to being cavalier with my feelings, is going on.

Unlovable?

Truth be told, that has always been my biggest fear. I know my mom loves me dearly.  And was willing to sacrifice for me. She basically became the lightening rod for much of my dad's anger and criticism to direct it away from me.  But I think she is the only person in my life who has ever loved me enough to sacrifice for me. I have several friends that absolutely would, if I were in a place to need them to.  And my beloved Grandmother would have, if I had needed her and she could have.

My parents are members of the "me" generation.  And my dad this week has made it clear that he will enjoy hanging out with me, on his terms, but he won't actually sacrifice anything, like, say, listening to an episode of Radio Lab once in the last 3 years to see if he likes it, or watching Passing Strange or wanting to talk on the phone when I'm having a hard time, or keep his word, or be empathetic when he changes plans and I'm upset, or not talk in the theatre when he wants to talk in the theatre or not criticize me if I do something he doesn't approve of in that moment, or not get upset if I don't send him a card, or not get upset if I do send him a present.  It is true that in 2004 my dad did go see Caroline or Change on my recommendation, and he loved it.  And he mentioned that multiple times yesterday.  Evidently, once a decade is all I can ask of my dad to consider a recommendation that I give him about something I love in the world.  (It goes without saying that he is always recommending things to me, and whether it is a 2-week intensive therapy or War and Peace, I take his recommendations seriously.)

My dad used to send me the most beautiful letters.  They were usually 5-8 pages long and were a detailed account of where he was.  "I am in the Madrid train station, and a peacock just walked by.  Connie, I wish you were here.  There is a gentle mist coming down and it seems more like a rainforest than any train station.  I'm drinking a cup of jasmine tea and watching this little kid try and catch the peacock, but the peacock is holding its own." I have one he sent me like 5 years ago that I've never opened because I am saving it so I will always have one more letter from dad.  I told him how much I love his letters, but he hasn't sent one for years.

I'm cooking breakfast for the entire family and my dad's contribution is to read me some Buddhist crap.  What surprised me was that he completely misunderstood the passage.  "Don't fail to add a drop of good deeds to the ocean of virtue" and my dad interprets that to mean as "Don't do a good deed or be virtuous just for the sake of being virtuous."  It is like he needs constant confirmation that being selfish, but genuinely and authentically selfish, is somehow superior to trying to have awareness of other people's feelings.

But, deep down, what it means is that my dad doesn't really love me.  If he loved me, he would be interested in what I think and love.  And if my dad doesn't love me....  And no man I've ever actually loved me....  Maybe I'm not unlovable at my core, but just so profoundly damaged that the difference is moot. John was interested in my life and what I thought (as is Bobby), but he couldn't make the leap.  John thought he was unlovable as well--we talked about it, but I told him I loved him, so clearly he had more issues with accepting than deserving love.

I am however, one of the most loving, generous, loyal people I know.  (And other people have said that about me a lot too.)  And so, maybe it is time to give up on attempting romantic love, or even thinking I could ever bridge the gender divide, and have a couple of girls and love and support and nurture them.  Give them the childhood I had wanted, while trying to have enough humility to remember that they are not me, and at some point will want different things, and then I'll try to give them that (as long as it is their long-term interests).  Maybe that will be enough of an outlet for my love.  Well that, and maybe when my cats die, I'll get a dog.

Daddy's Girl ad infinitum

So after 3 therapy sessions, we've gotten to the point where my dad has said, hypothetically, that he is willing to accept that his behaviour affects other people (me) and he is willing to, hypothetically, accept that maybe he may want sometimes to try to consider the impact of his behaviour on others.

He also said, interestingly, that he and my mom made an early decision that keeping their relationship strong was the centerpiece of their marriage and that the kids would live in the radiance of their (rather tumultuous) relationship.  We would never be the center, and boy did I feel that.

I think he has also decided he will try to criticize me less. He has said he doesn't want to criticize me, but he is sure he will mess up.  He said when I was young he would be very critical of me for getting a sun burn, and not just empathetic for it hurting.  (What went unstated here is why the fuck was I getting sun burns?  Why didn't I have a parent putting sunscreen on me?) Although I have to say his criticism that my eye contact for, maybe 45 seconds, made him uncomfortable, and he wasn't willing to say that I hadn't done anything wrong, has made me self-conscious beyond anything he has said for decades.  I've been avoiding making any eye contact with him at all, which is maybe the most fucked-up thing he has ever made me feel.

So the question I have is, what would it take for me to not be my daddy's girl?  I'm not saying what would it take for me to not be my father's daughter; of course I am.  I have his coloring, his skin, his hair, his sense of humor and some of his intellectual view of the world.  But what would it take for him to say "you make too much eye contact--it makes me really uncomfortable" and me to not be hurt by that?  Clearly, I am too entangled with my father for a 40-something woman.  Why do I allow him to hurt me?  What would it take for me to not care so much?

Maybe that is unrealistic.  There is a lot of love in our relationship (as evidenced by the 3 therapy sessions in 2 days), but there is so much pain.  I don't want to let go of the love.  I don't want to say "fine; whatever; I'll see you at your funeral."  I can't help but be aware of his mortality.  At the same time, when I was deeply upset by things, he would just justify what he had done.  The fact remains that he cancelled a trip he had promised for 2 years, as a thank you for me taking care of him, because he'd rather go to country A along than country B with me.  He finally got to the point where he is apologizing for that (at the time he presented it in a very cavalier way).  But he'd still rather go to country A by himself than country B with me.

Intellectually, I know that I am engaged with him and that I need to take responsibility for continuing to be so deeply attached to someone who I cannot trust to do what he says he will, or try to not hurt me.  (That isn't quite true--when he can see or hear tears, he is very, very aware of them, but he won't be careful unless he sees or hears tears.)

I don't know how to disentangle without cutting him out of my life, and while right now, a part of me really does want to cut him out of my life, I believe I would deeply regret doing that.  The fact is, my dad is probably going to die before me, and I don't want to have huge regrets.  But, I don't know how to protect myself.  And he has never protected me.

This year, one of my siblings got pregnant for the first time, and my dad said that if I have kids, he won't be as close to them as he will to my other siblings' kids.  (My dad is moving to the city my other siblings settled down in.)  I was deeply wounded by this.  And shocked.  But in the last couple of months, I've started to feel like if I have kids (and it won't be for a couple of years--fertility treatments, here I come!), I wouldn't want my dad to have any relationship with them.  Unless he is able to see that his behaviour has impact on other people, and that he can't just be 'genuine' and trust to his good intentions, regardless, then I don't want him around my potential kids.  If he looks at a drawing they've made and criticizes it because his genuine truth is that it is no Van Gogh, then he really isn't a safe person to have around my future children.  But there would be a huge, huge loss there.  Massive.  I hate the thought of even having thoughts like that.  But if I'm going to be a single mom (and maybe I won't--Nate knows I want kids, and he laughs at my timeline, but he doesn't seem to have a problem other than my thinking I can plan it.  And if Nate doesn't work, maybe I'll meet someone else.  Although the fact that I could feel so sexy thinking about him last night makes me feel like we're much more of an option than I did yesterday), then I don't want a man in their life that is only occasionally there.  A man who is joyous and engaged when he feels like it, but then just disappears or says something cruel.  Fortunately, unlike my sister, I have a couple of years before I have to confront this issue.

Materialistic Masturbation

In addition to the outfits yesterday, I bought 2 pairs of thigh highs.  I have always HATED thigh highs.  They often roll down.  They sometimes hurt.  They, imo, look like crap.  But Nate LOVES them.  Absolutely loves them.  He likes me to keep heels and thigh highs on when we're making out, even when I'm otherwise naked.  So I bought 2 pairs that were more like thigh high tights than thigh-high stocks.  The last pair of thigh highs I put on I snagged with my hands.  (Not my nails--they were so delicate that a place on my hands snagged them.)  These were sturdy enough that they weren't behind plastic in the store.

And they looked fabulous!!!  And they didn't hurt!

Two days ago, Nate gave me an assignment--to play with myself and think of him and have a nice orgasm and sleep well.  And between the fight with my dad and the sound of my parents voices, I couldn't do it!  It is the first time I have ever not been able to make myself come.  Couldn't do it.

Last night, I put on my fabulous new thigh highs and felt sexy (I've never felt sexy in thigh highs before.)  And I had a nice orgasm, making sure I brought my mind back to Nate often.  (My mind flits around all the time when I play with myself; also Nate has been rather gentle with me.  I think he has more of an edge, but I haven't seen it.)  And I fell asleep in my thigh highs.  Woke up at 4 am and did the same thing again.

It was really nice to find that sexual energy that I haven't been able to tap into for several months.  I'm going to buy some more thigh highs....

Retail Therapy

Generally speaking, I'm not materialistic.  Or I am, but not in the way that I think most Americans are.  I love some things I have, very much.  But I don't necessarily want new things.  In fact, for the most part, I'd much prefer what I already have to something new.

Today, after the 2nd round of therapy, when I was feeling clobbered and criticized and bewildered (I've been criticized for an awful lot, but an inappropriate amount of eye contact, when it was probably under 1 minute and I'd avoiding my dad for a couple of months, just bewildered me.  I actually asked him at some point if he wanted me to avoid making eye contact with him in the future, and he said no, just not copious amounts when other people are present.  But I'm just avoiding him mostly.)

So I went to the mall where I often went during childhood.  First of all, it is so tiny!  Really cute!  But it didn't seem that way when I was a kid.  Much of it is the same.  Sure, the sign on the "Orange Julius" looks more 90s than 60s now (it is always at least a decade behind), and Radio Shack has much cooler gimmicks.  Woolworths has been replaced by a movie theatre.  But it is mostly the same.

However, there was a store--a little regional chain that had nice clothes, with an amazing sale.  Kind of sexy, but not slutty sexy.  Elegant-sexy. The sort of store I longed to shop at when I was a kid, but I was too big (and we only really shopped at Goodwill anyway).  The sale was amazing--dresses for $16.  Winter coats for $36.  So I thought "what the hell" and I tried some things on.  And they fit!  (Well, one dress is just a tiny bit too tight at my chest, but I bought it anyway. Maybe it will fit next year.  And it is SO cute! I don't actually feel like I have a lot of weight to lose there.  It is funny--my tummy is where I'd love to lose a little weight--I like my big breasts. But the chest is where things often don't fit.)  So I bought a ton of stuff--a cute winter coat to replace the too-big, thrift-shop Gore-tex shell I've been wearing.  Some cute sweater-jackets that I can wear with sleeveless tops.  And 2 cute dresses, one of which fits now (but is really a summer dress) and the little (a bit too little, actually) red-lace dress I'd love to wear on Christmas, but will have to wait till next year.

And buying all these cute, sexy, inexpensive clothes, and a store that isn't a plus-size store, in my childhood mall, it made me feel so much better about myself.  The shit with my dad is really playing a number on me and my self-esteem.  There was something about the combination of being insanely reasonable and fitting that just made me feel really happy.  It kind of scared me--I don't want to be the kind of person that uses shopping to assuage shitty feelings.  But in this instance, it really did.

The stuff with my dad makes me realize why my teenage years were so hard, because I'm awfully close to behaving the same way.  I'm sort of horrified that I agreed to come back for almost 2 entire weeks.  Hopefully, we'll work through this.  But all-in-all, it is a little horrifying and I could totally see myself feeling like a teenager again.  But at least if I do, I'll be a teenager who can have some perspective, and even if that perspective is only going to the mall and being able to buy what everyone else buys, well, it is really nice to have a place I fit in.

Daddy's Girl: Part 12,731

So at dinner last night, dad asked me something about work and I was explaining something.  Then he started criticizing me for not dividing my eye contact equally between my dad and my mom.  I was upset, and he noticed and said something about me being upset, and I said "I don't want you to criticize me unless I'm directly hurting your feelings" and he said "I can't do that."

Ouch.

With the therapist today he actually said he doesn't want to criticize me, so that seems a step forward.  But, what was interesting, was he said that my making direct eye contact with him made him feel really uncomfortable.  He said it was like a 'trance' for him.  Overall, I find this bizarre, because I wasn't really interested in the conversation.  I was talking about work.  It was the first time since our big fight that I had had a conversation with him (aside from some facebook "here's my plane reservation" stuff).  However, when I was younger, we would have a lot of intellectual discussions that I really loved.  He has made it quite clear he doesn't want to do those with me anymore, and I really didn't think this was an intellectual discussion.

But it does highlight that for me, that intellectual connection with someone is so important.  I actually loved those conversations I used to have with my dad.  And that would be so lovely if I found a romantic partner that I could share them with.

I do think that my issues with my dad may be linked to my difficulties with men.  I don't trust my dad to be kind to me, and just love me for who I am.  I do prove myself.  I do think I'm constantly not good enough.  But I did love those intellectual conversations.

Angst, Eros, Commercialism and Feminism

Something kind of interesting has started to shift, which is that I think my angst about kink is dissipating.  I still have this theoretical concern that kink is a commercialization of eros.  I think there is truth to that.  But then I have to say, do I care?  If it makes a hotter, sexier sex life, then that is good, as long as it doesn't undercut the power in other ways.  But that is a theoretical concern; it doesn't affect my actual sex life, when I'm having sex.

I still will be reluctant in some ways, but I know that it because I love to have reluctance overcome.

My biggest concern about Nate, as far as kink goes, is that I'm not sure he is dominant enough.  Maybe that is the sign of a wonderful man, making me want more instead of making me scared. Before my ex, I had theoretical angst, but not a visceral angst.  But my ex hit me too hard, too often, without ever have sexiness as part of it, which really took a toll.  But I feel like that has left my body.  Not completely.  This week Nate took off his belt, and he didn't hit me at all hard--it was fun.  But I totally tensed the whole time he had his belt out.  He did all sorts of things to make it seem like it was harder than it was--he just made a lot of noise, which was quite dramatic.

But truth be told, I think I tensed because I wanted to be pushed a little bit more, but not a lot more.  I know he could have made that not-at-all fun, and I don't know him well enough on a cellular level to not have that awareness in my head.  (I didn't have that trepidation with Bobby, but with Bobby, it was a sense that our souls had know each other before then.  Things just clicked in a way that is very rare for me.)

I won't tell a man that I want reluctance overcome until I REALLY, REALLY, REALLY trust him.  Like after he knows my social security number, I think.  Because that is a really pivotal and scary bit of information, and in a way, it puts the man in a horrible position.  I mean, yes, of course, we'd have a safeword, but at the same time, I've always been horrible about using a safeword.  When I'm in that place, I want to please.  When the ex was pushing me too hard, I'd just start doing Sudoku to try to ignore what was happening, which, in the short term, made me able to endure more.  But in the long run, it was damaging to my soul.

So I want someone to push me, farther than I want to admit that I go, but not so far that I d Sudoku (or anything else where I'm in my head, trying to ignore what is happening in my body).  I don't think there's any concern about that with Nate, however!

Rolling in the Deep

I ache for Bobby's touch.  Soon, I hope to ache for Nate's touch.  But I wake up in the middle of the night and I'm desperate to feel Bobby's hands around my neck as I struggle for air and feel that little wave of neurons dancing down my face, his hands hitting my ass as I arch my back up to meet each smack.  Nate asks.  Bobby demanded.  I need to be tamed. Trained.

I don't know why I find this song so sexy right now (at least the first part, when it is just her voice and a drum).  But songs of heartbreak and regret seem to hit me dearly.  (Of course, Silly Wizard's Donald McGillivery is also incredibly sexy to me, and I really don't think I have issues with war, so maybe it is just a sexy song.)


One of my dearest non-sexual fantasies it to have a guy I'm actually in love with make me sing a karaoke song.  I'd sing this, and only the two of us would know what the lyrics mean.  This is one of those rare songs of completion that is as sexy as a song of loss, and I want more nights belonging to a lover.

"Playing" hard to get

So here's what I notice:

When I'm less interested in a guy I do the things I try to keep myself from doing too much, like asking if he is open to more kids.  If I'm really into a guy, I hold that info closer to my chest.

I'm totally needy with Nate.  I send him saucy e-mails and I'm kind of trying to get him to take just a little more control with me.  He probably thinks I'm really into him.  I really want to be into him.

With my dad, on the other hand, I play hard to get.  I know that he likes me better if he doesn't see me all the time (although the not-talking-to-him-for-6-weeks is a little harder to get than I usually play).  If I thought that Bobby and I had a chance, I'd play hard to get.  (I still wish we did, but that is a brain versus heart sort of thing.  Brain is smart.  Heart doesn't work that way.  But Nate and I will probably sleep together in January and then, hopefully, I will cut my little attraction to Bobby out of my heart for good.  Something I can laugh at.  I hope.)

It seems odd, but I suppose it is proof to how much I tend to trust my brain over my heart.

Waiting for Lightening

I hate deus ex machinaes in art.  I don't mind them in the first 10 minutes of a play or the first 40 pages of a book, but I think if some act-of-god has to happen to conclude a story, the artist is being lazy or blocked or something.  Intellectually, I know people get hit by cars or win the lottery in real life, but I hate it when that happens in real life too!  (Although I will make an exception if Dotty wins the lottery--she buys about 6 tickets a year, and if she wins, she is giving me a million dollars upfront and 10K a year, and all she ever thinks about is who she'll give it away to.)

But here I am, waiting for a little deus ex machinae; I really want to fall in love with Nate.  I enjoy being with him. I really do.  We exchanged Christmas presents last night and had a lovely evening.  And we are talking a little more in depth.  He listens when I talk, but he never reveals his own vulnerability.  I have to believe it is there, but so far, I haven't see it.  Soon, I hope.

Art versus Entertainment, in time

It seems to me, the principle difference between art and entertainment is how it makes me experience time.

With entertainment (and I don't mean this term as a pejorative--there is some wonderful, wonderful entertainment out there), time speeds up and, if the entertainment is superlative, I fall into that world.  Harry Potter or The Lord of the Rings or Hugo, or Ship of Magic were all marvelous, and they all made time fly by.  Truth be told though, I do a lot of mediocre entertainment to pass the time.  NPR is mediocre entertainment.  It is wonderful if I'm cooking, but not so great if I'm playing a video game.

Art slows down my experience of time.  I don't lose myself in art the same way--it is a mirror that reflects back.

This last year, I have felt like time has been speeding up.  I've never noticed it so starkly before, and I wonder if I'm been having more entertainment and less art.  Reading this great novel, which I think is clearly art, has made the day expand and helped me find more time.  

I think maybe clearly my iPod of some of the podcasts I consume obsessively (but not that one.  And not that one either...) and listening to more of the Bs (Bach, Beethoven and Beatles) might make time slow down a bit.  

Drafts

I just spent 3 hours trying to finish some Christmas presents and watching In Treatment and all sorts of things came up.  One of the entries remains in draft form, which I have done since John died.  (Well, I might have written something and thought "this is trivial" or "you don't know what this is about yet," but usually the trivial ones end up being about something--I just haven't yet figured it out, and then I do.)

I'm aware of how much I don't say in my life.

When John died, I had dozens of e-mails to him in my drafts folder.  There are 25 unpublished drafts of this blog.

I was volunteering today, and I had some downtime, and I was reading this book Bobby recommended, and I started to cry.  In public.  Where kids could see me.  There was something so profoundly beautiful and vulnerable and "yes. That is me. This is why Bobby wanted me to read it. Because it is him too."

And yet sometimes, even though I consider this blog "therapy in public," even when I have a flash of realization, I'm scared to actually say what it is.  I'm censoring myself because this is no longer my anonymous little haven.  I will probably never see Bobby again as long as we both shall live.  But, there are things better left unsaid.  And part of my mourns my missing anonymity.

Daddy's Girl: Part 11,278

Of course, I'm going 'home' for the holidays.  While I haven't spoken to my dad for at least a month, although it feels much longer--we typically talk 2-3 times a week.  So, of course, we have a couple of therapy sessions scheduled for over the holiday weekend.  Not Christmas day, but Christmas eve (in the morning--for some reason, the therapist wanted to spend that evening with his family!) and boxing day.  Wheeeee.

And I had this horrible realization today:  from my perception, my dad has been very hurtful and then very frustrated when I'm upset about him being hurtful.  He keeps talking about wanting to be 'genuine.'  Whenever I get upset, he says he wants to be genuine with me.  And I take this to mean that he doesn't really care if he hurts me because it is more important to be genuine than worry about my feelings.

But what if what my dad wants is what I want: to be accepted for who he is, just as he is.  And what if it is as important to him to be loved for (not despite of) his mean edges.

I remember when I was a teenager, I hated the idea that I had to change in order for people to like me.  And then, one day, I said something mean to someone and thought "I wouldn't like it if someone said something like that to me."  And then, for a decade, I monitored everything I said to everyone, before I said it.  It was exhausting, and I wasn't even aware of it.  When I went on Prozac in my twenties (I haven't been on it for a while, but I took it 2 different times), that chatter went away.  I went off Prozac about 6 months later, but that chatter never came back.  It was amazing.  However, I had spent enough time monitoring my behavior, that when I can tell feelings are involved, I'm pretty damn sensitive to others.  I still have a bit of that cantankerousness around facts and ideas, though. If someone gets something wrong, I'll try and correct it politely, but if they continue with it (and I'm not aware of their feelings being involved), I'll get as adamant as they are.

If I feel for my dad as a scared teenager, who sees everyone he cares about distancing themselves from him because he just wants to be himself, my heart breaks for him.  He had a stroke a couple of years ago, and this started.  He has an insistence and an indignation that has felt very much like a teenager.  I would love to give him the unconditional love that part of me never felt.  And yet....

I will always love him.  And I'll always be there for him if he needs me.  But I can't actually tolerate him hurting me like this. I love him no matter what, but I don't like him no matter what.  And if he is going to be hurtful of me, then I have to take really careful care of him.  I don't know how to be a mother to my father.  I don't want to tell him that part of him is unlovable to me.  That feeling of being unlovable runs so deeply for me. So very deeply.  I don't want to make that worse in him.  But I can't have him just stomping around my heart like an elephant at a watering hole.

The Vulnerability of the Porcupine

I think, perchance, I'm rather like a porcupine.  My intellect, moral certitude and insistence about right and wrong are prickly.  My minister once wrote a short story about me as this anonymous, morally righteous young lady who made other people uncomfortable by looking at the implications of our behaviour on the whole picture.  We couldn't just buy coffee--it had to be fair trade coffee because how could we be dedicated to helping our poor and then ignoring how our behaviour hit people in other countries.  I've mellowed somewhat in my forties, but I still want to make sure I do as much good and as little damage as possible.

My intellect keeps nost people at bay.  I don't mean to, but if someone isn't smart enough to keep up with me, then I just stop paying attention to what they have to say.  I go through the motions and try to pretend that I'm listening.  But I'm not going to bother explaining any of the lies from Fox News.  I went speed dating a couple of months ago and a man told me that Warren Buffet was a communist and I think I rolled my eyes; I'm sure I made it quite clear that the speed dating wasn't speedy enough.

And, truth be told, I want someone I'm involved with to appreciate my impressive quills. My father hates them.  He says "a person who is proud of his intellect is like a prisoner who is proud of his bars."  I don't think he means to put me down for being smart, but he wants me to view it as no more a part of me than a freckle on my thigh. But it is a huge part of me.  A prisoner might not be proud of his bars; few people would thinks someone saying "I'm in jail" is an arrogant statement.  But say "I'm quite smart" and it sounds conceited.  But I want someone who will enjoy the intellect, appreciate the 'right and wrong' and revel in the 'reality based' community.  I want someone who will join me in my little fiction that we can make the world a better place, at least a little bit in little ways for a few people.  

But I also want someone who sees beneath the quills.  Porcupines are really rather vulnerable little creatures when all their quills are taken away.

I want someone who will demand acquiescence and cherish my aching desire to be vulnerable.

On one level, I'm not really that smart.  Years of intellectual isolation have made me lazy and complacent.  (And the Bush administration took away much of my sense of nuance an competing good.)  But on another level, I am smarter than most people and that means, ideally, I would like to be with someone who is, say, within 20 IQ points of me, or so. I should say, I don't think I'm better than other people, just because I'm smarter than other people.  I'd gladly give away 30 IQ points if I could.  It is lonely.  I say that I want to lose 30 pounds to meet the right man, but truth be told, 30 IQ points would make it far easier to date than 30 pounds.  I've had other lawyers tell me I'm really intimidating.  But those quills are part of me.  I want someone who will love them.  And the vulnerable little shrew underneath.

Intellectual Masturbation

The truth is. I have mostly stopped playing with myself, at least to actually having an orgasm.

When I realized Bobby and I were not going to work, I cut him out of my thoughts when I masturbated.  The problem is, nature abhors a vacuum, and I need new thoughts to put in there.

It has been years since I needed naughty novels to have an orgasm, but it seems like now I do. The problem is, at night, the light that I could read by, the switch is far enough away from my bed that I don't want to have to get up to turn it off.  Furthermore, the light shines in my eyes when I'm in bed in a way that is really unpleasant.

In the morning, the cats are so demanding, and it just isn't sexy to stop every 30 seconds to kick a cat off my bed.  If I close the door, the meow like they are being waxed, which is also not sexy.  Afternoon or early evening is good, but a) I have to be home alone and b) I have to be feeling sexy.  I will totally make it a priority when I have cramps, but otherwise, I haven't made it a priority, in part because it, I, used to come so effortlessly.

Nate has asked me several times if I think of him when I play with myself, and so I do.  But I don't have an orgasm there.  I would need him to tell me what to do.  And I really wish he would.  But when we're fooling around, I have to ask him to tell me what to do, and even then, he is much more likely to say "cum for me baby" then actually give me something to do.

I'm a submissive words girl.  He isn't as dominant as I'd like, and he doesn't love words.

I've never cheated on anyone in my life.  I couldn't cheat on Nate, because we've never had the conversation about not seeing other people.  The difficulty is that I won't sleep with him until we have that conversation, and I won't have that conversation until I don't want to see other people, but I'm not sure that I'll ever get to that point with Nate without sleeping with him.  But I can't see myself truly feeling like this is enough.  I want to be that gal that plays with herself twice a day on some days, not twice a month.

The Cherry Plum Test....

What are the things in my life that could pass the cherry plum test?  Or, for me, truly, the fig test.  Figs.  I understand why fig used to be slang for a woman's private parts.  Figs are amazing.  And figs make me feel alive and yes there is a poignancy because they are so amazing for so short a time.  Dried figs are beyond mediocre.  A betrayal, almost of promise and expectations and possibilities.

So what are the things in my life that can hold their own against a great fig?

Sex, of course.

Beethoven's 9th.

Haigha Sophia.

My cats when they purr.

The people I love.

About 15 hours a week of my job.

Travel

Beautiful theatre and literature when it moves me.  (Which is very rare these days.)


So how do I get more of this?

Well, first and foremost, I need to stop the numbing stuff.  It doesn't fit with my public persona (or even my private persona here), but I play more video games than I'd want anyone to know.  I don't watch a lot of TV, but I listen to NPR kind of obsessively, and play video games.

There seems a lot more joy and peace in Tsiolkovsky's First Piano Concerto than in Fresh Air, but I listen to the Fresh Air shows much more obsessively than read good books and listen to Bach.

I need more down time (I actually work really hard and when I tell someone that I have an 'easy' day on Saturday because I'm only working for 2 hours, then I have to go to the gym, then a writing group, and then take a friend out for her birthday, I realize that my 'easy' days have more stops than many people's hard days, but I need better quality down time.  I need to read more. Write more. Fuck more. Empathize with a character and have a catharsis more.

I could take 2 weeks and go anywhere in the world I want in January.  But I only have $4000 in my savings account, which just seems too little to blow 2K on a vacation.  (And I owe my parents 5K, and I'd like to fund my Roth for this year....)  And yet, I'm sorely tempted.  What am I saving money for?  What would be wrong with blowing a couple thousand dollars.  I'm so burnt out.  I'm sorely tempted.  I want to live more!  And enjoy the cherry plums.

Objects

Nate wanted to take me shopping last night.  I was under the impression we were shopping for his daughter, so I agreed to go, but actually he wanted to buy me things.  He seems to want to buy me things more than just about anything else (other than sex, which we still haven't had).  We went to a holiday crafts fair and there were actually some beautiful necklaces, but they didn't have prices and I bet they were quite expensive. Nate kept pushing me against things and feeling me up, letting my coat cover his hands, but I was terrified someone could notice.  I finally realized that I did want a lemon zester, so we went to Bed, Bath and Beyond, but they were out!  So we went back to my place and fooled around.

This morning, I realized I had a prominent hickey on my neck.  I felt like Nate was marking me.  If he couldn't buy me something, then he'd make me another way.  Fortunately I own one turtle neck, and I'm at 2 different organizations today and tomorrow, so hopefully no one will notice I'm wearing the same clothes.

I like Nate.  I do.  I don't think I'll ever be crazy "in-love" with him.  But, as Bobby said, there's love and there's crazy in-love.  And maybe I'll just never be crazy in-love again.  It makes me a little sad to think that.  But maybe it is for the best.

Last night, I was completely naked with Nate for the first time.  Before this, he's let me keep a dress on here, stockings and a garter belt and a bra on there, that sort of thing. And, of course, that made me totally insecure. (I also felt really fat yesterday--too many holiday parties.)  And Nate started telling me how beautiful I am and how much he loves my curves.

I think Nate sees a possible future for us.  He's buying a country house, and has said there are 4 rooms, but I'll stay with him.  He loves my house in the city.  Loves it.  I think he thinks our lives would fit together.

Sometimes I wonder if the people I feel that chemistry, that "I could be crazy in love" feeling are people who are fucked up the same way that I'm fucked up.  They don't belong and we find that sense of sharing that, it is incredibly powerful.

At the same time, however, maybe I feel like I don't belong not because other people exclude me (although they certainly did when I was younger) but because I now exclude myself.  And the people I click with like that may exclude themselves, and maybe we aren't as capable of intimacy.  I certainly believe I'm capable of intimacy, but one could really look at the patterns and wonder if I'm picking men that want a fast, consuming, intellectual and soul vibration that burns out quickly, but not a long-term intimacy.

Crack....

So I worked hard all weekend on a piece of writing, and sent it to Bobby.  And I worked harder than I would have for anyone else.  Yes, I still have a mild crush on Bobby.  Yes, his approval would mean more to me than Dotty's or my female friends.  And yes, I need to make damn sure I don't let that get worse.  But Nate and I are going out on Tuesday (unless he cancels again, but he has had good reasons for cancelling). I actually e-mailed Nate and said "Hey--I had a cancellation on Tuesday--if you want to see me before Christmas, it better be Tuesday," which isn't like me.  Normally, I wait around for the guy to make the first move.  That may be a mistake, but otherwise we aren't going to get together, and it isn't like I said "oh, I'll cancel any day for you..."  I was actually pretty assertive in a hard-to-get sort of way.  Well, not hard-to-get, but I'm-busy; you-better-make-me-a-priority sort of way..

Back to Bobby.  I had one guy I was fooling around with (this time last year, actually) who made my writing part of the kink, and it was great!  I just stopped procrastinating.  If I can use the emotional pull I still feel towards Bobby (which I know he thinks is foolish and I should get over it, and he is right, but I feel what I feel) to actually get the things done that I put off, well, that is worth a little emotional angst, I think.

Writing has become exceedingly lonely for me since I finished law school.  I loved the exchange of ideas.  I loved having people read my things who would always give me positive feedback. Often critical, but always some things were positive. Nowadays, I don't even get rejections.  I get nothing.

I wrote a piece I sent to This American Life that I thought was really good.  And the cost for sending that piece was several months of therapy with my parents, who originally saw it as a betrayal.  Eventually, I made some minor changes (like getting rid of any reference to having parents because evidently saying "My dad is a therapist" was a betrayal).  And my parents agreed that they would no longer assume I was the wrong one in any fight.  So clearly, it was worth it, but it was exhausting.  From This American Life I received nothing.  I didn't even get an automated "we received your submission; thank you."  Nothing.  Honestly, writing involves more rejection than dating. And it is, sometimes, a more personal rejection.  I think it will be really nice to have a supportive person who understands my world more.  None of my other friends are J.D.s  They are MDs and PHDs, but not JDs.  Bobby is a JD.  He understands both my professional and my personal world, to a certain extent.  So even if the ice cracks a bit, I think it is good.

Trust me....

I was e-mailing with a guy who might have been OK.  I think I might have liked this man.  He liked Sondheim!  He is 13 years older than me and lives 2 hours from me, but he seemed worth getting to know.  He gave me his phone number.  I called him.  He e-mailed me that he wouldn't answer any number from a blocked number.

I think this is nonsense on his part, and I'd almost be willing to give him my google number, but if his attitude is "you have to trust me enough with your phone number before we've ever talked" then I'm sure other things will go wrong.

I know I have 'trust issues,' but the simple fact is, my trust has been betrayed a lot.  For me, wanting to get to know someone before I, say, give him my phone number, it just makes sense.  I try to give strangers the benefit of the doubt (or else I could never talk to a stranger), but I have some pretty clear boundaries that I've set up.   I won't tell people where I work and because there are only two lawyers in the Seattle region with my first name, I don't give out the correct spelling.  I won't get in a car with a man on a first date.  (I have, but only to get a ride home, and even then, I have them drop me off at a different house, act like I'm going in the back door until they leave, then walk a couple of blocks home.)

Sometimes I wish I didn't feel like I have to do all this, but I've been betrayed by men.  And it seems to me like men just don't police each other, so the women have to take care of ourselves.  The guy e-mailed me and said "the internet is a tough place--I've been stalked too" but I wonder if he'd been stalked to the point of going to the cops?  Of having nightmares and panic attacks?  Changing phone numbers?  I suppose Fatal Attraction can happen, but I don't think it is very likely.

And my job is to take care of myself, so I don't become hard and bitter.  But oh, is that a hard one!

Thank you earring fairy

It arrived and I appreciate it very much.

Thin Ice

Well, Bobby and I have agreed to exchange writing.  Once a month.  I think this actually could be great.  I can't be his friend, and I have to be careful, but if we could both support the other in or writing, that would be great. I might actually get my romance novel published if a guy is willing to read it!  And Bobby write beautifully.  (I suppose it is no surprise that I tend to be attracted to men who write beautifully.)  He hasn't followed through on his projects (I think he is as bad, or worse, than I am.  At least when I distract and numb myself out, it is at my computer so I get a tiny bit done.  He distracts and numbs in far more interesting ways, but perchance less productive.)

I was talking with Dotty last night about her decision to move.  I could have kept her from going; but it would have meant betraying our friendship by lying to her.  She's scared.  She doesn't want to move. Not as scared as I am to face life without her.  And being Dotty, she could tell I'm down and was trying to be helpful--what did I need: A vacation?  Yes, but I gave up my chance for a vacation before Easter to help her move.  I couldn't tell her that.

I told her that my talent was smaller than my ambition.  And she said "that isn't true--what do you want to do?" And I told her "be president of the United States or star in a Broadway show, of fall madly in love and get married and have kids" and she said "is that really the best match for your talents."  It's funny--I had to tell a kid at a place I volunteer that he couldn't be president when he grew up, because he wasn't born in this country.  And here is my best friend telling me I can't be president, which I already knew.  But if I could start getting some of my stuff published, it might fill the chasm.  In addition to the romance novel, I have several boring industry pieces I want to write.  And maybe an autobiography (although not about the stuff here--I've actually fantasized about a publisher approaching me to put this into book form, but I doubt that will happen).  And sometimes I think that John and my correspondence would make a really compelling book.  I don't know if that is hubris on my part.  But I think it is pretty interesting stuff.  That would, of course, have to be anonymous.

So, exchanging writing with Bobby would be really good.  That said, I have to be careful.  I can't allow myself to fall for Bobby more than the residual falling that is already there.  I think Bobby likes to be liked.  (Who doesn't?)  He can't try to pull me in.  We have to keep a healthy, professional distance.

"Let's be friends...."

So I was talking with a guy who doesn't live nearby (and doesn't live commuting distance like Bobby) and I told him I couldn't move because of my work.  He started talking nonsense and I said something like "why would you assume that I would quit my job--why couldn't you move here" and he said "you're right--if we hit it off,...." so I talked to him on the phone and within 10 minutes he wants me to say if we hit it off, I'd quit my job and move to Florida!  To top it all off, he's unemployed!  He wants me to quit my job, and my health insurance and my pension, after I told him why it was unlikely I'd get another, similar paying job, because he'd take care of me, when he can't take care of himself!  He is studying to get a real estate licence in Florida, because he's sure the market will pick up.  Seriously!  I got really annoyed, really quickly and basically told him if he couldn't respect what I'm interested in enough to not talk casually about me giving it up, we weren't right.  And he was like "Let's be friends" and I said no, told him not to waste my time, and got off the phone.

Why does every man I meet on CM want to be friends?

And why am I so resistant to it?  With Dotty leaving (and it is official that Dotty is leaving), I could use a really good friend.  But not someone I want to date.

For one thing, being friends, for me, is a lifelong commitment.  There is only one friend I've ever broken up with, and that was because, for years, we were 'best friends' and used each other to fill the space that could have been a romantic relationship.  He would talk to me, for hours, about how no woman found him attractive, when he knew I did. The funny thing is, when we first met, after about 6 months, I wished that I could fall for him, because I was never attracted to men like that, and I wanted to be.  He is the only man I've ever grown to be romantically interested in.  I've don't know that I'll ever be able to pull of the trick of falling for a man that I'm not initially attracted to.  (I should mention, we were totally incompatible; he spoke disparagingly of kink on several occasions, but I was willing to give that up and have an erotic life in my head.  That may have been impossible, but I figured I could.)

But if I agree to be someone's friend, that is a major commitment on my part.  That is a "I will always be there for you no matter what and if things are hard, I will work through our relationship."

With Bobby, I can't be his friend because I would always want him to change.  I wouldn't be happy being his platonic friend.  I would hope he would fall for me, the way he had for his ex.  (He told me about his ex when we met and I took it to mean "I did the long-distance thing once, and I could do it again."  He didn't mean it that way, but I didn't realize it until later.  It actually felt like he was addressing my concerns (he had said he would have had a family with her, which was also important to me).  Every time he talked about his ex, I thought like he was telling me that he was ready for a relationship.)  And his rejection of me, no matter the grounds, would eat away at my self-esteem.  I would give him little parts of me and then there wouldn't be anything left for a romantic relationship.

Furthermore, there were a couple of brief windows when friendship might have been a possibility, but the first time he totally seduced me and the second time he kept flirting.  And, of course, I wanted him to flirt.

At the moment, I'm scared I'll never have a romantic relationship again.  And if I'm going to die a lonely old maid, I should at least have Bobby as a friend.  But, I just can't accept I'll never find what I want.  There is still a chance.  Hell, Nate is too busy at the moment (for very good reason), but he hasn't blown me off.  I can't give up on the possibility of a partner.  And being Bobby's friend would be giving up on that.

It's funny.  I know Bobby reads this.  And I could never say any of this to his face.  My grandma once told me "a lady always laughs at a gentleman's jokes" and in direct communication, I'm just naturally conciliatory and I try to be gracious.  But this is my space, and here, well, honesty is the only currency I have.  Bobby wouldn't read this if he wasn't curious.  He chooses to.  And somehow, I couldn't imagine not being open here.  I would like to imagine not being so conciliatory with people to their faces.  I could be very brusque with the Florida guy because I felt like he had been very dismissive of me, and because I'd never allowed him past my initial defenses.  I think maybe if I were a little better at standing up for myself, I wouldn't have to be so careful with who I allow into my life.

Moon Change

I had one of those crying fits today that I used to have all the time.  The kind where I have to turn on my brain and tell myself to breathe because I'm crying so hard I start to hyperventilate.  I was in the shower at the gym and got shampoo in my mouth and my eyes.

I was listening to Caroline or Change  (which I do often--all of the songs on my 'most played list of my iPod, except for "Bad Romance," are from Caroline or Change or Passing Strange), but I don't usually listen at the gym, and all of the sudden I realized I envied Caroline, which of course is the most ridiculous thing.  I have so much privilege, such an easier life.  I don't have to deal with constant racism and I don't have to work as a maid for a condescending white family.  Only a white girl who hasn't dealt with all that could overlook all that.

But Caroline has people that care about her.  When the show came out in 2004, I was at probably the worst point in my life since being a teenager.  And when Dotty sings:

Once you were quick
And once you were bright
Now it seems you've come to some confusion
You're losing courage
You're losing light
Lost your shine.
Lost Caroline.

I just wanted one person in my life to notice that I'd lost my light at that point.  Someone to care enough to notice.  Somehow or other, I've managed to get back some of that light.  But my best friend, my Dotty, the only person that notices little things in my life, is leaving for 2 years, and lets be honest, she may not come back.

I haven't spoken to my dad for nearly a month, and he hasn't even noticed.  And honestly, if I died tomorrow, there aren't that many people that would care.  My cats.  My mom.  That's about it.  I mean, sure, my neighbors would notice.  And they'd use it as a good lesson for their kids about death.  It would be a good lesson because the kids wouldn't actually care.

I think of my emotions as being very on the surface.  I expect someone at the gym realized I was crying in the shower.  Maybe.  And maybe people were just being nice and giving me my space.  One time, last year, I was on the bus and just lost it about John and started sobbing, but completely quietly, but racking sobs, with my whole body shaking, and I was trapped--I couldn't get off the bus. And almost no one noticed.  And then a nice lady brought me a tissue.  She gave me my space, but gave me a tissue.  It was actually nicer than a tissue--like a nice, thick, high-quality disposable napkin--the kind rich people put in their bathrooms for their guests.  I kept it for months, because it was one of the nicest things someone had done for me in months.  Isn't that pathetic?

But while I feel my emotions are very on the surface, I think they aren't.  Aside from this blog, I'm pretty self-contained.  I don't know what to make of the dichotomy.  I desperately want someone that I could share that part of me, and also romantically.  But maybe that is just asking for too much.

A Boy Like That (updated)

Well, regular readers will probably know I've been wanting to get over Bobby.  I could, intellectually, say all the reasons.  But "I hear those words And in my head I know they're smart,  But my heart."  


Bobby saw the parts of me that I thought were unique.  The parts I cared about.  There was an intellectual connection and he also really understood how I ticked erotically.


And today, we were texting and I realized that he was getting a blow job from someone else while he was texting me.  (He is quite the multi-tasker--he was also texting someone else about the blow job.)


Truly impressive.


So I cried and felt shitty, and then, I think, that's that.  Let him go, Connie.  Let him go.  Clearly, Bobby never saw me as unique and cherishable.  He liked my intellect, but that's that.  He never liked me enough to actually want to try and make something work.


I want to figure out how to both protect myself and not be bitter or hard.  That is the hard one.


Update: I've been informed that I misread the situation and while Bobby was multi-tasking when we were talking, none of the other activities involved sex.

The ugly duckling

Originally, I had intended to title this blog The Ugly Duckling (and I have the URL for that here--but I haven't posted on it).

Bobby said something like "you could have been married 10 years ago" and I was floored that he thought that.

I go back and forth, wondering if my life is something that belongs in a Chekhov play or a Jane Austen novel.  If it is Jane Austen, then I can handle anything.  But if I'm just waiting to die alone in an empty house, like a broken string, well, I guess I'll be dead.  But the fear of that makes me cry.

Men didn't really have any interest in me at all until about 6 years ago.  In 2001, men were interested in me for about 3 months, and then I didn't handle 9-11 well, and that came crashing down, and then finally in 2005, I quit a prestigious job I thought I wanted and moved back to the Puget Sound and wham--men became interested in me.  I've dated pretty steadily since then.  Part of it was losing quite a bit of weight, and part of it was quitting a job where I was always trying to prove myself.  I do sometimes feel like I wasted my youth on an education.  I do date steadily but I started very, very late.

I'm not proud of this, but I police my face for any sign of wrinkles. I know they are coming.  I moisturize and use sun screen like it was a religion.  I don't quite understand why men became interested in me so instantly in August of 2005, and I feel like it could disappear 

Looking at it, I don't understand what is wrong with me.  Why is it so hard for me to find what so many others find so effortlessly.  Maybe it isn't effortless, but they find it.  And there's always something that keeps me from having a partner.  I've tried and tried to figure out what is wrong with me.  But right now, I sort of think there isn't anything wrong with me.  I'm too picky, but I've also had bad luck.  I haven't met the right person.  Maybe I'll find it.  My best friend is so amazing and she's single too.  In fact, all of my female friends who have doctorates of any kind or published books are single (and that defines all my female friends but one).  I can't believe they'll all end up alone.   And, for the most part, they dated more than me before 2005, but I date more than them now.  Who knows.

I just ache for a soul mate.  My whole body cleaves to the absence.  If I ever did fall in love with someone who was in love with me, I would fight for that so hard.  I mean, I think John was in love with me, but the whole ask-if-this-is-for-keeps-and-borrow-my-ring-and-forget-about-it was a mind fuck.  And getting my ring back at his funeral, and his family clearly thought we were engaged.  Another mind fuck.  

Bobby and I talked a little today.  I don't know why I allowed him to get so close to me.  He said he thought  I understood that geography was an "intransigent mistress" which sounds like something I probably said.  But then he seduced me.  And I kept trying to give him outs.   I said something like "if we get involved, you'd need to train me gently" and said "I already am."  And we had these great phone conversations every night.  And, of course, he told me to think of him every time I played with myself, which I worked hard to do--my mind tends to flit around from image to image, mostly from the Beauty books and Safe Word.  (Anne Rice's Beauty Books and Molly Weatherfield's Safe Word are my favorite naughty books.)

And all of a sudden, my soul oriented towards how we could make it work.  I assumed that I'd be doing most of the travelling.  I work from home on Sundays, so I could come up Friday afternoon and leave Tuesday morning.  I didn't mind if I was the one on Greyhound, as long as he gave me projects (linked to my work and my goals, but things I'd procrastinate on) for the bus rides.

I can only imagine how hard I would have fought for an 'us' if there had been an 'us' to fight for.  

I'm a Scorpio, Scorpio rising.  5 planets in fire and none in earth.   (And yes, I believe in that stuff.) I am so loyal to the people I love.  No matter what they do, I love them so much.  I've never cheated on anyone, and I can't imagine cheating on someone I could fall in love with.

Bobby wants me to be friends, and I keep trying to stop comparing Nate to Bobby.  And keep trying to figure out how the fuck I could compare Nate to Bobby and not have that make Nate look fabulous.  But I can't seem to fall for Nate.  I wish I could make myself, but I can't.  Bobby is one of the only 2 men I've met that I could seem myself falling in love with.  And that is so fucking stupid.  So fucking stupid.  Of course, Nate and I haven't had sex yet.  Maybe that will make me fall in love.  But right now, being with Nate is fine. My body enjoys it.  But my soul is unengaged.  

Constance or Change

This American Life last week, Nobody's Family is Going To Change, looked at how, basically, families don't change.  And when they do change, it is for the worse.

My family had, no my family has a religion of change.  Personal growth.  Relationship counseling.  Hell, when I have a fight with a parent, I have the family shrink on speed dial.

And I want everyone to change.  I want Barack Obama to stand up to the Republicans.  Oprah should do a show again (not that I ever watched it, but I have clients that miss it).  Hell, Santa Claus, well Santa should have better control over his image and not allow people to use him to sell everything from soda to binge drinking.

Most of my family (except my mom) should stop criticizing me.  But my dad should chill on the reasons I'm wanting to criticize him (even though I keep my mouth shut).  Nate should be a little more dominant with me, and start to make me a priority.  And be emotionally open.  Or Bobby should decide he wants a romantic partner within the parameters of what I can live with.  Oh, and that partner should be me.  My ex should join 2 12-step programs (and sometimes I think Bobby should as well).  My best friend, well she's perfect.  But she should stay here.  Maine is so very, very far away.  My cats should whine and shed less and snuggle more, but not when I'm in nice clothes.  And John, well, John should exist in some, what, parallel universe?  Afterlife?  That's it.  An afterlife.  I want John to be in some spirit form in an afterlife.  And I want him to be really, truly loved.  And I want him to feel that in his bones.  And sometimes I pray for that.  I pray to my dead grandma to watch over him.  I pray to John to be open and loving to my grandma.  I pray to the God that I don't believe in.  I want John to feel unconditional love.  I can't even leave the dead alone.

And me.  Well, there's many ways I'm working on changing me.  I don't always succeed, but I seem to make improvements.  And the striving seems, to me, to help me stay alive and vital.

I assume also that I'll change for the person I'm with. Of course.  Being a submissive just means that.  But I also assume that I have rough edges and I'll do my best to soften for someone I love.  That, of course, is predicated on him having the willingness to help me soften those edges. And that he will do the same for me.  But, unlike Caroline, Connie can change.