Could You Help Me Place This Call?

After drinks with a friend a few nights ago I came home and sat for a while until the tipsy had all but drained out of me, leaving just an edge of loosened inhibition. I had checked to see if BiB had responded to me and he hadn't. That edge started in on me, poking at me to go ahead and pick up the phone. So....I did. He answered within the first few rings and we chatted for over an hour. It was the first time I'd heard his voice in over four years.

It was a nice call.

His accent was even thicker than I'd remembered. He seemed nervous to begin with, as was I, but he and I both loosened up over the course of the conversation. It wasn't long before I learned that I'd been right about some of the things I'd been contemplating for the last year -- he'd went on vacation where I thought he'd went, and he was with the girl I'd guessed a year ago that he was with. These things reassured me. Whether I liked knowing them or not (and the jury is still deadlocked on that!) it reassured me to know that when we'd went our separate ways the things I told him would happen, happened. I'd been right all those years ago. The MO that I'd predicted he'd follow? He did. The end result? I'd predicted that as well.

Small comfort. But a sweet taste just the same.

The rest of the call was reminiscent without delving in the past hardly at all. We spoke of what we were doing, not what we had done. I let him know that I thought of him as a good man (I do, especially with the benefits of hindsight, time, and emotional distance) and that I was glad to hear that he was happy. I even meant it.

Mostly.

HD told me soon after the call ended that he was surprised, that he'd believed that the fact that BiB "got away" was the thing that had kept him in my heart all these years, and that finding out he'd finally moved on would make it even deeper. I thought about that and to an extent he was right. Being let go isn't something I like and it tends to keep me hooked but I'm also old enough to see that desiring something and actually having it are different things. BiB and I had our moment and it was wonderful, and that moment is gone. That's just the way it is. I'm surprisingly close to being at peace with that.

One thing we discussed was a sweet bit of justice for me though. I made sure that he knew that I had not dated since my divorce. I could tell he was genuinely surprised. I recalled how he had decided to sever our friendship -- and why -- and telling him this was designed to remind him of what he'd thought would happen (I would datedatedate) and what has actually happened. It was pleasing to let him know that, contrary to his belief that he knew me very well, he didn't know me or could predict my later actions half as much as I knew him and his.

I imagine that I will see BiB and his girl come spring at the meet of our video game. I am hopeful that 30b will also attend. But I will enjoy seeing BiB's reaction to my tattoo.

I told BiB during the course of the call that I was tired of acting awkward and uncomfortable around him and that we needed to just stop it already. He agreed. Time will tell on this, though. He did ask me to call him again. I imagine I will.

Hm. I wonder if he told her I called?

Song: "Operator (That's Not the Way It Feels)" by Jim Croce. Lyrics here:
http://www.guntheranderson.com/v/data/operator.htm ))

Oh My God...Here I Am...Once Again

Life sure can hand you some seismic twists. I was a fool to get lulled into the confidence of thinking that these sorts of things couldn't happen to me any longer. I was a fool to think I was immune to the effects.

The last couple of years I've settled into a pretty consistent pattern. I get up, I go to work, I hang with friends, I may play some video games or watch some TV, I go to bed and get up and do it again. Life has been very simple, steadfast, and predictable. Men have been peripheral in my life and I've been happy with it that way. They come when I want them to and go when I need them to and -- unlike my younger years -- I haven't needed them to complete me, to define me, or to validate me. I have been alone, indeed, but only rarely lonely. The sense of peace and freedom springing from this has been a new-ish frontier I've been exploring with pleasure and I've (hopefully) absorbed many lessons about how to move through the remaining decades of my life.

I've wondered now and again during the last few years how I'd react if anything came along to disturb the surface water sense of familiar I've surrounded myself with. I wondered now and again if, like the proverbial drunk, I would forget everything I have learned, pitch far off the wagon, and fall right back into old ways and old patterns. I'd then assure myself that the time for me to allow myself the luxury of self-deception had passed with my divorce and my subsequent acceptance of both my physical limitations and the emotional consequences they play in my relationships. I'd tell myself that.

Then, yesterday, I got a note from the past -- from someone all but gone in my life. It seems that he is now doing what he should have done six years ago and he and his wife are splitting. The news hit me a bit stronger than I thought it would. I didn't expect to actually "feel" the impact of it like I did and there was a part of me that was very disappointed with myself for those feelings. I kept talking myself down from going onto ledges I didn't need to go. Yesterday was another one of those learning experiences.

Today I feel much more level. I've regained a bit of the equilibrium I lost in the aftermath of the news. I am not the same person I was six years ago and neither is he. He will move on and find the path he needs to be on and it won't be one that contains me, at least not in any sense other than in a (perhaps) different sort of friendship. I cannot give him any more now than I could then -- the difference being, now I'm aware of that. I really do accept myself more now. This, at least, is good.

I also learned not to be so cocky. There are still wagons I can fall off of. I suppose only time can be the final determinator.

P.S. = the man I mentioned in my last post, my co-worker that I went for coffee with? We've spent more time together both with others and by ourselves. He's a nice man and is pleasant to be around but I feel no desire to take the relationship any other place than it is. I think he deserves a moniker here so I will call him CB. This makes sense to me for reasons I won't bother to share here.

Song: "Return Of The Mack" by Mark Morrison. Lyrics here:
http://www.rnbhaven.com/90s-music/lyrics/Return-Of-The-Mack/M/236/5482

Try To Realize It's All Within Yourself

I've got a vacation coming up. I leave for the midwest in a week's time and man, am I ever looking forward to it! I need some downtime. I love going to that part of the country. It's my childhood home and where I feel most connected. It's a chance for my kiddo and my parents and I to have a lot of laughs and bond and travel. We're planning to drive a total of about 2,000 miles when all is said and done.

I know most people don't like traveling or spending an inordinate amount of time with their parents when you get older -- and I'm no different in most instances -- but this particular trip is an exception. We all go to one midwestern state and visit my brother and sister in law (and we always have a good time with them) before we head out to another midwestern state to spend a few more days with some wonderful cousins. My kiddo has already made lasting memories of her grandparents from the last trip and she'll make more on this one. My parents are in their mid- to late-60s and are my kiddo's only grandparents now since both my ex's parents are dead. Who knows how much longer we'll have my parents around? Spending time with them for both our sakes is important to me.

BFF's daughter has been worried about me, apparently. She said I didn't seem happy. She was right, I haven't been feeling that grand the last couple weeks. I'm feeling much better emotionally though than I was last week, even if physically things are still bothering me. My left calf is starting to tingle and hurt and go to sleep, I've gained enough weight to feel like a real slug, and my throat issues are starting to escalate again (though I'm not sure if it's actually escalating or if the stress is kicking it into high gear.) It's just another reason why going on this trip should be a good thing for me. Jeez, all it seems I'm doing is a constant stream of bitch, bitch, bitch.

I guess what it all comes down to is this: I know something's wrong with me. It may not be something that will show itself for years yet but it's there. I hope I'm just being a stupid hypochondriac and that I'll be hale and hearty well into my 70s but I just dont see that happening. I'm already on more medication than my 100-yr old grandmother ever took in her life.

Someday I'll be more accepting of it. My mom tells me her 50's were much better than her 40's because she'd moved past a lot of the midlife changes and I'm inclined to believe her. If you really think about it, remember how much happened to you between 13-20? Your body was rapidly changing and your mind was doing the same. I really believe the so-called 'midlife crisis' is like that was, except now we're a lot less adaptable. Seriously! Less adaptable? You bet! Back then we didn't really understand what real difference was and we certainly didn't feel like we were losing ground. We were moving forward then, into adulthood. Now we're so used to being a certain way and having our bodies do what we need them to do and then life comes along and changes the game plan. You'd think we'd be smarter about it now since we should be able to see what the issues are, but instead of rolling with it or celebrating it? We try to fight it. We fight because we don't feel we're moving forward, we feel we're being forced to give away what we know about who we are. We feel like we're backpedaling or slipping into obscurity. No one wants that. It's a battle, dammit. Our major weapon? Denial.

Sheesh. As lazy as I am, as unambitious and accepting, you'd think I'd just go ahead and give in already! Surrender the field. I know I should. I know that if I did a lot of the stress and anger and melancholy would go with it since it's something that will happen no matter what I do. But somehow it feels that if I give up and let it get me.....I'll become truly old. Old means impending death. And death? I'm not religious. I don't believe there's anything out there after. It's truly an end. I. AM. DONE.

That's what the crux is. I can't seem to accept that. Not yet. So I keep fighting.....

((Song: "Within You Without You" by the Beatles. Lyrics here:
http://www.stevesbeatles.com/songs/within_you_without_you.asp))

We’d Like To Help You Learn To Help Yourself

There's a certain amount of freedom that comes to you as you get older -- at least for me personally. As a girl and young woman I was very rigid about what I thought was proper behavior and very hard on myself/good with excuses when I didn't live up to it. I'm now finding that rigidity is loosening a lot. I'm more sure of myself and less concerned with what others may think about what I do or feel. I know what I need and how I operate. It's funny, though. Years ago I would have looked at the current me and thought she was a slut.

Why? Because I was an idealist. I had a certain idea of how love, sex and romance was and how the three were supposed to be intertwined. I think most women suffer from this ideal to some extent and the differences come in how we choose to resolve it. In my case, I believed sex without true emotion was empty and meaningless. I found little enjoyment in it and no reason to participate in it. Though I still feel sex with emotion is preferable, my determination of the emotions I find acceptable has broadened. I've learned that I'm now capable of more separation than I was capable of in my younger years. I attribute this to the fact that I no longer need a man to help me define who I am. Sadly, I think men manage to go through that journey a lot faster than we women do but we do get there, usually in our late 30s and early 40s. I think it's the origin of why women in that age group are termed 'at their sexual peak.'

Now my regular readers know that I have medical issues regarding my sexual function and also know my feelings about those issues, so I won't rehash much of it here again unless I need to augment my discussion. I had a visitor a few weekends ago, a younger man of 30. I've known him for years though we'd never met face to face, but never got to know him well until we got reacquainted about six months ago. We now spend a lot of time together online -- he's smart and funny, easy to correspond with, considerate, and a bit shy until you get to know him. He's also not my type, for many reasons. He's a smoker. He's got a few personality tics that would drive me crazy over the long term. And he's a large guy, whereas I prefer skinnier guys. So yeah, initially I didn't consider him. I'd invited him to stay at my place over a weekend in which we'd be traveling together to meet a number of others and we ended up having a day's layover before he flew home. As it turned out, it was an interesting evening indeed.

I won't go any further into detail except to say two things. I took him a few places he'd never went before -- and plan to take him a few more in the future -- and he gave me the sense that I was appreciated regardless of my limitations, something I definitely needed. I had a great time. Mrs. Robinson indeed! He left and we've laughed and talked about it since. No strings, no worries. Just a good time. I woke up calm, I smiled about it, and I haven't stopped smiling each time I think about it.

So I'm finally moving towards real peace with this aspect of myself. I have a few people to thank for easing me into it over the years. HD for sure, he was the first to expose me to the possibility that it was not something I needed to hide from but explore and be aware of, and that it was okay to be that way. A couple trips and skips later -- a few times of feeling vaguely guilty or ashamed -- and finally this young guy comes along, this young guy I would have looked at in the past and never considered at all, but am now so glad that I did. I finally got pushed over that edge. It's about time I fully embraced and accepted the fact that my current reality is different from my ancient ideal, and that instead of whining any longer about what isn't, decide to truly enjoy what is.

((Song: "Mrs Robinson" by Simon & Garfunkel. Lyrics here:
http://www.wbr.com/paulsimon/lyrics/mrs_robinson.html ))

Growing Up In A Hurry, Yeah

Still here. My new job's been crazy and my gaming has been consuming. Oh, and I've been sick with bronchitis as well. When I have the time to sit and think about things and come up with a decent post I'll be sure to put it here. Other than that, there's only one tidbit I can think of:

A few weeks ago the kiddo called from school. This initially concerned me and I was about to lecture her on it until she said she'd broken up with her girlfriend. She told me the entire story, which boiled down to the fact that she was tired of having to deal with parents that didn't accept the fact that their daughter and my kiddo were seeing each other. She hated the sneaking around and she hated the drama. She wanted to enjoy being able to go out, openly, and just have the regular relationship style that her straight friends enjoyed.

She poured out her reasons and told me she knew that her girlfriend would be angry and upset and she was upset herself for having to inflict this sort of thing. Then she said, "Mom, I really only called for one thing." She paused briefly, and continued. "I wanted to know if I did the right thing."

I think I blinked a few times and I got that warm feeling. You know the one, when you realize that your kiddo is actually asking for your advice, and trusting in it? The one where it sinks in that your approval and support is important? I got that feeling.

"You did the right thing, kiddo. It was the hard thing, but the right thing often is."

She exhaled audibly and said, "Thanks, mom." Then her voice perked up. "Okay, I have to go. I'll talk to you later."

As I hung up the phone and went back to work I was sufficed with pride. My kiddo is really growing up.

((Song: "Magic Man" by Heart. Lyrics here:
http://www.guntheranderson.com/v/data/magicman.htm ))

Now That I Am Starting To Remember Who I Am

They say, "Ignorance is bliss." They also say, "Know Thyself."

Well....which is it? You can't have both.

Ignorance of sitations and events -- such as when someone you love takes a risk or if you did without realizing how close you came to danger -- can be blissful. It's often easier to accept loss of control if you're not even aware that you were out of it. But I don't buy the saying when it comes to self-knowledge. You want to stay ignorant, live in a fog? Really? You think that leads to bliss? More often it leads to confusion. You might lash out or self-flagellate and be miserable and not even know why. How sad that sounds. If you were living in misery wouldn't you want to know why you were?

Knowing thyself is a long process often fraught with peril and many people never even get there, but the knowledge you earn when you do isn't even the really tricky part. It's what you do with the knowledge that counts. Making the conscious effort to take the knowing and translate it into action. Making choices based on your authentic self and not the self you wish you were, the one you want others to think you are, or the one you desire to be. Facing what you know is true instead of dodging it.

Some people willingly throw themselves down in the middle between an obstacle and a solution and begin waging a battle royale between the way they think they need to live to be viewed as "right" and the way they know they need to live to be right with themselves. Some people do it because they give too much power to others and are too concerned with how others would view their behavior to allow their authentic self free reign. Others do it because of internal struggles, most of which have their origins in the dynamic duo of pride and shame. Perhaps buried mommy or daddy issues manifest by defining a range of restrictive behaviors that can't be indulged in (even if these would be beneficial in their situation) because their parents exhibited them and pride won't allow them to be "like" their parents. It might simply be a desire to maintain a particular self-image at all costs.

Put in plainest terms, when you behave in a manner consistent with what you know is good for you, you'll feel good as you're doing it. This is true even if you're doing something difficult. If you know that the reasons you're doing it are consistent with your authentic self you'll only rarely wake up in the middle of the night wishing you could be doing something else. You'll rarely walk through your day feeling angry, resentful or stifled. You might feel exhausted, stretched thin, or worried you might not find the strength within you to carry on but you'll rarely feel a deep sense of "not-right" if you're doing it for the right reasons for yourself. You'll take pride in the trial and in the knowing that when it's all over the doing will have sustained you instead of depleted you. You'll feel better having done it.

If you don't, though -- if you're consistently miserable and resentful, if you trudge through your day with lethargy or a sense of hopelessness, your heart a bird fluttering against its cage -- what does that say about the scales you're weighing everything on? If you keep telling yourself that you're doing the right thing but wonder why your mind and your heart don't jump on board waving that banner, then what behavior are you exhibiting?

What's with the martyr complexes? And why do we think it's so noble to be a martyr?

Whether you martyr yourself for others or you martyr yourself to outdated ideas of who you "should" be while blinking rapidly past who you are, the act of martyrdom brings poison to your internal table. At first you might say to yourself that you believe you're doing it out of charity and you don't expect anything from anyone in return. The reality of it is that you feel there's been an exchange made. Since the coin you've delivered is the sacrifice of a portion of your authentic self you expect to see some sort of tangible return, something of equal value from those you gave so much up for. This expectation rarely comes to fruition and it exists even if no one else is ever aware of what you sold.

What, then, is a valuable return? Initially it's appreciation or respect. At first the "thank you's" and the "I know this must be hard for you's" are enough to sustain you. Initially. But at best appreciation from others is a temporary poultice across a wound that never quite heals as long as the effort of acting in a manner inconsistent with deepest needs and emotions remains.

As time goes on more and more must be done to cover the wound. Whatever appreciation you get isn't enough. You start to feel like the world owes you something. You know you gave your coin willingly and it shames you to feel like you do but you expected equal value here! You think that someone else can give it to you and you get frustrated when it doesn't work that way. Of course it doesn't, and you know why? Because the only coin that really DOES matter doesn't come from without. The container you're trying to refill has only one existing source of fuel and that fuel springs from an internal source. It's like replacing gasoline with propane. You can putter along for only so long before you start seizing up.

The best example I can think of is a mother who whines that nothing she's ever done is appreciated. We all know someone like this -- miserable, petty, deeply unhappy, demanding and whiny. No amount of external appreciation is enough to wipe away the internal truth of a life that has been sacrificed for others. It's a gaping hole that can never be filled in. It's like quicksand....

Is it any wonder that martyrdom leads to misery?

((Song: "Starting To Remember" by Duran Duran. Lyrics here:
http://www.mattsmusicpage.com/duranduran/lstarting.htm ))

Is Keeping Me Waiting....

“Well,” said Pooh, “what I like best,” and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn’t know what it was called. ~ A.A. Milne

--

Pooh might not have had the word for what he felt but he knew how primally pleasurable it was to feel it. And it is so verrrrry delicious, isn't it?

According to Robert Plutchik's psychoevolutionary theory of emotion, this feeling -- commonly known as anticipation -- is one of the eight primary emotions (the others being anger, fear, sadness, joy, disgust, trust and surprise.) You'd think love and hate would've make it to the top eight but if you take a moment to reflect upon it it makes sense. Neither one of those could ever be called a simple or biologically survivalistic sort of emotion, now would it?

Is anticipation a survivalist emotion? Hm, perhaps.....perhaps not. But it is most definitely a simple one. See object of desire, desire it, take possession of it, relish the moments that hover between the have and the have not.

I adore those moments. Anticipation skating across my nerves, basking in the combined delicacy of agony and ecstasy. In the seascape of my emotional hitches and swirls there is always this one truth -- there, floating in those moments, is where I feel most alive. Perched on the edge of that space where I know that I don't know and I can't wait to find out. The control freak that I am devours those moments when control has abandoned me briefly but will soon return with a crash. Even when it's ghastly or agonizing, it's beautiful.

I'm not a risk-taker...well, at least not when my life is at stake. I've been known to risk my emotions though. There's no going back if I lose my life. No do-over's. In contrast, not risking yourself emotionally is like dying by degrees. It's merely existing. You won't die if your heart gets bruised even if it feels like you might. We're here to learn, my friends, not hide, and time is of the essence. I know my emotional landscape is a resilient creature, by design created to learn just as much (and often, more) by getting hurt as well as by keeping safe. The high of risking and experiencing a psychic return for my risk gives me a thrill unlike few things I've experienced. It's addicting. In other words, while I'm no adrenaline junkie I'm definitely a dopamine junkie.

Those anticipatory moments feel like taking a hit. Yeah, you might come down and crash hard, but wow.....what a rush!

((Song: "Anticipation" by Carly Simon. Lyrics here:
http://www.carlysimon.com/music/Lyrics/Anticipation.html ))

I'm On A Ride And I Want To Get Off

...but they won't slow down/the roundabout."

Those lyrics have been bouncing around in my head for the past hour or so. So much of life seems routine and predictable and then -- every once in a while -- something comes along that shakes you out of your self-imposed coma. It's really hard to stand back and let that something drop away and force yourself to step back into the routine. You find every cell in your body aching to remain in that maelstrom that makes you feel alive instead of existing.

We all know people or places or situations (PPS's) where that aliveness takes hold more readily. Like the proverbial yin and yang, your soul sparks when you face that PPS. It can feel sexual or even be sexual but mostly it's stronger and deeper than that....it's sensual. It feels warm like home even when it scares you half to death. It's primitive, it's unexplainable. You might want to try to explain it because people have a need for understanding in a cause and effect sort of manner, but you can't really face it with reason as a tool to analyze it or as a weapon to confront it. You just know it when you see it. When you do, if you're smart you hang onto that PPS. It is a silver thread joining you to being alive. You don't question, you enjoy. You learn.

It might seem like it would be very hard to deny that you could have this connection but humans are a very contrary species. We can talk ourselves into things, talk ourselves out of things, tell ourselves we don't want things that we do and tell ourselves we want things that we don't. Denial, it is said, is more than just a river in Egypt. Denial is one of our greatest attempts at channeling the whirlwind within. So yeah, it can be done -- people do it all the time. Some live their lives avoiding any contact with that river and others dive in headfirst and do only what their desires tell them to do.

I know it's hard to tread that line between living authentically and living in denial. Allowing yourself an occasional dip in that river might seem too dangerous. You might get caught in the undertow. It's why many people choose to avoid that risk and content themselves with walking on the outskirts of life, especially if they're the type that get so lost in the forbidden revel that they find themselves swimming out too far.

I can't stand not taking that risk. I waded in a pool where I didn't belong for years. It isn't something I regret, necessarily, for I learned about life and about myself while doing it. And I did belong there, once upon a time. But I spent more time yearning for my authentic self during those years than I did actually going about the business of being my authentic self. Life isn't the practice run, it's the main event. You gonna stand behind that curtain until the fat lady sings?

((Song: "The Reflex" by Duran Duran. Lyrics here:

http://www.geocities.com/ladyxanax13/Lyrics/TheReflex.html ))

Yes! Yes! Yes!

You just gotta read this!

We Had Seasons In The Sun

Death.

In this week alone I've experienced three of its aspects. Death by old age. Death by disease. Death by accident.

I've attended three funerals this past week -- well, two funerals and a viewing. Thoughts OF death and ABOUT death have been foremost in my mind.

. . .

Grey's grandmother passed away. She was in her 80's. I think of this as a death due to old age even though one could argue that point -- she was ill, after all -- but to me, old age was a major contributing factor. Time's path was winding down for her and she knew she didn't have many years left to her. She could feel the stillness creeping up. She was tired. She may have even welcomed it.

My ex-mother in law passed away. Doctors had given her a few more months to live a few weeks ago but she suddenly took a turn for the worse. Within three days, she was dead. The disease she had -- cancer, long incubating or perhaps simply stagnant -- rose up like a oxygen-fed fire and swept through her. Organs shut down. Systems faltered. Every breath was a labor. In her lucid moments she said she was miserable. Still, she wasn't ready. She knew what was to come but she was going to choose to fight. It didn't give her the chance to even shore up for the battle.

My friend Queen's 45-yr old brother passed away. No one will ever really know what happened, they'll just be able to piece suppositions together from the fragments of evidence strewn around the accident site. Perhaps he fell asleep at the wheel, perhaps he was tired and angry and going too fast around a corner in the wee morning hours. He was just gone, like that, no warning. No time to tell anyone his thoughts or wishes or desires. No time to say goodbye. He simply disappeared.

. . .

What does it all mean, really?

((Song: "Seasons In The Sun" by Terry Jacks. Lyrics here:
http://www.guntheranderson.com/v/data/seasonsi.htm ))

I Appreciate The Best But I'm Settling For Less

What's good enough and what's a dealbreaker? When we learn about something that shakes us to our core, how do we know if it's something we should walk away from because it's indicative of a pattern or if it's something we can adapt to?

I think a large part of that answer lies in how well we know ourselves and how secure we are in being who we are without needing something external to help validate us. Of course we all play roles in life and often we do because we feel we must in order to be accepted, respected, appreciated or loved. But like an actor who typecasts himself by only taking on the roles he's sure he can do, we can get so comfortable in our own performances that we forget what it means to draw lines in the sand and use the words, "No, this isn't acceptable to me and I won't live with that because I respect myself too much."

Yet…..that’s the problem, isn’t it? Self-esteem gets sucked out the airplane window. When people look to other people to tell them who they are, how can they truly understand the meaning of self-respect? They accept what other people do to them or say to them because somehow they think that it's their due and they tune out the only judgment that matters -- their own. I’m not speaking of the daily injustices we all face. I am speaking instead of the people that, at pivotal moments, turn down the volume on the internal clamour of pain or anger that rises in response to an attack on their self-respect from a source that refuses to consider compromise. Their fear of aloneness overwhelms their need for self preservation.

At that moment they have two choices; sell their self-respect to the offender or step back and refuse to allow themselves to be misrepresented or mishandled. The latter may cost them a friendship or a business deal or a relationship. The former? It may not seem like it’s such a bad trade. They manage to maintain the status quo and they don’t seem to “lose” anything at all. But ah, what they are really doing is the slow leak. It’s like a pinhole in the artery that nobody can detect on the ultrasound. It’s essentially whoring themselves out in fits and spurts, giving a little here and a little there until there’s nothing left. The former is much more tragic. It might very well cost them themselves.

((Song: "Looking For The Next Best Thing" by Warren Zevon. Lyrics here:
http://www.oldielyrics.com/lyrics/warren_zevon/looking_for_the_next_best_thing.html))

You Tell Me That It's Evolution

Monday afternoon, at her invitation, I met with Yo after work. We spent a few hours chatting over coffee.

I don't know what my expectations were going in and I really tried not to think about it all that much. There was some initial nervousness, definite hesitation, and qualifications offered up for statements before they were uttered. To her credit she brought up what she called the "white elephant in the room" (the fact that everyone we know feels and acts uncomfortable when she and I are in the same room together) with a maturity belying her years. Hopefully it's now on its way to being smoothed over.

Rather than go over all the excruciatingly tedious details I'd rather just explore my impressions. She's more than I gave her credit for. I'm more than she gave me credit for. She wanted to know how the exh and I could remain friends and I think much of what I said -- and how I said it -- helped to ease her mind in that regard. We touched on each other's hidden insecurities and thoughts and bringing them out into the open helped release us from their power. As we left, she said she thought she understood now why everyone she spoke to said that if she got to know me, she'd like me. She expressed this with relief, as if it was now "okay" for her to like me, too.

Things like that just take time and I'm pretty sure it would have happened of its own accord eventually, but her willingness to face it head on instead of scurry around it, ignore it or backpedal earned her my respect. I understand now why the exh found her attractive. As I left her, I told her that I hoped she made him happy because although I'd tried, I just couldn't seem to do it. And for the first time, I actually meant it.

((Song: "Revolution" by the Beatles. Lyrics here:
http://www.beatleslyricsarchive.com/viewSong.php?songID=234 ))

It's Time For A Few Small Repairs

Sometimes the choices we make are instinctive ones driven by some internal compass pointing us in a certain direction even if we're not completely aware of its motives for doing so. My impending move, a desire that has risen more and more to the surface in the last few months, is one of these.

Last week my roommate asked me in a delicate tone (as if worried how he was handling the question), "So....what made you decide to move right now?" It was obvious he was concerned whether my choice to move had been triggered by anything in particular that he'd done or hadn't done. I told him no, that it was simply the "right time" and that the enjoyment and readiness I'd felt in the two weeks I'd spent alone had been the real turning point in my decision making process.

All that was true, though an incident yesterday definitely put the stamp of internal, rational approval on my abstract feelings. I'd decided on a whim that after work I would go about 40 minutes out of town to pick up an IKEA chairbed that someone was selling on Craigslist for my new apartment. I have precious little furniture of my own since I left most of it with the exh when we parted. I know a lot of women would have taken a lot of stuff, but really? I'm happy I didn't. I get to purchase my own things now. Purely, wholly mine. It's fun!

Anyway, I picked up the piece and went out for a relaxing dinner. I'd just hopped back in my car when I got a call from the roomie. He asked if I was going to be home in time for dinner or whether he needed to fend for himself; I told him where I was and to do what he needed to do. A brief frisson of irritation passed through me (when he doesn't show up for dinner, I don't have any trouble eating without him!) and then I shrugged it off, thinking no more about it for the remainder of the trip home.

Then I learned why the roomie called to begin with. He'd been concerned about the pork chops I'd had marinating in the fridge. He'd apparently been looking forward to them, and had no doubt halfway expected to see them served as the main course for dinner.

Objectively, this makes perfect sense. In his place I would've thought the same thing given the same circumstances. That's not the issue, not really. It's just that for me, it illuminated another underlying aspect to all this, one that I've figured out I really no longer want to deal with.

I'm done with cooking for people.

I've spent nearly two decades cooking for people, and men in particular. Don't get me wrong here -- I love to cook, and the creation of good food is a real joy for me. When I think about the pleasure I get in making a meal for a bunch of friends or my daughter it puts a smile on my face, and when I get the urge to experiment, the kitchen is usually the first place I start. Oh, I do so adore the process -- the planning, the purchasing, the creation, the meal itself. I just don't adore it when it becomes an obligation. An expectation. A responsibility. Those three words sap all the joy away from what is normally one of life's more joyous pursuits.

That's how this roomie arrangement of ours has ultimately ended up. The roomie doesn't cook and I knew that going in (we've been friends a long time) so when we agreed to be roommates it was agreed that I'd do the cooking. I've held up to that part so far, but as of now, I'm done. I wish to remove myself from any further obligation towards the upkeep or continued provision of another grown human being.

My feelings about this aren't the roomie's fault (or anyone's) and I don't want to even allow myself to begin the process of placing resentment or blame where it doesn't belong. Been there, done that, and it sucked. I'm well aware this is more about me. It's an aspect of my personality that isn't bad or good, but simply IS. I need to attend to it before it grows in a direction I don't wish it to grow. Unlike before with the exh, I need to tend to my emotional garden and prune it back before it gets out of hand.

Oh yes, I'm ready. It was a good call.

((Song: "Sunny Came home" by Shawn Colvin. Lyrics here:
http://www.cowboylyrics.com/lyrics/colvin-shawn/sunny-came-home-10530.html ))

Feeling Good Was Good Enough For Me

I haven't measured myself this week to see if I've lost any more inches but it sure doesn't feel like it. I've been eating like a pig and only working out 4 days a week the last couple of weeks. I'm paying for it, apparently -- I've felt bloaty and miserable. I'd love to blame it on PMS or "that time of the month" but I can't. I was neutered way back in '01 and haven't had to deal with any of that in years. Amen, Hallelulah.

I do have a kinda-sorta-almost-but-not-quite-near excuse for the 4-day workouts. I did some leg lifts last Thursday that I (obviously) did wrong. I strained my back something awful and stayed home from work on Friday, taking Aleve and generally feeling sorry for myself. I decided to look at it as a much needed Mental Health Day.

The kiddo spent last weekend with me and she and I had a great time. We hung out at my BFFs place, where kiddo got a lesson on quadratic equations. BFF is a great teacher; she has had a lot of practice homeschooling her own three kiddos. She definitely has a "teacher mode" that she swings into for lessons and kiddo and I chuckled about that later. I'm sure that the lessons weren't what kiddo exactly considered a "great time" but in her defense, she was the one that took the initiative and brought her book along to my place. Good thing too; she's failing Algebra, got grounded, and is now attending tutorials at her school twice a week. I'm normally a stickler for grades but with Algebra I have difficulty mustering up the proper lecturing mode since I feel for her and understand her sense of simultanous struggle/apathy. I graduated Summa Cum Laude and the only reason I didn't graduate Magna was because of my stupid Algebra courses. Grrrr. They were just so difficult to wrap my head around. It's simply Greek to me, and useless, painful, ridiculous, pointless Greek at that. My kiddo and I are much alike in that regard.

Kiddo and I took a drive on Saturday night in the wee hours of the morning. The time had "sprung forward" and neither of us could sleep. We spent a few hours with our windows rolled down, enjoying the sights and talking and singing to the radio and laughing. I'm so lucky to have such a beautiful, unique, funny person for a daughter. I truly enjoy discovering all the whys and wherefores of how she thinks. We stopped for a snack at a greasy spoon and she told me she loved eating in places like that because they felt lived-in, like real people cooked there and made real food instead of the cookie cutter feel of chains. I drank my decaf (well for the love of God, it WAS 3 am!) and listened to her talk.

I'm going to miss these days when they're gone. I'm trying to remain cognizant of them and relish them as they happen. Life is all about these little details.

I'm feeling all right these days. I get sad on occasion but for the most part I'm doing well. I have so much in my life to feel grateful for.

((Song: "Me And Bobby McGee" by Janis Joplin. Lyrics here:
http://www.bluesforpeace.com/lyrics/bobby-mcgee.htm ))

Who Started Out So Young And Strong Only To Surrender...

Lately I've felt like giving up. I haven't been filling out job applications and instead I park my ass in front of the TV and stare at it until the day turns into night and its time for bed. Lather, rinse, repeat. I think about picking up a book but when I do I fall asleep, or get bored, or I think I don't have time to plow through 500 pages.

The frustration I feel is palpable. I want out of my apartment. I want to live by myself and not with a roommate at my age. I want a job that isn't something someone right out of high school can do. I earned a certification in order to change this but I'm learning that since I don't have any experience in the legal field no one will look twice at me.

This frustration and hopelessness paralyzes me. I know that the only way to change it is to....well....change it, because it sure won't change itself. Perhaps I'm just easily discouraged. Perhaps. But I've wondered if I'm not simply falling a bit deeper into what Kübler-Ross says is the fourth state of grief, depression. It seems like I've been here before so who knows, maybe I'm cycling back and forth between anger and acceptance and depression. I'll sure be glad when there's more of the one thing I can't change -- time. The passage of time will help.

Part of me longs for what Springsteen called the "Glory Days." If someone walked up and gave me the choice I wouldn't go back, but still....

When you're young or naive or just feeling full of potential and possibility, experiences are shiny and fresh. Unminted and unexplored. Nearly everything felt incredible or unique. Spending time with friends and bonding over long nights of passionate discussion, or non-stop wisecracks limned with liquor. Hearing them tell their stories for the first time and sharing your own. Discovering other people; discovering yourself in the process. Asking those who, what, where, when and why questions and not despairing if the answers weren't set in stone because you knew you didn't really know the answers anyway...they were only right at that moment and they'd change week to week anyway. Nothing felt immutable or hopeless yet.

That was heady stuff, that was. But like anything else it changes.

Years pass. You know yourself better. You're familiar enough with yourself that you know how you'll react to a lot of things before you even do them. The experiences that enriched you and led you on that voyage of self-discovery seem more like peanut butter and jelly rather than filet mignon. They become commonplace, the stuff of everyday instead of the unusual. You want to feel that same jet-fueled rush of connection that you used to but your senses betray you by dulling the essence of it all. You find yourself telling the same old stories and you listen to your friends tell their same old stories and it doesn't feel comforting any longer, it feels stifling. This disappoints you. You don't like that it does and you try to ignore that it does and you try to enjoy it like you did before. You want to enjoy it like you did before! But you don't as often; it comes only rarely.

Some fight this....this atrophy....by pushing the envelope more and more. Risking. Gathering new experiences. And others would say that if you vary the scenery -- get new friends or new surroundings -- that you can have that glittery newness back again. But I know that moving or swapping friends isn't a permanent solution and I am certainly not a risk taker. Instead, I'm a mourner. I mourn the loss of excitement. I mourn the idea that I have to exchange the people I care about for new models just so I can feel any freshness about life. And above all, I mourn the fact that I am the type of person that simply cannot remember that familiarity does not necessarily breed contempt.

So I don't know if it's apathy or just exhaustion. Which reminds me of another lyric -- "life goes on long after the thrill of livin' is gone." It's hard for me to get excited any more about life lately. There's a quote from some song about that, but it's not coming to me at the moment though it feels right on the tip of my tongue. Oh, wait! -- it's David Bowie's 'Changes' -- "and it seemed the taste was not so sweet."

I hope this means that when I finally get a taste of sweet, it'll be all that much sweeter?


((Song: "The Pretender" by Jackson Browne. Lyrics here:
http://www.lyricsdepot.com/jackson-browne/the-pretender.html ))

...

Ex and Yo came over this evening to drop off a washer and dryer for me. It's our old set; they decided to use Yo's. It got dented on the way over because some nimrod teenager rear-ended them on their way over. His insurance was 2 days expired so ex gets stuck having to deal with his own policy's uninsured motorist coverage. Luckily no one was hurt. I have yet to find out if the washer even works.

I only glanced at ex's ring finger once. A shiny new band replaced the one he wore with me. I'd love to say that I sailed through the meeting with ease and panache but I didn't, not really. I was just fine when they were here excepting I couldn't muster up the words to say congrats like my roommate did. I watched the ex carrying the washer and dryer up the stairs to my apartment and even though Yo was standing right there I had to watch myself from being too overprotective of him. He had been seriously injured a few years ago and small things kept popping up in my head, times when I took care of him and how I've always taken care of him. And even though it's been a year and a half since I moved out and a little less than a year since we divorced, it's a habit that's hard to break.

I wonder when I'll finally be able to fully reconcile my head and my heart or when they will finally seamlessly blend without even the hint of the regression they put me through now. I wonder when I'll be able to say congratulations and leave without turning -- literally or figuratively -- to look behind me.

I wonder when I'll really stop loving him.

And The Walls Break, With A Crashing Within

When you're in any relationship there's a lot going on under the surface. There's pushing, pulling, compromising and making do, or saying things you don't really mean just to smooth things over or to keep the peace. Or saying things you do mean at the time because your emotions are swelling and you feel drunkenly full of them. Or maybe the other person's issues or words or proddings have managed to poke you in your own particularly vulnerable areas, and fear of change -- explicitly threatened or implicitly perceived -- drives you to attempt to maintain the status quo.

It sure is exhausting. It really is. It leaves you wondering who the hell you are sometimes. But if you subscribe to the belief that humans rarely do things they don't gain some sort of benefit from -- however twisted it may seem from the outside -- then you must be prepared to admit that all this sturm und drang must be beneficial. It must! Unless you're gaining some sort of cost benefit from doing it, surely the energy you waste and the pieces of your life you give away are not worth it otherwise?

So the next time you reach for your smooth it over paste, take a good look at the person across from you. Then ask yourself.....is it worth it? What needs am I trying to put band-aids on? What am I really getting from all this?

Other than older?


((Song: "Careless Memories" by Duran Duran. Lyrics here:
http://www.geocities.com/ladyxanax13/Lyrics/CarelessMemories.html ))

Dating And Mating

I may have discovered what caused my little medical incident a few weeks ago. I was eating sunflower seeds and suddenly got that same warm flush/rapid heartbeat feeling I did the last time. Thinking about it, I remembered using those sunflower seeds in the power bars I'd made and ate an hour or so before my first incident. So hm, am I allergic to sunflower seeds? Maybe so. I do know I'll avoid them from now on, that's for sure. Maybe I'll go in for testing as well.

Still stewing on that issue I mentioned in my last post. I would love to speak more of it but until I get solid assurances I'll leave my thoughts and speculations floating around in my head. It's probably best that I do so, since to do otherwise would be akin to vomiting up a maelstrom of internal conflictions upon this page. I'll be better able to practice the art of restraint in my words at a later date.

The cute juror hasn't called and I am quite sure he won't. As I said, that's okay. I put myself out there and that was the point, after all. I moved beyond my comfort zone a little -- at least that's how Irish referred to it today during a conversation we were having. I think I'll move beyond it a little more and give my old co-worker a call like I said I'd do and go grab a coffee with him. Jesus, it's not like I plan to marry the guy!

Speaking of that, I've been doing some thinking about my reactions to the idea of "dating" and I've come to see that it's never been in me to casually date. I don't really know how! I ended up engaged to the first man I ever really dated. I had a few relationships (2) in between, all serious that broke up for one reason or another, then married the ex. And now here I am. I found something a while ago that I'd written as a teenager that was in response to something my mother had said about dating around. I said that I didn't want to do that, that being in a relationship was what I planned to do and to be serious. I certainly meant what I said, didn't I!

So that is my goal -- my growth experience, if you will. I need to practice the art of casual dating instead of using my normal barometer, which essentially is not consenting to go out with any man that I wouldn't consider a long term choice if it should evolve that direction. I know myself and know that I tend not to make the best choices when my heart becomes involved. I've always thought that making sure the man is decent at the outset was a good weeding process to perform before I get emotions in the mix instead of later on, when I'm swimming in a hormonally stupid fog.

I'm not going to say this will be easy, nor will it be something I'm just going to jump into willy-nilly. I am certainly not in any rush whatsoever. I am still a choosy woman and always will be. I don't want to get involved at this point in my life and I have other directions I intend to go that I've never bothered to pursue before -- my long-ignored career for one. Most importantly I have my daughter. I have no doubt that soon she'll demand even more of my time and attention and I have both to give to her without hesitation. She and I are developing what I think will become an amazing relationship and I won't push it aside for anything in the world.

All I'm saying is this: my ex mother in law told me last night to leave my heart open. This coming from a woman who's spent the entire time I've known her (20 years) completely alone. She's met a man and she's feeling attractive and strong for the first time in a long time and I could hear her joy through the phone last night. She told me she understood my fears of hurting others like I hurt her son, and that I was a wonderful woman who didn't need to shut down or close off and do what she'd done, but just take the time I need to heal and regroup and then move forward in life instead of standing still. I'm older now and wiser than I used to be and I know to listen to my elders with an open ear. So maybe I should listen to her.

We The Jury

I was finally released from jury duty yesterday evening. I served on a criminal trial, one that (I've been told) received a bit of national attention. It's certainly garnered more than enough attention from the news media in my area of the country. Having avoided the news and radios and the like for the last week, I was not aware of its import in the legal world. I'll be interested in reading about the precedent it may or may not have established as the weeks progress.

I can only say that I did what I was charged to do: follow the law. It wasn't pleasant, it certainly wasn't easy, and sometimes it didn't feel "right" -- and I mean that in the moral sense. I was uncomfortably close with the case at times because the defendant in the case reminded me so much of someone close to me, situationally speaking. But given the facts and the law, we had no choice but to do what we did. I've heard people casually pass judgment on what a person should serve or if they should be convicted or worse, say that if they had served on that jury that it would have been easy for them to just render a decision. I say that any person that can say that has either never served on a criminal jury -- where people's real lives and their families are deeply and permanently affected -- or does not have a vital and necessary component to be an effective jury member: compassion.

That might sound counterproductive. But it is not. Having compassion does not mean that one is incapable of following the law. It does not mean that one would follow one's gut instincts and not be able to peer into the objective facts and abide by the rules that our justice system has put in place. Having compassion is vital because without it, our justice system and the people in it lose their heart. No one holding someone's life in your hands as you weigh the facts should be without it.

I did what I knew I had to do, for the victim and for the defendant. I am comfortable with my decision and it is my passionate hope that some good may come out of it. I had to accept the consequences -- one of which was the opportunity for one of the victim's family members to yell at me and tell me that I made a stupid decision. But my objectivity, and that of the jury I served with, was vital in this case -- and in others -- lest we become a nation of vigilantes and murderers in the name of revenge and pain and loss. I would not like to see that happen.

I chose the legal profession to go into, before doing this....before understanding what it meant. I think I chose the right profession. It's going to be hard, but I feel it's the right choice for me. I also feel that everyone should do what I just had to do. I truly believe that feeling the pain of agonizing over the fact that you hold a person's life in your hands has made me think differently. I think it would be one of those lessons that changes a person. It certainly has changed me.

And oh yes, I met a cute juror. I gave him my number unsolicited by him -- the first time I've ever done that in my entire life! He won't call, I have this feeling that he won't call, but that's all right. It was the doing that was the important thing. Whether he calls or not, I've lost nothing, and I gained a bit of confidence.

And there's another matter heavy on my mind, but that I will save for another day soon. I suspect that within a week I'll be making that matter well known.

Cause Knowledge is Power!

Other than that sharp turn in Vegas where I had a great time, and an even sharper turn into sickness (from which I've recovered other than a lingering cough) I've been wandering about my apartment for weeks now, adrift, bored.

I've been wondering what to do, knowing that the things I once found fresh and fun and preferable to being wife and mother are now sour and stale, tasteless. I sit in front of the computer, once my lifeline, reading blog after blog until my eyes glaze over. I've plopped my ass in front of the TV and stared blindly at it to pass the time. I've read a few books but that doesn't occupy me much more than an hour at a time. I've been so restless that I've even -- perish the thought! -- considered playing online video games again even though they bore me to tears.

I remember back to my old life, the one I hated, and wonder why I hated it. I had focus. I feel like I've given that focus away and it was a good one, being a mother. I need something new so that I can find that urge again and take up the mantle of mother in a different way, that isn't attached to being "wife."

So this week I'm back at work, at this same nowhere place, going nowhere fast.....and I've decided. I can't do this any longer.

I have to have my own place. I have to have time to be a mother and a career woman. I have to go somewhere and do something with the rest of my life. I cannot stand being 40 and living with a freaking roommate.

Enough.

I'm going back to school.


((Song: "Knowledge Is Power!" from Schoolhouse Rock! Lyrics here:
http://www.schoolhouserock.tv/ ))