Slow and Steady Saves my Face

What a crazy crazy crazy week. Much of that a good thing, though.

People are coming out of the woodwork in droves. Droves I tell you! From friends who were otherwise occupied for some time to folks that I had no longer considered friends. I've been weighing my options and responses carefully and answering slowly.

One I am still blocking. Protective measures had to be made. There are only so many times I will tolerate some things. I want to be "nice" and I want to rescue (people, animals, relationships, anything) but I can't and won't anymore.

One I am cautiously reconnecting. We'll see where coffee goes.

One I am simply opening the door. Come in, don't come in. It's up to you. You reached out but I'll believe it when I see it. At least I'm not vulnerable there.

On a different note...

I'm proud of myself!! I did decide to drink some last night but I did not get "wasted" and even though there was a cute guy who seemed perhaps interested and who drove me most of the way home (I was going from Brooklyn to Manhattan after all. If he'd driven me any further we'd be in the water, but I wasn't about to ask a perfect stranger to make that trek at 4 in the morning) I didn't kiss him. Not at all! Not a smooch. I gave him a thank-you hug. See? I can be appropriate. Once in a while.

That's the thing. I'm challenging myself to be appropriate, not just for propriety's sake, but for my own ultimate health and happiness. In every arena. Taking anything slow ain't easy for me.

Oooooh m'gosh

It's been awhile. It has always been a while lately. I'm lax.

This latest L.A. venture has been an odd one. It's a mash-up this time between new and old, family and friends. There are moments that remind me "this is why I don't live here." But there are other moments that make that not so clear. I think it's the days. The days in L.A. are not my cup. The nights...the nights are better. Most of the time. Half of the time.

If I lived here, where would I live?

I can't picture living here again. Sometimes, though, I wish I could scoop up certain people, certain places, certain moments, certain nights. I'd scoop them up and take them back with me to where I better belong. I'd drag their tanned asses back to New York...back where it's close and quick...back where I don't have to drive on the freeway and the night doesn't end at 2.

I'm ready for a higher echelon and a caliber of quality. I'm more than ready to say goodbye forever to the trash and the flakes and the draggers and the hangers-on. I'm done with being drained and I'm done with being less. You hear that? I'm welcoming you in, so fucking come on in. And you others? I'm kicking you out. So get the fuck out.

Claptrap and Poop

God what a learning experience the past week or so has been. I've been so busy living it and processing it I haven't had time (or desire) to write about it. For some reason, though, I feel obligated to share some highlights.

Just for a sec, though, I'd like to note how strange that is. Share with whom? The few (very few) people who read this bloody thing already know what's going on, for the most part. Or if they don't...well, of course there are some things I'd love to write about but I can't. I kind of miss being more anonymous on this thingamajig. I feel now that if I write about or to people that know me, without talking to them first, well...that's a little bit passive-aggressive, ya know?

Okay. So my article got killed. We already talked about this, so I can write about it. I'm pissed. I'm disappointed. I somewhat understand the reasoning, but not entirely. I had time and ego invested, so it sorta sucks. I'm not in your shoes, so I can't really know the feelings behind the action. I'm not judging, though. I'm staying on my side of the fence without blame. So those bits of sadness and anger? They're not directed at you, they're just there.

I feel like a dating retard. But then I realize I'm much better at it than I thought I was. Case in point: met a guy, had a connection, went out. Made out. But for some reason didn't let him come home with me. Parts of me wanted to. Very. Specific. Parts. But I didn't. Went out again. Talked on the phone. I quickly realized that the more I got to know him, the less I liked him. I decided that he and I could never date...but we could have some really good sex. So then I had a choice. Did I want to see this guy again solely for the good times and the good times? Considering the only time I thought about him in the last few days was right now, I guess the answer to that is "no".

Found an apartment. Love it love it love it. BUT. I put a bid on it and I still have yet to hear back. They're having an open house tomorrow. I decided not to go because I don't want to witness a bunch of people traipsing through "my" apartment. I really hope it doesn't escalate to a bidding war, because I'm sure I'll LOSE.

Bidding on the apartment brought up a fun little host of issues. I want to move. I don't want to move. I hate my neighborhood. I'm comfy there. My apartment doesn't fit me. I love my space. My street is noisy. I'm going to miss the ruckus. It's just a building. I'm going to miss my super. And my elevator men. I want to move. Do I deserve to move? Am I throwing money away? Should I wait until I'm going to live with somebody so as not to have to go through this all over again? I have to find office space! I can't afford office space. I need more clients. I feel tapped out in pursuing.

Even I find that thought process annoying. I can't imagine how boring it must be to any poor schmuck reading this claptrap.

Alright. I'm off to (finally) write my April newsletter. It's all about poop. Yay for poop!

Gobbledy Achoo

God laughs at me or karma bites me in the ass or something. The very day I bragged that I hadn't been sick in a couple of years...yeah, I gots a cold. The whole coughing, stuffy head thing. No fever (thank goodness). Robitussin has become my friend. I might need to run out for another bottle shortly. But then that would entail braving the cold and I'm not too keen on that foray.

During therapy last week, well, almost at the end of the session, which is wholly appropriate for me, I asked the real question: What's going on with me? Of course it took me almost the whole session to get there. Asking the right question at the right time isn't one of my skills. Well, sometimes it is, but not when it pertains to me.

So, what's going on with me? I don't know. Nothing bad...nothing good...nothing much happening...but not stagnation. I don't know. It's been chalked up to my "Saturn Returns" or merely the trapeze of transition, but that seems a titch glib. Although, maybe that's just it. Maybe there isn't really anything. It's just transition.

Okay, then. Transition sucks. I need a road map or something. I'm tired of trying to navigate blindfolded.

Someone want to loan me a housekeeper for a weekend?

Heroic Stoic I'm Not

Crying easily and frequently and I don't like it. Not one little bit.

It feels out of control although I know it's not and it's natural. But really the only thing that is easy right now are those ready tears.

People, to me, are more than just their individual selves. Especially the men. Each man is not just a singular entity, but also representative of so much more. Not just other men, but also hopes, dreams, emotions...

So often they represent what is missing and not what is.

But is it really that they represent the lack? Perhaps it is instead that their presence serves to highlight what is in fact not present. I'm present...but very little else is.

And others? Others are miles and decades away. They're in the future or in the past: two states which I am guilty of frequenting as well. But not now. Now...I may not know where I am, but at least I know when.

Your questions are hard, sometimes; and sometimes they're not so nice. But yes, those things that are missing... Well, they are they are. That's not to say I'm incomplete. Maybe I am incomplete. I'm not looking for something else to fill that, though. I am looking for something else, but... Oh Christ I'm tripping over my own tongue (my own typing?) and hardly making any sense.

I had other things to say. I even wrote them down. Suddenly I'm clamming up. I wear my heart on my sleeve and my emotions are written all over my face in thick Sharpie. I wish I were a better liar.

I gently coax others out of stoicism; but right now I see their point.

Practice Makes Possible

This has been a most interesting time. I feel in a way like I'm in rehearsal. This is practice for something else later on. I'm doing the prep work, that's for sure

I do believe that I'm setting the energetic stage - on more than just one level, too. Let's hope I'm not just spinning my wheels and that there is something else coming my way. I've grown far past effusive navel-gazing and intellectual masturbation. Well, maybe not the latter. I am writing this, after all.

But this better not be another pointless act. There's only so many times I can stomach that.

So. Working towards something, then? Oh bloody hell. What? Fuck the vision board, though, at least. That kind of claptrap makes me so frustrated. Perhaps its the cynical mind talking, but I just don't see how I would find it inspirational. It sounds demanding to me. Demanding of me.

You know what? The only thing I want right now is everything. That's not too much, is it? Or perhaps at the very least, my own table. My own space. Sometimes that IS too much to ask, though, I'm finding.

Texting Is Dangerous

I have a new roommate! First time I've had a houseguest for longer than a few days in...years! Good thing he's the bestest. And a sound sleeper! I always worries that my kitties (well, Willa) will wake guests. She meows so frigging loudly in the mornings. I'm good at ignoring her when I'm the only one here, but when someone else is in the apartment, I'm hypersensitive to her caterwauling.

Appropos of nothing: I'm...er...lonely in a specific way.

Texting is dangerous.

Oy.

Four On The Floor

I rehired one of my old trainers.

I've gone through 5 a half trainers in the last 5 years. Number two I was with for over two years. I only stopped with him because his schedule changed. Number one was the guy I was working out with when I hurt my back and ended up needing surgery, so that's understandable. Number three went batshit crazy. Number five was just a strange dude. He made working out...not fun anymore. That's no good. And the "half"? Well, I only worked out with him a couple times. He seemed to think we were on a more committed basis than we really were. I told him from the beginning that I was going to test out a few people, and I wasn't committing to him. He's a sweet guy, just not what I'm looking for when I go to the gym.

So why did I rehire number four? First and foremost, he's a good trainer. And I had fun with him...WHEN things worked. When they didn't, well, let's just say we could clash. But I was thinking about that today as I found I had run out of trainers to try at my gym. I recognized that he and I never clashed until "douchebag" entered the picture. Douchebag (or DB for short, as I will now refer to him) planted all these niggling little thoughts in my head that led to greater and greater dissatisfaction with number four. Cuz DB was a fucking MASTER at that. The guy is a genius at mental manipulation. Seriously fucking good.

So let's see how it goes with "four" this time around. I think we'll do just fine. There's kind of a sibling vibe there, and I think we both had enough of our time outs.

Yet

I'm in love.

He makes me laugh. We can talk for hours about nothing. I feel like I've known him forever but he still surprises me almost every day. He listens to my fears and insecurities with a loving heart. He doesn't try to soothe me with platitudes; but he doesn't dismiss my anxieties either. He's supportive without being indulgent. Sometimes he pisses me off when he challenges me or holds up a loving critical mirror, but ultimately I'm appreciative.

When I see him in the morning or when I walk with him down the street, I feel I am with a man, not a boy or even a "guy". I don't have to be his teacher. He's not mine, either, but we both show each other things we never knew before. He's got some hobbies I don't enjoy, and he's not that keen on some of mine, but we have friends for that.

I love spending quiet time at home together, just curled up on the couch like an interlocking puzzle. I love going out with him, too. I'm proud to be seen with him. He introduces me to everyone, too. He wants to integrate me into his life.

Sometimes he is such a dork. But he's a dork in that cool un-self-conscious type of way that just makes me want to grab and kiss him.

We kiss a lot. We do that a lot too.

Here's the thing, though: I don't know his name. Yet. I haven't met him. Yet.

But it's not like I feel that this is a description of the person I'm looking for. I really feel like he's there. We have this connection...it already exists. We're just not in contact at the moment.

Yet.

Taking It Back

I came back from my Omega retreat feeling energized and empowered and lightened and enlightened and lovely and wonderful and glorious and sure. I wasn't completely whole or healed or fixed, but I was back in my power and feeling beautiful.

So of course that was attractive to him. He found it alluring and interesting. He was drawn to it like a (god forgive the trite cliche) moth to a flame. He was in awe of it, actually. Was in wonderment.

So of course he had to do everything in his power to destroy it.

So of course I let him.

Wait. I let him? I let him? I LET him?

How did that happen?

I'm taking it back. I'm taking it ALL back. Taking back my power. Taking back my energy. Taking back my glory glory glory. It is a sad sad human being who needs to destroy others to feel better about himself. He doesn't think he's cruel? Oh my god that is a laugh and a half. He's so unhappy...so fundamentally unhappy...so blind to that...so blind to his own inadequacies...so blind to himself. He claims he's driven to be a mirror for others, to hold up an honest look to others, but he's unable to see into the mirror and witness his own face.

Please remind me to let that poison be. Please remind me not to take that drug. Please remind me that I am better, so much better, than that.

I've Come To The Realization

This is a direct quote:

I've come to the realization that you are so emotionally stunted by lack of real life experience... that "what you did wrong" is entirely irrelevant. Sorry.

1. I did do nothing wrong

2. Emotionally Stunted? If that were even remotely true, the only answer for that would be "Pot? Meet Kettle."

3. How can "real life experiences", which are simply each person's different life path, be more or less than anyone else's? How can mine be not enough and someone else's be too much? I did not ask to be born into the family I was born into or to be dealt the cards I was dealt. I am supposed to be wishing to have had a harder lot in life?

4. Dismissing anything as entirely irrelevant is a cowardly move.

5. I don't for one single solitary second believe that you are sorry in any way. You yourself have laughingly, braggingly told me stories of such cruelty that I wanted to leap out of bed, horrified at your tale and the person you revealed yourself to be.

I cannot understand why I, who contain so much power and positive energy, allowed myself to be drained by you. I let it ebb away and leave me a simpering girly shell, wheedling for your attention. I am not that desperate for companionship; especially not when it is a well-disguised poison.

Crazymaking

Totally and completely crazymaking. But the question is, who is the one making me crazy? Them or me?

It's About Time

The weekend was a soaring roaring success. Not healed, but healing. Not fixed, but on the road the path the route the track.

But oh my oh my are charismatic men hard to resist. I still find myself eyeing him across the room. And talking on the phone for three hours? What's that about? Do I need a cosmic slap across the face? Snap out of it!

The problem I think is that while everyone else (the people who are prescient) know (they know) that it isn't one of those "meant to be" and is in fact "meant to be WRONG"...I don't buy it. I don't! I don't believe it. I don't feel that. Maybe I do a little. Teeny tiny bit. But is it the hope I'm still clinging to or the fantasy?

On another note... My poor little lost friend. If you ever read this (which you don't) I truly truly hope you find the peace and stillness and strength and joy and sanity you seek. I wish I could help you, but I can't. And I won't. It's not fair to anyone if I do. Where did you go? Where are you headed? Are you going to fade away or self-destruct?

Love you.

Love me again, too. So that's cool.

Do I have to not love him? I do, don't I? Fuck.

At least it's right-sized now. No longer is it bearing the burden of my childhood wounds and ancient primal damages. It's just about a guy. He's just a guy.

Now on to more important things, yes?

An Update For People In the Know

I don't know.

It's painful and weird and strange and fucked up and odd right now.

I care about you too much? I don't have it in me to be responsible? I should be spending my time with someone I hate?

I've never encountered this sort of thing outside a soap opera before.

Drama drama drama.

And I REALLY don't want to talk about it so this post is in lieu of conversation, k?

But I'm a Likeable Lickable Loony

Even after being a total nutjob weirdo hormonal wacko sleep-deprived dingbat anxious goofball retarded freak!

He like likes me.

(Insert girlish "tee hee" here.)

Goofily grinning.

Smit Shit

Oh shit.

I'm in smit.

Smote. Smitted. Smited.

When was the last time I spent almost 20 hours with someone?

Primary food like keerazy. It's amazing how little sleep/food/water/anything you need when you're smitten.

Please please please please please karmic nutjobs don't screw me. Every time I get smit I get shit. Wish me fuckity luckity.

The Universe is Responding Too Strongly to "Open For Business"

You have GOT to be kidding me.

One I love, but not in THAT way.

One I don't know and don't trust. Not really.

One I enjoy tremendously.

One I call stupid...to his face, no less. Or his ear. What disconnect could possibly take a year?

Today was awful. Tonight was fun. Later tonight was interesting and a bit annoying.

This isn't usual or normal or the typical pattern in any way. Unless you're considering draught and deluge normal. Which, I suppose, has been the way it's gone.

My Mom Is Right: I'll Never Get Married

I don't remember what it feels like to have a boyfriend.

I forget what it's like to have a partner...a mate. What's it like when you're not single? Is it reassuring and comforting? Is it like having a cushion behind you or a net under your feet? Or is it a burden? Is it frustrating to constantly have to think of another person? I don't remember if it's a pain to worry about two schedules instead of one.

I sometimes think I want that again. Sometimes I think I miss collusion and company. Whenever that happens, I try to imagine my energy being shared. I picture the phases: meeting you; getting to know you; sharing vulnerabilities, passions, dreams. It seems tiresome.

I've got far too much to focus on to remember the color of someone's eyes. How can I be expected to memorize a new cell phone number? There's no way to equitably divide my time.

And yet some late-night conversation might be nice. It could be lovely to have enough human touch. Enough human touch. That's what most of us are really hungry for, you know. There's just no substitute for that yet.

Would I be able to let it in if relationship suddenly came to my door? I don't know if I would even recognize the signals if someone were to unexpectedly send them my way. Do I have blinders on? Or just really dark sunglasses?

Get Ready For Some Anger

I am so angry. I am so furious I want to fucking choke that motherfucker.

I have fantasies of slapping him across the face. I want to shake and throttle him until he UNDERSTANDS. He needs a fucking wake up call.

He needs to know that even if it's okay, IT'S NOT FUCKING OKAY.

Disrespect is too small a word. Why the fuck do we keep making excuses for his sorry ass? He's not "developmentally challenged", he doesn't DESERVE the justifications we make for him. He's so fucked up.

I can't believe I even remotely considered not being angry with him because, well, he's so messed up he just doesn't know any better and I can't possibly hold him to the same standards I would hold a "normal person" to.

FUCK THAT SHIT.

So Many Thingies

I feel like I'm journaling all the time now. About everything. I always had this much going on in my head...I think I just chose to, if not exactly ignore it, then slightly deny it. But I kept busy.

These days I am woefully unproductive. So much energy is going into processing processing processing that I'm finding it difficult to produce. That leaves me feeling a bit shitty. My days seem to amount to very little. I've become great at getting "outside the house" stuff done--but not so much the things I really need to do.

I need to clean - recaulk my tub - refinish my marble - send various emails - write Xmas cards - make Xmas presents - paint - excavate my closet - pay bills - organize - print business cards - do other "businessy" things - keep up with FAM (not short for family) - stop eating - research - Bollocks. Loads of things. Fuck it.

Oh great. It's a full moon. Thaaaaat's great. What am I doing? Someone called me a loser last night. To my face. Well, over the phone. I think she meant it in a joking way; but she has no idea how it struck home.

Unrelated to that, but also to something else someone else did last night...shit. I can't get into details. Let me put it this way: Don't dick with me. Don't pretend to reach out and make contact if you're doing it just for appearances. Half-hearted bullshit is ridiculous and I DON'T APPRECIATE IT. Ass. What are you avoiding? I'll call you on your bullshit, you know. I expect the same in return, but don't think I'll let you get away with fooling yourself--or god forbid--me. I'm smarter than the average bear.