The forest or the trees

Sometimes you miss everything. Lucky for me, God wields a sledgehammer.

There was the paucity of T1. Dinner on two occasions consisting of take away. Nothing but takeaway. It brought to mind the richness of Geoff. How he would bring the best bread and cheese and sushi and a NY Times and and. That man knew how to provision up for a good long time spent in bed.

And now T2. So young. So sweet. And switched on sexually. With strawberries, ice cream, a full kit for making pasta, complete with fresh parsley. And a gift. And and.

It's been quite the year. Sort of.

There was March and there was May. Then August. And September. Now October. If this were my schedule in a partnership I'd go mad.

As I move toward joy the universe is opening up. I am in the forest with the trees.

Missing in action

It's not that there's been nothing to report for the last 8 days, but since solidifying this yoga training I've been doing yoga every morning and extracurricular at night and that just leaves less time to write. One of my big fears is that trend will continue in India and I won't do much writing. Or that it won't, exactly. I need that special combination of busy/happy/angstful to be prolific. No job? No steady partner? Check angst. Entertaining and being able to walk away from both work and male prospects? Check happy. Busy. That's a trick.

I suppose this will be part of my discovery. I know I will find a way toward busy-ness. I always do. But will I be filling that void with writing and reflection, or will I slink into my co-dependent need to see myself reflected in others?

Out with the old

In with the new?

Although at times it's been a conscious choice, most of the time I don't think about it at all. When I'm done, I'm done. With boyfriends moreso than lovers. Lovers can still fit. But where does the boyfriend go? I have just one slot for a boyfriend. If he's not fitting there, chances are pretty good I'd prefer to hang out with a friend. There was some reason that shark stopped moving forward.

Maybe it's the complete disappearance of the husband. He's just gone. My need, my craving for male attention is not. My need to figure out what the fuck happened, sharp. Yet the more I think about it, the more fluid it becomes. I try to create new memories, see where I am. Still nothing. I look back. The significant male relationships of my life?

...like a nymphomaniac who binds a thousand into strange brotherhood I wait for each one of you to confess. Leonard Cohen

Sex

Was discussing with a lover what's the most important thing--sex or communication. He said, sadly, sex. Sadly? What's sad about that?

It was this shining moment of realization, that my search, which for so long I have been telling myself is wrong, is in fact spot on.

Could I do him? If not...next!

Some assembly required

I've had any number of theories about men and their sexual prowess. Bad driver? Bad lay. Good dancer? Too self-involved between the sheets. Actually, these are borrowed from my friend Jean. The point is, I've been looking for signs. Signs that training will not be necessary. My latest add on? Hold the drama.

It's not working.

Lately it seems that "no training" equates with much drama. The ones who show up all ready to go seem to be total cads. That's been making for drama.

But training involves taking some ownership. Some investment in wanting to see the fruits of your labor. Oi vey gevault.

I went back to the hairdresser Thursday. Enough time has passed and I needed a good cut for waltzing out of here. Again he followed me to my car. He wanted me to come live with him instead of leaving. Come again? And he keeps calling.

This is clearly a case no amount of training could make up for, in fact, I'm not sure why I mention it except the drama factor. What's with all the drama?

There's been an inkling of normalcy, a nice one on the horizon, but I don't think I can handle it. I just don't have it in me to handle one more thing. Mission aborted.

No training no drama

While on the one hand I was horrified to see my friend's 12-year-old strutting around to "My Humps," I can't help but be encouraged by some of the song's positive messages. Will they be heard?

Don't be grabbing on my hand boy, you ain't my man boy. Something something about quit it or, I'm gonna, start some drama, you don't want no drama.

Of course there's also, what you gonna do with all that ass inside them jeans? I'ma make make make make you scream make you scream. Etc etc.

Maybe it's just more of the same. I'm sexy and fabulous but you can't touch. As if we don't want or need to be touched. As if there's something wrong with that.

And if we do?

Drama.

Take the high school cafeteria zone I'm in. In what sounds like one overly drawn out episode, Mr Age Inappropriate II confesses. Or gets caught, I'm not exactly sure. This leaves me feeling like Hester Prynne. There are no freebies.

Then I tell ya, things aren't quite the same

More waiting.

Our phone call to discuss my ever evolving departure has been postponed til Thursday at 4.30 my time. Oh yeah, that's my best time--dead end of the work week.

The guy who was going to buy the car this morning is MIA.

I have to go and fake my way through a meeting about establishing a TV show about robotics for kids. Yes!

And then it happened, yes, my mind went there. If I stay, maybe this unfortunately named and undoubtedly married or otherwise engaged gentleman will get the job here, move here, and I'll have a shag mate!

Things stay more the same all the time.

When I put a spike into my vein

Then I swear that I just don't know.

Sorry, Lou, I know I'm totally bungling your lyrics, but the point is that I had no idea what an apt metaphor this would turn out to be. The love blanket I get from at least providing myself with some semblance of financial security being the stand in for heroin. Me being the addict. Yesterday it was all, I'm ready for my methadone, please. And today it's all, maybe I can nestle in here through the term of the contract!

Yesterday I found some yoga teacher training opportunities. The San Fran job fell through. And I discussed the possibility of staying on here to do a conference. The thing is, if I stay on, I want to finish. Get my home leave and retirement payouts AND get some time off to do the training.

Let's see how that shoots up the dropper's neck.

I don't know just where I'm going

But I'm going to try for the kingdom if I can.

It's here. The jumping off place. Let me say it a thousand times. I give you permission baby, you deserve a chance to enjoy what you've worked worked worked so hard for, sweetie. Fucking get out of that sand pit, take a time out, cry, rage, laugh, sit in silence. You will find another job. You will be employable.

I'm not exactly sure where the big fear comes from. I've saved a little money, enough to blow out and head off to Bali for a couple of months. Then New Zealand, then Hawaii, then back to the 'Burgh. If I remember, I need four trips, so I might need to throw in a quick visit to Cambodia. What the hell.

Maybe it's just the idea that I really don't have anyplace I need to get to in any kind of a hurry. It's not the idea of a lack of connectedness, or maybe that's exactly what it is.

The logistics are kinda killing me. I don't have a car. Ultimately I don't want a car. I think. I'm just not sure where I'll want to be next. If I stay in the Burgh I want to be able to live--see? Here I'm projecting. But I can't help it. Because the plan kinda falters. That itinerary really takes me into March, which would mean missing the one yoga teacher training thing in Pittsburgh.

And here I went into a long and detailed search on other yoga teacher training opportunities around the world.

And now for my next post...I'm going to try to nullify my life.

The fix

I can no more fix things for other people than for myself. I am sick to death at shagging Mr. Age Inappropriate II. First it was just a simple response to his grossly callous behavior. And now it's because I see it in the context of my own. Why are we so awful, what's that Galaxie 500 song? It's a cover, but what do they say? Isn't it a pity? Isn't it a shame? How we break each other's hearts. And cause each other pain. How we take each other's love without thinking anymore. Forgetting to give back. Something stays so long. And how do I explain? When not too many people, can see we're all the same. And because of all the tears. Their eyes can't hope to see. The beauty that surrounds them. Oh isn't it a pity.

And if that doesn't remind me of yet another inappropriate shag. The Friend. Not my friend. My boyfriend's friend. He came into my apartment on Sunset Drive in Columbus, somewhere back in 1990 or so? Such a sad song, he said. I'm not sure I'd even noticed. And yet. There I was with him, instead of Craig, instead of Jeff. I work so hard to keep myself from being hurt, fucking hell do I make a mess of things. I'd like to say it's that I have horrible taste in men, but really I don't think I have any discriminating capabilities whatsoever beyond, could I do him? What happened to that glorious moment of not caring about having sex? It was truly a moment. March, May, (that moment), August, September...and now I have one lined up for October. And what's wrong with that?

The problem with October is that I don't want him. I want a him, someone to help me through the next couple of months.

Sex is really a problem, because I want it and I don't want to share it. And so I rush into it without having cleared up any questions beyond that first, yes, I could do him. And then I am and that's all folks. I think that's why long distance worked out for me in the beginning with Geo. Because rushing was not terribly possilble. How can you rush what's not there