Trying to Date

A man who a) lives in the same city as me and b) is cute and c) seemed pretty darn compatible just turned me down, after we made plans to meet, because I wouldn't give him my phone number. I told him why I don't give out my number (one of the more hellacious on-line-seeping-horribly-into-real-life-experiences, but I don't write about it because the cops said this was the only case they'd heard like it and I don't want to publicize a technique for men being horrid to women).

Anyway, it really bothered me. I seem to be at this place where I want men to protect me and I believe men should protect women. Before I always felt like women could take care of themselves, but I don't feel that anymore. I'm glad I realized so quickly he wouldn't respect what I need. But it bothered me more than it should.

In an attempt to move on with my life, I'm forcing myself to flirt and trying to be open. It is harder than it has ever been. I have little tolerance for twits (one guy would only chat if I got yahoo. I refused with no regrets, but that is totally not like me!).

I have been flirting with 2 men. We'll call one of them "Colorado" and the other one "Suburbs." (Gee, I wonder how I came up with those names?) Both are openly into D/s and read the innuendo in my profile, but there the similarities end.

On paper, Suburbs would seem like the better bet, and not just because he lives 15 miles from me, but continuing to flirt with him feels like an obligation. Nothing fun about it at all. He is relatively handsome, but not intellectually curious. Worse, he jumped straight into the capital letters/lower case letters thing (which is a convention some people in the D/s community use to show who is Dominant and who is submissive) and I abhor that. There have been a very few moments where it was fun (and only when men asked permission to do it and had a sweetness to it), but mostly I find it boorish and annoying.

As soon as men do it , it immediately gets my hackles up. I really want a man who will meet me as equals, dance as equals, and only lead when it is appropriate. Men who demand the lead too soon, it is all wrong. I used to tolerate it, and now it just sends my danger signals up.

"Suburbs" also seems to have the problems I associate with the suburbs. (I hate the suburbs. I get affluenza very easily, and for me it does really send me into a depression until I get out. That mixture of restlessness and aimlessness assuaged only by consumption is really toxic to my system.) We have nothing in common that I can see, aside from the kink. He is into conspicuous consumption, and I suppose I am too, but of a very different sort. I'm totally happy to buy classes, trips, experiences. And I know those all cost money, but it just isn't the same to me as a car, or the latest apple gadget. Things you can buy bore me (although experiences you can buy don't.)

I seemed to have scared "Suburbs" off anyway--he said "ask me anything" so I did:

What do you get the most excited about? What makes your eyes light up? Do you like people who talk quickly or slowly? What do you most like about your current life and what would you most like to change? What are you looking for and what have you found?

Evidently--I'm too intense for Suburbs. And for most people. But I kind of knew that already. I'm trying to figure out if I just wasn't into him because he seemed available, but I don't think that's the case.

Meanwhile, there is Colorado. I'm not particularly attracted to him on a physical level, but we keep having lovely conversations. I started talking to him in an attempt to get out of my post-John funk. We've acknowledged the D/s interest, and that we live too far away, but we just keep chatting, and I'm really enjoying our conversations. We seem to go a little deep--not a lot, but we keep touching on the introspective sides. He and I have remarkably similar professions, and it is fun seeing things from his angle. We also seem to have similar values.

Part of me is looking for a fling as I think it is the only way to get John out of my system. And I think 'well, why not? There's no danger of me becoming too attached in the long run" but maybe there is. My ex wasn't my physical type either. But if the other parts of our relationship had worked, that wouldn't have mattered. I don't want a long-distance relationship. But I suppose it would be better than pining over John. I doubt, seriously, that anything would come of it. But it is good for me to start the process of moving on.

Highschool and Facebook

So a videotape has maybe emerged from a party at highschool. (Someone has the tape and claims it is from a party and involves all sorts of scandalous things.) And those of us supposedly on the tape have been having a really good time chatting on facebook. But I notice several things.

A) These are neat people! I like them! I'd like to get to know them. But I haven't a clue as to who they are!

B) I don't fit in in that group. I sort of fit in, but their rhythms and mine are different.

Part of it may be that they kept in touch and I moved from sea to shining sea.

Two of us started talking about what a particular teacher meant to us, the really deep yearnings we had at that age to fit in while dealing with deep wounds. Something about John has made me own my vulnerabilities a little more. Someone else made a wisecrack, one that would have deeply hurt me 20 years ago, and the vulnerability lifted, replaced with one-liners about illicit substances. But that was OK. I would have much more enjoyed the conversation if it had continued along the original lines, but it didn't feel like a rejection, the way it would have so long ago.

C) I'd still like to fit in. I'm SO grateful to have a corner of my sky where I do fit in, but it would be nice to go see these people who meant so much in the early years and pretend I could be a part of a group.

D) It's all OK. I have a beautiful life, and it really seems like these colleagues have beautiful lives too. One of the many marvelous things about growing up is that you aren't constricted by geography.

Isn't it odd that when I first discovered the internet it gave me a chance to find people like me, all over the country. To not be constricted by geography. And now, I'm using the internet to go back to the people to whom geograpahy constricted me?

Stasis continues

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Compromises and Disclosure

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

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

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

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


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

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

Getting Older

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Buddy's Blues

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Horrific Fiction

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Through the Looking Glass

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Numbing out

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pride and Prejudice. And Shame

It is pride week in New York (I'm here for business), and a friend wanted to see the parade. And so we went.

I think the gays and lesbians have a secret agenda to destroy our hearing--every float seemed to be trying to out-amplify the next float. It was good, however, to see JP Morgan/Chase, Pepsi, Nair and Laser Hair Salons all out there to show their pride!

I have a hard time with "pride." Pride without a response to an underlying prejudice just seems arrogance. "Proud to be an American" is silly. Grateful to be, maybe? I know how lucky we are. But what the hell did I ever do to be an American? Why on earth should I be proud.

But, then came a group of maybe 14 or 12 or 16 gay men in leather, all couples from the "Fire Island Leather club" walking hand in hand. A few had floggers or cuffs or collars. No commercial endorsements there! And I felt shame and envy. But no pride on my part. They had pride. They were open in who they are. No embarrassments. I, on the other hand, am not. Part of me wonders what my life would be like if I were open. And then, of course, every single one of them had a partner. Someone to share that journey with. And as they walked by, there I was--this unnoticed vanilla-looking, blond straight chick. Wishing to belong to someone and also to a community that I could be proud to make my own.

It made me blue in a way I can't describe.

Bitchiness v. Vulnerability

This pull has run through much of my interactions with men for the last few years. On the one hand, I want to be open, trusting and able to connect deeply. On the other hand I want to protect myself. Rightfully so.

The fact is, men create bitches. What I'm beginning to see is that men divide women into two categories: "hot" or "not." And the "not"s are most of the women, most of the time. When a 'not' becomes 'hot' to an individual guy, it is lovely (if he treats her nicely). I'm still a 'not' to 60% of the population (whereas I used to be a 'not' to 99% of the population). But, and I shouldn't say this, but it's true, in the kinky world, the standards are lower. Maybe I'm a 6 or a 7 in the vanilla world. But I'm a 9 in the kinky world.

(Since my weight and size comes up, I'm a size 14 or 16 (very rarely, a 12), depending on the manufacturer. This means I wear a large to extra large in the regular sizes. There was a time when I was bigger--size 20 at my height. It is a huge difference in how people treat me, but I don't feel any different! I don't exercise any more--I just moved from avoiding fat to avoiding carbs. Aside from my size, I'm actually pretty beautiful. And I photograph well.)

But men don't just create bitches. They like them. Just like women often fall for the 'bad-boy-with-a-heart-of-gold' (see Dirty Dancing, for example), men want the woman who is a bitch to everyone but him. I used to try to do all this work to stay open and vulnerable. To not be a bitch. To not let one man's inappropriate behavior impact how I dealt with another man. Lately, I've been saying "ah, to hell with it. Y'all are assholes unless you can prove to me you ain't." The thing that surprised me is how many more men are pursuing me than when I tried so hard not to be bitchy.

Of course, the other issue is that I've fallen a little for Michael. (Michael is someone I knew long ago who popped into my life more recently. I flirted with him long ago because I could tell he was kinky, but he had no clue I was. Recently, I dropped a hint that we were simpatico in that area, and he said a few things that indicated we might be more than just friends, but hasn't followed through with any of it.) Intellectually, I know how foolish it is. His actions (despite his words) bely any hope I might have. And I swore after Edmund that I wouldn't do that again!!!

So here I am. Bitchy on the outside. But sweet on the inside. Not interested in the guys that want me and pining for a guy that doesn't care. It'll be an interesting summer.

Give me head with hair

I had long beautiful hair. Shining. Steaming. Gleaming. Flaxen. Waxen.

And I cut it off. It barely covers my ears. My earrings hang below my hair. You can see my neck in the back!

My brother told me that if he'd been dating me, he would have broken up with me over it. But then, I've never been cute enough for my brother's league. (Not that I'd date my brother, but his clear and consistent condemnation of women who look like me has sent me a clear signal.)

My ex forbid me to cut my hair. And, of course, I went along with it. But it was a huge mistake. Neither of us realized it, at the time, but it had the result of ordering me to "let myself go." I cut my hair about a month after we broke up, and he was SO much more attracted to me after I did that.

Since then, I've cut off 6 inches 3 times and only grown about 6 inches back, so it is about a foot shorter than it was this time last year. And I'm cuter than I've ever been. Tonight I even put a picture of me, without any makeup, on the vanilla dating site I'm on.

To the extent that I am vain, I'm vain about my hair. For years, my hair was the only thing I thought was attractive about me. It was weird to watch it fall, in long locks around me. It was kind of scary while it was all wet. No body. Thin little strands, snipping, falling, flocking around the floor. And then unceremoniously swept into a dust bin to be thrown in the trash. All that preening. All that sense of self.

I think most men prefer long hair. But I also think long hair has a way of distracting. Instead of noticing me, you notice my hair. This is shorter, bouncier, perkier. But less glamorous. And that's OK.

For years, I defined myself by my career and my hair. I watched my career fall apart, and even as it has come back, it has come back to a different position in my life. It is part of me, not an all-defining albatross. Something I can wear lightly, and know that it isn't everything. My hair seems to be moving into that space as well.

Is it better to be right than loved?

Growing up, my dad would try to teach me to not care about 'being right.' "It is better to be right than loved" he'd say, sarcastically. And, he was right. In our society, a woman who insists on being right can find it hard to be loved.

The problem is, these weren't over things like "He said/she said." These were over facts. You know, those pesky things you can look up in a book, or verify. What century was Shakespeare? Did Ghandi have an affair? Can we buy dog shampoo at one store or do we need to make a special trip.

I seem to have this weird fetish for facts. I tell myself "drop it" and I can't. Tonight, I got in a big fight with my mother because she was talking about how the "Goddess cultures" and matriarchal societies predominated the world before the Hebrew culture, which was a reaction to the Goddess cultures, came in and wiped them out. And I said it wasn't true. I had wanted to believe it, but it was based on poor evidence and some of it was made up. And she went on about Isis, as if that meant the Ancient Egyptian culture was centered around glorifying women, and the fact that Isis was one of several gods didn't mean anything.

I could tell my mom was getting really pissed off that I kept saying "I don't think that's true" and she kept going to mythology to back up her view of history and I tried to change the subject several times, but she kept coming back.

Now, my mother will love me, no matter what. But, this same dynamic plays back and forth. And maybe I'm wrong, and the last few years have uncovered new evidence, but the more interesting reason becomes: 'why does my sense of the facts become more important than the relationships?' Why the hell can't I just say "you're right; I'm wrong" when I don't think that is the case?

And the other question is, was my dad right: Do I have to pick between being right and being loved? Emotionally, I'd rather be loved, but for me, it isn't love if I'm pretending. And not correcting that Shakespeare died at the beginning of the 17th century, not the 15th century would drive me crazy! I'll do most anything a person I love wants. I take incredible care of the of the people I love. But I can't pretend black is white.

It drives my best friend crazy, and for some reason, with her, I've learned to shut up. She says "we parked on the left side of the parking lot" and we're walking to the right where the car is, and I don't say anything. But I can't seem to translate that skill to other people.

But at the same time, and I guess this adds to my ever-growing list of demands and weird things about me, it would be awfully nice to find someone that would say "Hey--let's look it up and find out" rather than "I know I'm right."

Way back when...

Had lunch with Edmund yesterday (if you care, Edmund was introduced last year in the "Can't We Just be Friends?" entry--given that I'd forgotten his nom de blog, I assume no one else remembers him.)

Long, long ago. Say 1990. I wished that I could be attracted to Edmund. Because long, long ago, I thought he was flirting with me, and I just wasn't attracted to him. And long, long ago, I thought if I could just fall for men in my 'league' and not go do something crazy like fall for a John, it would all work out. And I fell for Edmund. Somewhere along the way. And he appreciated that for his ego. He kept me hanging on. But he never reciprocated.

Edmund and I were definitely in the same league looks-wise. He was 5'5", very thin (although he isn't any more), with a receding hair line in college. So his rejection of me, which was tied with confused manipulation, flirting, and keeping me interested because it was good for his ego, even as he'd complain at least every week that no woman was interested in him, hurt my self esteem greatly. (I should say, I don't think it was conscious on his part--he is a good man and I don't think he ever meant to hurt me. It just happened.)

Edmund was my best friend for 5 years. We got together for 3 or 4 times a week, spoke on the phone every day, for hours each week. I loved him dearly. He is the only man I thought I would marry.

There are also very clear reasons we would have been a disaster; mostly that he is vanilla to his core. And I knew that, and knew I wasn't, and still thought we would marry, and I would have an active fantasy life and not try to deal with that. And, if you believe in astrology (and I do), I have a ton of fire in my chart and no earth, and he has quite a bit of earth, and no fire. And that is a fair representation of the differences between us.

Edmund didn't date for maybe 5 years after I 'broke up' with him, as a friend. (We'd get together every couple of years, so I'd keep tabs on him, but recently, I hadn't kept tabs.) But we had lunch, and as he sat down I noticed his ring. I'm very happy for him, but it was a poignant happiness.

I met his wife, and she is a small town girl, who will be a wonderful mother (they are pregnant with twins) and they have a 20 acre farm, with horses and chickens and pigs. And Edmund is happy. (And just to make this too bizarre in blog world--they are naming their kids Jane and the "John" of this blog's real name. Now, obviously, Edmund's real name isn't Edmund, but Edmund Burke, who I named "Edmund" after, was married to a Jane! --I'd looked up what I wrote about him before we had lunch, so his favorite philosopher to hate was fresh in my mind. And, of course, I kept thinking about John.)

But his wife is such a polar opposite to me. And she is what men are far more likely to want. She is thinner than me (or was, before her pregnancy), wears make-up, laughs easily, is warm and easy-going. She is sweet and genuinely kind. I'm harsher, abrasive. I dislike lots of things (although I'm loyal to the core for the people I love). I have enough of a prissy streak that shoveling out a barn would just not be on my radar, and I love the city. But Edmund and I had scintillating, smart, fast-moving conversations that jumped from idea to idea, plumbing one in depth only to swing like trapeze artists onto another and make connection deep down and spread out, bringing in more ideas and more ideas and more ideas. That, and his laughing, sparkling, dancing eyes were why I loved him SO much. His wife isn't dumb in any way, but she is thinks and talks slowly. Edmund seems on a different speed setting with her than the Edmund I knew.

I'm happy for him, but sad for me. It seems to me, a lot of the time, that I'd make a much better man in our society than a woman. Or a better Dominatrix than submissive. The Republican is e-mailing me once a week saying things like "I wish I had you in a cage right now" (because it would kill him to just ask me out for coffee) and another young'un (25!) can't remember my name but e-mails me every couple of days for a 'kinky massage,' and then this sweet man, who is clearly a little kinky but not very, is maybe smitten with me (although we haven't met, so how can he be?) but I just don't know that I could be attracted to him!!!! I wished once to be attracted to someone I wasn't. I'll never make that wish again.

An explanation and a checklist

I was re-reading an earlier posting, and I've updated it to more accurately reflect what I felt from a less analytical point of view. But, I never felt like John was just handsome and smart and had a good job so I wanted to go out with him. If I wanted a checklist, I'd date the young'un (and encourage him to not give up his 6 figure a year job, even though he is miserable in it.) I didn't mean that. I adored John deeply. To my core. For a time, it felt like those animated cartoons in Hedwig and the Angry Inch, where someone has been cut from half of themself. I loved his willingness to open up with me, the way he allowed me to open up with him and hold me with that vulnerability. I loved the speed of our conversations. The understated sense of humor. The expansive nature of our conversations. And the subtext that wiitwd was part of both of who we are but not an all-encompassing part. And that, in a way, we were both playing at it.

One time he implied that I was just fine the way I was. That I didn't need to be shaped or molded by a guy, the way most D/s guys end up trying to do it. And the idea that someone like him could think someone like me was just fine the way I was, it was a gift.

But I was able to keep some sense of emotional resilience (months after it fell apart) in the mess that was John and my's often beautiful and yearning, but confused and mistaken attempt at going together, because I never expected someone quite as handsome and having life together so well as that.

I think we all have checklists of what we are looking for. But mine doesn't include being handsome or wealthy. It includes integrity and a joy in daily life and sparkling, exciting, engaging, sexy conversations.

Sexism and Sex

Some 50-year-old jerk e-mailed me out of the blue to say “Seems there’s no shortage of uneducated, self-absorbed, fat women here.” And it really, really bothered me. I wrote him back to say “I may be many things, but with a doctor associated with my name, I’m hardly uneducated” and he had blocked me.

Now, I had not contacted him--he went out of his way to insult me for no reason, except posting a personal ad.

I know I’m sposed to let this roll off me, and I always do in time, but the way some men treat women just really starts to wear me down. I know my profile is self-absorbed--it is my profile. And I know he’s wrong about me being uneducated. Anyone that can put "doctor" in any combination of their name just isn't. So the fat comment starts to weigh me down. It has been several years since someone called me fat, since I lost weight. And I know how subjective that comment is. And intellectually, I know how foolish all this is, but emotionally it hurts.

I don’t understand the society that says it is OK for men to treat women this way. But given the treatment that Hillary Clinton has received, it isn’t all that surprising. But I feel like in the last 6 months, I’ve lost some of my sense of humor and bounciness when it comes to dealing with sexism. I’ve been shocked at the way she has been treated, even though I didn’t support her (and part of me wished I could have supported her--but the media was just too mean for her to win). And that treatment, the liberal men on my liberal mailing list who sent me photos of her photoshopped to look old, or said “I don’t dislike her because she’s a woman; I dislike her because she’s a bitch” without realizing that the term works to keep all women in their place.

The jerk who e-mail me--I take full responsibility for letting it bother me, but that is in a context of societal rules and expectations that tell me what is and what is not valued in a woman. And there are times in my life when I’ve said “I don’t need any of that--I will focus on my career. That’s enough for me.” And there are times when I’ve acknowledged that I do want a partner. It is lonely. And my career has been less important to me. But I’ve never felt like I have been defined by societal expectations of women. Lately, though, it feels more difficult to break out of that box.

The Republican

The Republican seems to be slightly back.

And part of me says "run!" Run hard and run fast!

And the other part of me feels that something inside me broke with him. I pretty much lost my sex drive after that. I miss the person I was with him and I want that part of me back and don't know how to find it.

I've been quite clear with him on what my requirements are and that he has to meet my requirements first. I've never really had that level of confidence before. I didn't say it, but the undercurrent was "you've spent the last couple of months obviously thinking about me. I can tell you want me more than I want you. So here's the deal."

In a relationship where one person would give up the power to the other, the person surrendering the power needs to know that their needs would be met first. And the fact that he has contacted me regularly means that he is clearly smitten enough with me that maybe he would take it my way. We both want the same destination--it is the journey to get there we can't seem to agree on.

It's funny--he is SO obsessed with not wasting time. He really, really doesn't want to waste time on anyone who isn't going to turn out to be what he wants. He is like the guy version of the gal who demands to know exactly where it is going because her biological clock is ticking and she can't possibly waste a month getting to know someone that isn't going to lead to kids! Ionesco would have had fun setting the two of them up on a date. So would Jerry Seinfeld.

At the same time, I've been spending more and more time with the ex. And we have fun together. It is a shame that we have different sexual turn-ons and don't have the same goals for the future.

But part of me feels like if I can stay strong I'll meet someone that will really click with me. Both my ex and the Republican would be unhealthy in different ways and I shouldn't go that way. But truth be told, there is a third man. Who is very sweet and very kind. Who I met on a vanilla site, but he picked up on the clues and has gone out of his way to assuage any concerns I might have, both about whether he picked up on the clues and about whether he would cherish and protect me. And, as horrible as I feel saying this, he bores me. What the hell is wrong with me? Why would I be more interested in the asshole than the sweet guy? (Now, granted, the asshole/Republican (and you know, listening to McCain's speech--I do think they are synonymous), we spent a lot more time together. I'm definitely going to give this man time to see what happens, and maybe he'll get under my skin. But I just don't see how he'll begin to intrigue me.

And part of me feels like that is foolish. I must compromise so that I don't just end up alone, with only my regrets. I'm going away for 2 weeks. I've never been a 'just have a fling while on vacation' type, so maybe something will become clearer about my life by the time I get back.

Sex and the City

Warning: Spoiler Alert. Don't read if this if you are going to see the movie.


So, I saw Sex and the City, with 2 of my friends. I thought it would be fun--girls' night on the town. But I hated it. And, frankly, I didn't like seeing the side of my friends that just loved that coat and had to have those shoes. I don't think of them as being like that. And I know--I sound judgmental. I am judgmental.

There were two major issues that drove me insane. One was the vapid whoring for fashion. Who actually cares about fashion when they have people in their lives they love? It is so stupid. There was a time when part of me sort of cared, but now I look at this and I'm just baffled that people think this stuff is supposed to look good. Oooh--it's a 2-foot flower on her shoulder! Oh, a 3" diamond flower ring! Oh, a bird in her hair! The girls went to a fashion show, and the outfits were so dumb, I thought they were supposed to be parodies. Carrie goes out in the middle of a snow storm, at night, and wears 4 inch heels to do it. And (shock, horror), Samantha gains "15 pounds" (although, the plot says it was in 6 months, one month before the weight gain she had sushi all over her naked body and looked amazing, but why should a Hollywood movie be consistent), and her friends are horrified. Just horrified! Oh, no! At 50, she has ballooned up to what might be a size 8 or so. She had maybe an inch of fat on her stomach. Not like Kate Winslet in Titanic fat, or Renior, but still, fat enough for fat jokes. Charming.

But the other issue is a much bigger one. (And this is major spoilers--please don't read if you think you might see the movie.) Charlotte leads a perfect life, with absolutely no problems whatsoever. So, of course, she is happy. The other three girls have problems in their relationships! Oh, NO!!!!! Heaven forfend! Big (the guy Carrie dates) gets cold feet at their wedding and takes all of 5 minutes to realize it, turn around and apologize, but Carrie won't listen, can't accept it, can't talk about it. Samantha feels suffocated by being Jared's manager and not having her own life, so she breaks up with him. Never considers quitting the job as his manager and developing her own life. There are no compromises. Steve cheats on Miranda (after she hadn't had sex with him for 6 months) and she can't even talk to him. (That one I understand a little more, but still--don't have sex with a man for 6 months, what the hell do you expect? And he told her immediately after it happened and apologized. Not an on-going affair.) So during the course of the movie 2 of these get resolved, with great fanfare and angst.

I had watched the DVDs in a time in my life where I had essentially no friends that lived within 1000 miles of me. I was SO lonely for people I cared about, I mostly noticed the fact that they hang out together and they are they for each other. But these characters don't talk to each other honestly. Girls talking about sex is not the kind of honest talk I mean--I mean actually letting down your public persona--the girls, even with each other, rarely share any real human vulnerability. Samantha turns 50 in this movie. Does she have any fear about it? Is she scared? Ambivalent? You can't convince me a woman like that hits that milestone without a little angst. Miranda has a job that makes a ton of money (I assume). At least, she keeps telling me she has a job. How does that make her feel? Why is it important? When she and Steve separate, does the income differential play into things? Or even while they are still together and he's still a bartender, and she's exhausted--do they ever try to talk about these issues?

And I'm also left wondering what the hell is going on with our culture. I'm so out of it that I don't even understand why people would like the shoes that these girls covet. But the fact that there are shoes for sale that cost $500? One character gave another a bag that the other character absolutely adored. It was Luis Vitton. And I swear, if someone gave that to me, I would thank them very much and give it to a preschool, because with all those bright colors, it looked like it has been drawn on. And that is enough to feed a family in Africa for a year. God, that sounds so self-righteous. But I would at least save the 500 for a trip or pay down my mortgage, or something. Not a pair of shoes that will fall apart in one snow storm.

Even if you want Love, which is a central theme in the movie, There have to be compromises, I think. And yet, there are a couple of men out there right now who want to be with me, in a serious way. My ex and the young'un. They would do just about anything I asked to be with me, and I've said no; intellectually I believe in compromise, but when push comes to shove, sooner or later, I seem to compromise less than part of me believes I should. My ex has been so very kind to me in the last few months. So warm and fun to be with. But the idea of bringing sex back into it--part of me just numbs out with him and waits for it to be over. He doesn't bring me along. And the young'un. I can't explain why he hit me the wrong way so much, aside from the fact that he kisses the way my father and I kiss--quick pecks on the cheek without the 'inside of the lip.' But, more than that, he has no empathy. He rambles on about trivialities for hours. And he is demanding of my attention and approval.

Bitchy and Blue

I just got dumped by a perfectly nice, sweet guy, whom I wasn't the least attracted to but kept trying to convince myself I could learn to like. It kind of surprised me, because the whole thing was so odd. "I don't know where this is going" he said, which seemed perfectly reasonable at the time. I didn't realize till later he meant "I know where this is going and you just aren't 'girlfriend' material." He was being nice.

It depressed me far more than it should, because I didn't actually like him. There is this weird dating algebra--kindof like college admissions, although completely different. There are schools you'd never get accepted to and don't bother with, reach schools, probably schools and safeties. Someone like John was, according to the dating algebra, was a reach for me. He is really handsome, tall, great job and so smart. I always felt like he was a little out of my league (although, the whole S&M thing changes the calculation--according to the S&M world, I'm a 9, or so. In the vanilla world, I'm probably a 6 or something.) So John was like applying to Harvard and getting wait-listed. I mean, I don't mean to sound so callous. But being rejected by John (who would say that isn't exactly what happened), well it isn't that big a deal (aside from the emotional part of it which is that I adored him and I continue to care about him more than I should). But it didn't hurt my self-esteem; on a human level it hurt a great deal. But I also kind of always knew that someone like John was out of my league. I kindof wish he weren't so handsome so I'd be more in his league.

This guy, on the other hand, he was kind of sweet. Short, but I don't mind. But he had a lisp, which really, really bothered me. And he didn't have terrific social skills. He didn't do anything to put me at ease. I had to carry a lot of the conversation, ask him tons of questions, then not have him reciprocate interest. That said, he is, I think, fundamentally, a good man, so I was willing to see what would happen. But being rejected by him feels like being rejected by the local community college. I'm trying not to be bitchy--realize that first of all, he's probably right. There wasn't that chemistry that you can almost feel. And the fact that I wasn't all that interested in him doesn't necessarily mean that someone I'm actually interested in wouldn't behave differently. But it certainly has me very blue.

My ex continues to want me back. And I actually went over to his place last night to watch 'Recount." I actually made plans after the movie was over so that I wouldn't be tempted to stay. My ex has many things to offer--kindness and companionship and comfortability. And I know it would be a mistake. I know that erotically, he wasn't good for me. But he healed me more than he hurt me. But not that the part of me is healed, it would be dangerous to get involved with him again.

I'm in this weird place in my life where I'm much more of a bitch than I used to be. Men try to talk to me on the bus, and I don't take my headphones off. They are bothering me. I'm listening to something--why should I bother? This guy on a vanilla dating site said he couldn't live without "420" and I said "no, thanks" and he went into the rant about how racist I was. I thought it was funny, and didn't even bother blocking him because it was so amusing. I used to feel obligated to talk to anyone who wanted to talk to me (crazy homeless sometimes excluded).

And yet, when it comes to dating, I'm not bitchy enough. I'm 'well, I ought to be able to make this work.' It is rare that I have the "I want to be with this person more than anything" reaction. John and the man that smote me were actually the only ones I felt that way about. And I wonder if maybe that is necessary, or if it is too much to ask for.

Good Girl

Oh, those magic words that usually send tingles down my spine. Spoken by my mother! Oy.

My father would never say something like that to me. He is careful with his approval and doesn't even like me to call him "dad" as I'm supposed to be an adult and not forget it. My mother is lavish with her praise. Which means it means little. I take it for granted. Amazing how my mother uttering those two words just shocked me. The wrong context; they become meaningless.

Meanwhile, my life is certainly not boring.

Went out with a very nice man today, and there might be potential there. But the whole time we were out at the first place we met, an older guy was behind him, watching me, appreciating me. It was this really bizarre dynamic. First of all, it was flattering. I have had so many men flirting with me in the last week (there was a huge puddle at the bottom of some stairs at the parking lot and a man gave me his hand to help me over it, and then said "I should put my coat down to help you over it" and then our cars were in the same place and you could tell he was embarrassed that he didn't want me to think he was following me, but also very sweet), it surprises me. I don't think of myself as the kind of woman that random men care to flirt with. It is good for my ego and for my soul! I didn't flirt with the other guy at all--of course. I'd never do that. But I made eye contact like 2 times--I didn't mean to. I was thoroughly enjoying the conversation, but I'd look away for a moment, like you do when you're looking for a word or a fact, and there were these eyes staring in my eyes. How do you deal with that? I tried to make sure my date wasn't even aware. I felt rude, almost cruel. But even if my date hadn't been there, I wouldn't have been interested in the older guy from the coffee shop. If Steven and I couldn't make it work, I could never make it work with an older guy.

Meanwhile, I'm about 2/3rds the way done with my novel, and I showed it to one of my best friends. The subplot has S&M. And my best friend was shocked. She loved every part of my novel, except the part where the girl got tied up and flogged. And there are several issues there. The first is: cool--I'm being a little cutting edge. If that is her reaction (and I realize that almost all the representations of S&M are either caricatures or show women in charge, or both)--then what I'm writing is needed. And the same time, though, how much can this be my best friend if this part of my life would horrify her so much! What would happen if she lifted up my pink, Laura Ashley dust ruffle and found the ropes tied to my bed? We've been friends for more than half my life. Would she drop me? I can't imagine she would, after all we've been through. And yet, the disapproval is visceral and cutting.

Finally, and this is distressing, the kid from last November/December decided to quit his incredibly well-paying job (over six figures) to do political activism work. And I think it was 70% because he doesn't like his job and 30% because he wanted me back. It is just a hunch. I hope I'm wrong. I feel guilty rejecting him, but I could never be happy with him. I told him bluntly a couple of months ago that I didn't want to go out with him, and I wouldn't be his friend because he wouldn't accept that. (I never actually wanted to be friends--but I felt guilty.) He called me 4 times this weekend, after announcing he would be quitting his job on this upcoming Monday. I let it go to voice mail and e-mailed him not to call me. I was pretty nasty, but I'm scared that if he was quitting his job to do something I'd approve of (he never had any interest in activism before--that's the only reason I think I might be a factor--I don't mean that to sound egotistical), he still has time to not quit. I don't want the responsibility of my 'approval' having anything to do with his decision. So, while I was nasty (which I hate being!), I think it was the right thing to do.

And, of course, there are the things that I don't mention here. The darker parts of my soul. When I started this blog, I shared those more easily. Now, I'm aware that there are things that should be explored, things that are itching to be owned instead of hidden, and I'm not. And that gets into all the intricacies of the ways that blogs operate. The partial disclosure hidden under the full disclosure. The fact that I'm not entirely over this guy (a pre-blog guy--Michael--I haven't mentioned him before). I intended to be over him, but he sort of wandered back into my life in a non-romantic way. Just at I expect the young'un intended to be over me (although I didn't wander back into his life). I know I have to move on, just as he probably knew he had to move on. I don't want to be pathetic in the eyes of someone I think must know I still care about him, at least a little. And yet, he has made it perfectly clear by deeds, although never by words, that he's not interested. I don't want to force him to the bluntness that the young'un forced me. And yet, at least the young'un has certainty. Letting go and moving on while wondering what might have been is hard. I have many regrets in this world. I don't want to regret not having given something a chance.