I awoke to the sounds of life continuing to occur despite all of my attempts to set a new sleep marathon record. Twenty-two years ago, drinking ceased to be an option and my FWB pool is a little under-stocked, so sleeping was the winner by default. Allowing myself a break from the world and its blue-pill promises, I was in need of something that could and would take my focus from my thinking and bring it back into my body. Sex is great for this but alas, I am in a bit of a drought at present. The solution to this set of present circumstances is the last thing that I really want to do: get out and connect with the rest of humanity. It amazes me how just showing up is such a magic potion for the single-soul and I will procrastinate, hibernate, and isolate but eventually I will go and be among the rest of my kind. Today is a gift and I must participate in my own life. Scarcity is an illusion and the day is filled with promise. Now to get my ass up and out the door…
He came last night to pick up the rest of his stuff. I waited with a mixture of anxiety, sadness, and relief. I had learned a valuable bit of truth: in time everyone eventually reveals who they truly are inside. Even me. Although he wanted me to continue to store some of his stuff, I let him know that was not an option. I needed to have this thing over and done and as it turned out, that is exactly what happened. It is better to be single than to be in a relationship that based upon need. I had to face the fact that it impossible to love what you need because the fear that it one day might not being there influences every thought and decision. Only within the parameters of freedom based upon self-responsibility and self-care does it become possible for a mutually beneficial liaison to exist.
At the time he came into my life, I was facing an inevitable vacancy and despite my awareness, I rushed to fill it at the first opportunity. He, on the other hand, had nowhere to hang his traveling job hat and I was only too willing to invite him to hang it at my address. At first glance it appeared that the romance was fortuitous for both of us however, looking back and being completely honest, I know differently. He needed a place to stay and I needed to fill an emptiness. As time went on, I began to resolve the vacancy by stepping up and taking responsibility for my wants and needs and at the same time he began to come to a decision of what he really wanted and needed to do in his life and neither of those solutions required the continued involvement with each other!
Now that I have identified my part, I can be on the lookout for the signs of need that masquerade as romance and perhaps limit the casualties caused under the camouflage of friendly fire. I know I sound completely at peace and mature and philosophical, however, honestly I am still a little pissed. His deception was overt and ignorant and I can’t help but hear Donald Fagen singing, “You wouldn’t know a diamond if you held it in your hand…” He definitely didn’t know and I should have had a clue when he threw my cashmere sweater into the washing machine…what a dumbass! In any case, I have had to unlearn and relearn a lot of faulty information in my dealings with men and the learning curve has been humbling and painful.
So what does it mean to be “complete”? For this woman, being complete means that the lesson was learned, the casualties were minimal, and both parties walked away without the involvement of law enforcement. I really couldn’t have asked for more except that if only he had let me keep that 60” television…?!
One of my beloved chick friends (coincidentally, also my Muse) told me one day, “Lady, you are a fucking Viking!” Stunned by this comparison, given that the Vikes were notoriously fierce, ambitious, and mofo tough, I did a little research on these blond-haired beauties and found that I concur 100% with the Muse’s estimation. So in the spirit of observation, education, and affirmation, here are a few relatively similar facts between myself and my beloved Vikings! (Cohen 1)
First of all, Viking women accrued property and had the balls to get a divorce and reclaim their stuff if the blondie in question was not true to his horn. Check!
Second, the men got the groceries. Now, this is what I’m talking about! Anyone who knows me will tell you how much I hate the dreaded grocery store. Check!
I do not wear a helmet (sorry to burst anyone’s fantasies!) and apparently, neither did those vicious Vikes cover their beautiful tresses with such a ghastly style faux pas. Check!
I am resourceful to the bone; perhaps this talent was acquired by the combining of creativity and uncertain finances but I can make a gourmet meal and a stylish outfit from nothing more than what is in the fridge and a couple of yards of cloth. I guess the Norse Lords were a bit more pragmatic because they used their urine to cure stuff to make it flammable. (Damn!) Check!
I know that Bettie Page is my Gravatar but that is because she is absolutely fabulous and sexy and everything that I want to be when I grow-up. However truthfully, I have always been a blonde. I have the natural shade and coloring of the true blondie with the exception of my hazel-green eyes. Check!
Of course the Norse 🙂 were known for their courageous and seafaring spirit and could kick any tribes’ ass when it came to adventuring. They slept out of doors wherever they chose to lay their blond locks and I love the outdoors too! I love to camp and hike and run and cook outside (we all know how much better the food tastes when cooked on a campfire). Check!
Those blond-haired beauties were also known for their independent and nonconformist lifestyles. Entrepreneurs to the bone, they marched to the beat of their own drums, never mind what those other tribes were up to, the Vikings lived the Frank Sinatra life and did it their way. As an INFP, bam sucka—Check!
Everyone hates smelly, sweaty, unbathed humans and the Nords were no exception. Maintaining an unusual degree of personal hygiene, the Vikings were known for their daily bathing and grooming rituals. I am known for my love of bathing. In fact, I do not take showers unless I am out of town. Nothing compares to a long, hot soak in a garden style tub with candles burning and the scent of bubbles—sublime. Check!
I know that my Muse was being facetious when she compared me to a Viking but after hearing my life story at a speaker event, she must have been overcome and appreciative of her own upbringing and experiences. I have to admit that I rather enjoy thinking of myself as one of those savage Nordic types and I know that I am exploring strange and unknown territory in regard to my family of origin. I have lived through the sixties with teenage parents, a kidnapping and molestation at knife-point, a rape, and twenty-plus years with a compulsive gambler; I have had my own struggles with booze and sex and come out on the other side; I have raised three beautiful and intelligent daughters, all three college educated and I just completed my degree last year. Through it all, I have explored, obtained wisdom, learned empathy and compassion, and now I sit here doing what I love: writing. Yes, I have to admit that I am a fucking Viking!
Cohen, J. (20130. http://www.history.com/news/history-lists/10-things-you-may-not-know-about-the-vikings
I took a walk on the wild side by diving into a relationship. Congratulating myself on my ability to be vulnerable and independent simultaneously, I dove in with both feet. Subtly, imperceptibly, I began to make a movie in my head about the possibility of a happily-ever-after ending with this man. My creative fantasies began to take over and I imagined that this man was everything that I had been missing. Time for a reality check. For one thing, I am not missing anything and although we laugh and have great sex, these things do not qualify as a foundation. After living together for some time, it became evident that this man still has a lot of growing-up to do and I have already raised my children. As delightful as some of his antics were, he was high maintenance and I no longer choose to expend my energy in that way. I succumbed to temptation and examined this issue in order to uncover why I am still drawn to these types of relationships—superficial, physical, and temporary. Not having come any closer to the answer, I am taking a break. The female/male dynamic is difficult at best and I have found that the highs and lows are exhausting! I have decided to recharge my batteries (heh heh) and crawl into my bed, solo, and let this shit settle. As Freud once said, “Sometimes an ashtray is just an ashtray.”
Update: this is so much harder than I anticipated! After spending countless and compacted hours together, the irritation could not be denied. Those little habits, and big ones, (you know, those that first escape notice) are now glaringly in full frontal view and not only make a female want to scream but their realistic human-ness does not allow the luxury of being able to avoid looking at myself and certainly helps to explain why I have consistently chosen such a rich fantasy life! The casual liaisons do not require so much work or soul-searching and their impact is minimal; however, this relationship is a different animal and I don’t know if I have what it takes to hang in there. Someone once said that if you really want to see where your spiritual maturity lies, get into a relationship. Apparently the saying that “if you spot it, you got it” is more than a euphemism, it is a rip-the-band-aid-off truth…ouch!
To be continued…
Not too long ago, I did something irrational and against my natural tendencies: I signed up for NaNoWriMo and attempted to “make” myself write a novel in a month. For some strange reason, I assumed that if I had the titles to all of my chapters the words would flow from my brain to my fingertips and then voila’! poof! a novel would be born! Not so easy as it turns out, and not so cathartic; the act of writing is a purging of the soul and NaNo is an emetic for the gut. Both may be productive but only one displays the potential for beauty. And vomit will never be beautiful, no matter what is being regurgitated; think splatter art versus Picasso…need I say more?
Not only did my NaNo experience completely fall flat but the end result was to squelch any inspiration that may have translated itself into written expression. It was as if the well had run dry in anticipation of the unreasonable demands that would be placed upon it and in an act of self-preservation, its waters completely evaporated. Alas, one more attempt to force authentic creativity bit the dust but I did learn something of value: I can trust my process. I do not have to focus so intently on the end result because if I trust the process, the end result will naturally arrive and that little epiphany has freed me from my paralysis. I have been beating myself over the head with frustration due to my inability to perform as expected and I now realize that just as the butterfly must squeeze itself from its cocoon in order to wring-out the blood from its wings, so I must struggle, rest, and squirm as the writing continues to emerge on its own timetable and in its own way.
What is more annoying than fingernails scraping on a chalkboard or that slick of donut oil left on your tongue? Nothing with the exception of that certain type of edginess that is only a result of not getting laid. Lately, I have been experiencing some irritation and edginess and although I have experienced these feelings a time or two before, in the past I have been able to promptly remedy the situation and get back on the beam. Once in the solution, I have always been able to pick up where I left-off and carry-on for a while until those edges and urges came knocking at my door once again and I would add another chapter. This time, however, has been different. The reasons are many but the main one is that I have met someone that I really, really like and who seems to not only embrace my free-wheeling nature but his personality is conducive to a complimentary partnership.
All of that being said, why the edginess? Simple, I am experiencing a time of sexual abstinence due to His traveling occupation and although I am an independent and self-contained unit with excellent problem-solving skills, I am not desirous of seeking to remedy this situation in the usual manner; in other words, I am not craving any other sexual partners to help with my attitude adjusting and I am somewhat adrift in this unfamiliar territory. As a prospecter by nature, I seldom narrow my options so severely, however, this is different and so completely out-of-the-ordinary that it has me a bit unbalanced…and baffled. I don’t, as a rule, back myself into such a tight or limiting corner and as unnerving as it feels, I have a sense that there is no other solution.
How this has occurred, I do not completely understand but at some juncture I experienced a connection with a “Him” that has gone far beyond the sensory realm and has left me so physically, emotionally, and spiritually satisfied that I just know that anything else will be a poor substitute. There is a term for this state of affairs and it is called “supply and demand” and it is not usually a voluntary situation but is instead orchestrated by those who would primarily benefit by capitalizing on limited supply. As an experienced consumer who has purposefully stepped into this particular circumstance, I am intrigued and mystified by my deliberately chosen state of lack. I might have even tripped upon a phenomenon which runs the risk of my retracting all of my earlier romantic cynicism…? I will keep you posted on its progress…
I don’t usually respond to prompts, however this one caught my eye. My first thought was to say to myself, “I’m not stubborn!” But the truth be told, I am simply guilty of playing with semantics because I re-frame the word “stubborn” by calling myself “independent.” So there! Hee hee!
I empty myself
with my pen
Drawing upon the
That reveals with
What my mouth
will not speak
And of which my heart
My eyes see it
And my ears
With their music…