sueeeus

I stand in condemnation and read the words on the page that summarize conclusions about my personality, my issues, my mental state.  People who love me have taken it upon themselves to make conclusions about me, and speak authoritatively, as if they know.  As. If. They. Know.

If I rise up in indignation, does that mean there is credence in the accusations?  If I were innocent, I wouldn’t have anything to be angry about, and why would I care what anybody says or thinks?  That’s a bunch of bullshit, though.  I care what people say and think, whether it has credence or not.  THAT is one of my personality flaws.  Whether or not it matters, whether or not it’s true.  I only want goodness for everyone and for myself.  From the time I was a child, I was hyper sensitive to these things.  Always wanting to do the right thing.  To please everyone.  Not to let anyone down.  It’s the core of me.  Do I need therapy to correct that?  I don’t know.  Maybe.  What is wrong with trying to be good?

I actually HAVE had counseling for that very thing.  The bottom line:  if the manifestation of my people pleasing tendencies serve me well, amen.  If they don’t serve me well, then pay attention and be aware.  Case in point.  I kick ass in my professional life.  Kick. Ass.  People pleasing has served me well.  I’m an over-achiever.  I get things done single handedly that take entire departments to do.   Cradle to grave.  Me.  Just me.  Requirements. Design.  Architecture.  Business model.  Business case. Construction. Test. Debug. Release. Communication.  Training. Process definition.  Project management.  Change management.  Documentation.  The business. Analysis.  Diagnosis.  Troubleshooting.  Corrective  action.  Tracking.  Statistics.  Marketing. Support.  Administration. Business focal. Technical focal.  Information Technology focal.  ALL OF IT.  And my reward?  I’m respected in my field, by my peers and my management.  I’ve been promoted as high as I can go.  I’m recognized and esteemed.  It serves me well.

And what of my mental instability?  I’ve blogged ad nauseum for years.  I work through my stuff here.  Openly.

“What you’ve been through since your divorce is kind of making it seem like your marriage to Gadget wasn’t that bad after all.  At least you had some stability.  I envisioned you crusading forth like other single moms, but that’s not the path you’ve taken.”

Now that’s a kicker. The suffocating abyss in which I lived was preferable to the life I live now.  I’ve met a lot of men in the last two years, but I haven’t paraded them through my kids’ lives.  Met, not dated.  Yes, two men have come and gone in that time.  Does that make me unstable?  Of course I would rather have met the right one and stayed with him.  But I didn’t.  How the hell does anyone know whether someone fits unless they try?  So I’ve tried.  God bless me for picking myself back up, brushing off the dust, and starting over again.  So why the condemnation? Mama ain’t no ho. I’m not going to put myself or my children in harm’s way.   And even if I were drunken and delirious and high and completely blind in the moment, it would become evident in very short course, and I would snap out of it and that would be that.  So why drag someone through the dirt and invoke unnecessary pain?

I’m not trying to fill a hole in my life with somebody or some thing.  I stand strong as a complete human being.  I am good.  I am whole.  I am not broken.  I DON’T NEED ANY BODY OR ANY THING.

I want somebody though.  Want!  Not need.  I want to spend the rest of my life with one and only one man.  The rest of my life.  Every breathing moment.  I want to be a devoted and loving wife to a devoted and loving  husband.  I want my kids to grow up with a positive male influence.  I want them to have a step-dad.

Who the hell has the right to tell me I shouldn’t want these things?  It’s MY life.  My decision.

Some might call it a momentary lapse of reason.  But I don’t.  My eyes are wide open.

love monkey

My family is staging an intervention to my ‘love addiction’.  My natural inclination is to bristle with indignation for being accused and placed on trial for, gasp, exhibiting delirium and showing joy.  Of course the look on my face isn’t something they’re used to seeing.  It’s called happiness.  Because I look like a deer who is caught in the headlights, does it mean that I am blind to my surroundings?  Because I’ve been thrilled by the prospects of love at other times in my life, and ventured forth in hopes that it was indeed truth, only to learn that I was once again mistaken, does it mean that I am incapable of discerning anything?  Am I not allowed to make mistakes and learn from them?  Good Lord in heaven above, I put myself through more than enough condemnation for the mistakes I’ve made.  More than enough.  I hold myself to an extremely high standard, and of course I continue to fall short.  Yet I strive, strive, and strive some more to be better, see more clearly, be more wise, be more patient.

I understand their concern, and I stifle my inclination to be angry and hurt for the accusations put forth.  They love me.  Who can possibly ever measure up to be good enough for me?  After all, nobody ever has.  They’re protective, and I understand that.

I took the quiz.  I’m not a love addict.

In the nearly two years since I’ve been divorced, I’ve learned much.  My marriage was a legal agreement and a place of desolation.  The air that we breathed was stifling.  The space in which we moved was thick with tension.  There was no joy, no freedom, no peace, no comfort, no communication, no sharing, no meeting of the minds, no blending of the hearts.  No love.  It was an abyss, and I’m grateful to have had the strength and courage to make it end.

Of course I effervesced in the thrill of new love, when new love is what I thought I had found.  And during that rebound I found that I had compromised myself and my children, to my utmost horror.  Retrospectively, I understand that the thrill of new love was indeed the rush of infatuation, and not love at all.  I learned from that experience.  Truly.

The next time I allowed myself to get involved, the circumstances seemed different.  Two single parents, wanting the best for their child(ren) and wanting a long term, loving, committed relationship.  Again, the thrill of the prospect of happily ever after.  Again, like oil and vinegar briefly mix, it was quickly evident that there was no possible way of amalgamating our lives.

Am I an addict because in my heart of hearts and for all of my life, what I’ve wanted most was to settle down, entrust all of me with one and only one man who entrusts all of himself to me and only me,  and be a whole and loving family?  Must I forfeit that dream, because I failed the marriage that I had?  Do I only get one chance, and that chance is spent because I have children?  Of course I need to protect and shield my children.  Of course I need to edify them, and keep them safe, secure, healthy, and sound.  I am.  I do.

Why is it a character flaw for me to want to love and be loved?

I’m in love, and I want to shout it from the mountaintops!  Am I infatuated?  Of course.  Am I delirious?  Maybe.  Am I blind?  No.

Love that is real bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.  Love, in truth, does not fail.

Does. Not. Fail.

I’m all in.

taking a chance on love

He’s the guy who touches the sky. He hangs from cables and works his magic. People stop and stare.  The places he goes and the things he does — oh how he amazes me.   He thrills me!  He works so hard, and he’s so very good at what he does.  I respect that immeasurably.

up, up, up, so high in the sky

He sent me a text message the other day:  “I sprayed your name on the building two stories up.  Everyone can see your name in Pioneer Square, my love bug.”

And so he did.

Spiderman - ready for action

there's this girl...

my name, for all to see

It makes me think, betcha by golly wow — you’re the one that I’ve been dreaming of forever.

And so he is.

There’s something about this guy…  He has a heart of gold.  He is kind.  He is gentle.  He is good.  He smiles and the warmth of his presence lights up the room.  He is tall.  My head fits perfectly in that wonderful place between his shoulder and his neck.  His eyes are the most beautiful blue, and not only beautiful because they are blue, but beautiful because they are the windows to his soul.  He shines, this man.  He is smart.  He is more than competent.  He is confident and enthusiastic.  He is compassionate.  He is responsible.  He is fine and upstanding.  He is strong, mature, educated, thoughtful, playful, sensitive, wise, elegant, savvy, honest, healthy, trustworthy, fun, dependable, interesting, passionate, alive, affectionate, communicative, understanding, and patient.  In a word, excellent.

making music

He sings to me, for me, and with me. He makes my heart pound and takes my breath away.

brightly his light shines

He has a heart for me.
And I am so very blessed to be the woman of his dreams.

In Situ –  May 17th.

It’s going to be another bulleted post, since I’m lacking inspiration.  Or something.

• I thought I had a concept for a book the other day.  I played it out in my mind, and it was material that could be spun as a humorous tale.  The only problem was that it had nowhere to go.  I wanted a charming ending where the funny albeit wry bumps of the journey made it all worthwhile, but my imagination fizzled…  …however, it was very exciting to almost have a novel-worthy idea.
• I’m hoping to develop an addiction to exercise.  I’m finishing week 6 of the c25k program, and am pleasantly surprised that I actually look forward to the runs.  Who’da thunkit?
• Someone broke into and robbed the house next door to mine yesterday, and I was home and had no inkling whatsoever.  I have security cameras recording to a DVR, and retrieved some footage that might be helpful to the police.  Surprisingly, I’m not freaked out.
• I feel myself cycling back into a semi-anxious state, and need to do some regrouping and thinking over of things, in hopes of learning why this happens, time and time again.
• I stumbled upon a view property a couple of weeks ago, dismissed it, then stumbled upon it again last week and decided to take a look.  It was love at first sight, so I put an offer on it.  It’s a long shot, whether or not I’ll be able to buy it, but I’m strangely peaceful about it.  Whereas I’m anxious in general (see above bullet), I’m oddly and sincerely serene in accepting that if it’s meant to be, it will be.  Wow.

In retrospect – May 20th.

It’s been a strenuous week.

Independently of one another, my sisters and I have been dealing with a cloud of anxiety and depression that fell upon us over the past week.  We talk about these things, and speculate.  For one sister, there could be post partum influences.  My beautiful nephew, the sweetest bundle of perfection, is little over one month old.  For the other sister, there could be other health related influences, as she has adopted a vegan diet.  For me, the usual.  I’ve written ad nauseum regarding the yo-yo that is my emotional state.  We did speculate, however, that someone in the family was failing, and this funk in which we are immersed is the pre-stress to what lies ahead.

In some ways the news of my dad’s passing comes as a relief.  It’s an explanation for the anxiety and depression that has clouded us for the past week.  No longer do we have to question our individual selves, wondering “what is wrong with me?”  (I still do, though.)  It also strengthens our sense of connection we have with each other.  We are empaths, within our sphere.

My family.  Oh, I love my family with a fierce and abiding love.

~*~*~

I haven’t been able to breathe well for the past few days.  Allergies and stress are doing a number on me, and I am congested and have a headache from the lack of oxygen, I imagine.  I can’t breathe, I can’t sit, I can’t focus, I can’t stand the feel of anything on my skin.  It’s a good thing this is an exchange weekend — I dropped the kids off with their dad and I have a full evening and a day to be alone and process.

(This may be a very long post.)

By the time I finished my work obligations today, I felt like I was going to pass out from the physical manifestations of the compounded stressors.  I thought that a jog would help me to breathe and take my mind off of things.  I did a 5min warm-up, then jogged for 25 minutes straight, followed by another 5min cool down.  Yay me.  I really did it.  And it did help me to breathe (for that half hour, anyway).

Hello C25K week 7.

And then I curled up in fetal position in my kids’ bathtub and let tepid water rain on me while I cried.  (My big beautiful soaking tub doesn’t have a shower, and I had a strong urge to curl up fetal and be rained on.  I don’t know why, I just did.  And the kids are gone, so I could.)

~*~*~

The police were interested in my video footage, and a digital forensics detective came to my house to work with me to retrieve the evidence.  How CSI.  (I want to use an exclamation, “How CSI!” but I can’t muster it, except in reference.)  It took some coordination, because I happened to have had a very full workload this week, coupled with the flu-like symptoms that were kicking my @$$, as well as all the other bulleted items (see above).  It did feel good to be able to help, and it gave me a pleasant sense of community.

~*~*~

My sister told me she had a dream in which I whispered in her ear that I got the house.

~*~*~

I got the house.

~*~*~

I was serene at first (see bullets), then lost it amidst the fray of details that accompany real estate purchases, compounded with the hovering anxiety (see bullets), burglary (see bullets), and the passing of my father, in addition to that which is my life, i.e, commitments to my job, the demands of he who is two, and the challenges of he who is six.

I don’t actually have the house.  I have a verbal agreement via the chain of agents representing me, the seller and the seller’s bank that the seller’s bank will accept my offer.  My part is signed, and the ball is in motion.

Someday I may write about how it is perfect for me.  It’s small but it’s big.  It’s old but it’s new.  It’s Asian but it’s American.  I can look out any window and see salt water, trees and sky.  It speaks to me.  It’s meant to be.  It will be.

~*~*~

Some day, not too far hence, I will be able to look back on this time.  By then, these things that are closing in on me now will all be taken care of.  But in the next few days my siblings and I have to make our best guess at figuring out my dad’s last wishes, take care of his body, arrange a funeral, contact his siblings and friends, write and publish an obit, look for  a university or other appropriate place for his extensive library, and start to settle his estate.  Also in the next few days I have to choose a lender and commit to a mortgage and proceed with the remaining details of my real estate transaction.  Later I will have to get the new house ready, pack up and move my household, find a reliable renter for the house I live in now, find a good daycare for my children, and enroll my six year old son in school.  (Amidst all this there are plans to travel to Idaho to attend a 30 yr high school reunion, travel to Oregon for my niece’s wedding, travel to Oklahoma to visit my mom, grandma, and aunt, and travel to Arkansas to visit a friend. –This was going to be the summer to see everyone, and I was going to introduce my boys to their grandfather.  We were even planning to make the trip during our first available weekend, which might have been next weekend.  Alas.)

Things will settle.  By September, the bulk of these matters will be a thing of the past.  Today, this moment, it seems overwhelming and I’m exhausted (can’t breathe, can’t sit, can’t focus, see above).  I know we will all get through (barring the end of the world tomorrow, that is).

Right now, I just want to be alone, eat kimchee and rice, and say goodbye to my dad.

I’m grateful that I can be alone, this day of all days.

I’ve had an epiphany of sorts.  I’ve decided to have a love affair.

With myself.

I know, it’s been a long time coming, but it was bound to happen, sooner or later.  I have always been my own worst enemy, but it’s beginning to dawn on me that I have also always been my own best friend.

Who has been there every step of the way, for every tear shed, for every laugh bellowed?  Who has been there through every faux pas and every triumph?  Who is that girl with a smile on her face, who only wants peace and goodness for everyone around? Who is there, every morning, ready for the joys of a brand new day?  Who is there, every night, whispering away the cares of the day?

Who’s tripping down the streets of the city, smiling at everybody she sees?  Who’s reaching out to capture a moment?  Everyone knows it’s Sueeeeeeee.  Okay, so I got lost with the Association there for a bit.

It’s interesting, reflecting back on various periods of my life, that I’ve never been more lonely than when I was with somebody.  And that’s a tragic kind of loneliness.  An abyss.  When I’m alone, by myself, I’m not alone.  I’m in good company, with a dear old friend.  The conversation is seldom dull.  I’m with someone who’s got my back.  Someone who will always be there for me.  Someone who may sometimes let me down, but will always make amends.  Someone I admire.  Someone I respect.  Someone responsible, hard working, interesting, creative, smart, witty, kind, playful, loving, generous, conscientious, thoughtful, resourceful, compassionate, genuine, and fun.

Who?

the finest of friends

Yep.  Sueeeus Maximus.  None other.  She is one super fantabulous girl.

I like her.

I like her a lot.

I found a Barry Manilow album at Costco the other day – Ultimate Manilow – and I’ve been waxing sappy and nostalgic ever since.  Love him.  And not afraid to admit it.

Anyway.

One of the hazards of Manilow Immersion – I’m coining a new phrase and accompanying acronym (MI) – is the tendency to wax melancholic.  It could go either way, but the weather, the time of year, the music, the memories.  What is a girl to do.

In years past, the season dredges up memories of being poor and feeling desperate, as though financial well-being would or could solve any of the real problems in life.  I’m finding that the deeper issues are internal, and immune to monetary influence.

And truly, what problems remain?  There are blessings beyond measure, really.  My life dreams are all realized.  Motherhood.  Home.  Loving family.  Rewarding and satisfying livelihood.  I can hardly ask for more.

And yet.  Melancholy pervades.  Emotions swing as the sun rises and falls.  Fragments of memories float through my periphery.  Waiting for babies to be born, waking through all hours of the day and night to feed or pump, and the accompanying exhaustion, the sudden loss of friends and loved ones, the desperation of life’s realities not measuring up to what a holiday season should represent, a marriage that crashed and burned.  Loved ones in loving and growing families having new babies of their own.

Can I somehow rise above my own inner turmoil, or at the very least, hide it from my children?  What does it take, to let the sun shine in?   A little less Manilow?

On the up side of the MI experience, I dance around my living room and smile from ear to ear, belting out ‘Could it Be Magic’ at the top of my lungs.

Spirit move me
Every time I’m near you
Whirling like a cyclone in my mind

Sweet [insert name of loved one, GG in this case, my Giant German]
Angel of my lifetime
Answer to all answers I can find

Baby I love you
Come, come, come into my arms
Let me know the wonder of all of you

Baby I want you
Now, now, now and hold on fast
Could this be the magic at last

Even better, if when my giant is here, I can put my arms around his neck and swing around my living room, looking into his eyes, singing this song.  Better yet, he happily puts his arms around me and amusedly tolerates my MI.  What could be better than a European man who is a child of the 70s and 80s?  I can play ABBA and sing to my heart’s content.  There’s probably not much that can challenge the manhood of a nearly six and a half foot tall, three hundred pound German man!

There.  Bang bang.  I’ve gone from melancholy to cheerful in the span of a few paragraphs.  I don’t suppose it’s quite what the professors in engineering school had in mind, but the phrase (and phase) has stayed with me, through all these years, this past quarter century.  Who would ever have guessed that an education in classical control theory would ever fit someone the likes of me?  Yet, somehow, it does.

It’s a miracle
A true blue spectacle
A miracle come true

The winds of change are always blowing
And every time I try to stay
The winds of change continue blowing
And they just carry me away

As I was driving home this evening, the thoughts milling about my mind converged upon an association, and the sound of Julio Iglesias and Willie Nelson singing “To All The Girls I’ve Loved Before” surfaced.

I consider myself “serially monogamous”. I don’t really know how to date, and I’ve written quite a bit about my frustrations with the singles and dating scene this year. In retrospect, as the year comes to a close, I can say that I gave it a valiant effort!

I’ve met someone who gets me. We fit. So I’m settling in to this state of togetherness.  Separate togetherness.  There are logistics to be addressed, after all.  Single mom raising two young boys.  Single dad raising one young girl. Different towns, different schools, different daycares, different schedules.  Similarly uncooperative exes…    It’s glorious, though, this being understood bit.  It’s a connection in which it feels as though we’ve known each other all along, so the actual physical introduction is anticlimactic.  Hello there.  Oh, there you are! It’s beautiful, really.

So, with all this new found peace on the love front, there is the jumble of this year’s escapades still milling about my mind a little, and I’d like for it to all sort and settle.  Hence, the emergence of Julio and Willie.

I never really dated, in life.  I just went from long term relationship to long term relationship.  My bad.  Even so, having spent the better part of a year dating, it’s a major culture shock for me, and it’s hard to sort it all out.  I never really knew how to be ‘casual’ with people.  It’s contrary to my nature.

I’ve started a mental recap, with the help of Julio.  My poor brain is jumbled and confused.  I have a fantastic love to focus on, but I have these threads that need to be put kindly away in their respective resting places.  How do I sort them out?  I don’t want them emerging to distract or confuse me.  And they don’t distract or confuse me in the sense that there is any interference with the relationship I’m nurturing, but in the sense that phasing from one person to another is something that has been done over the span of years in times past, but in days or weeks or months this year.  It’s a lot to process.

Like Salieri said, too many notes!  My poor brain.

~*~*~*~

the fish, the frogs, the toads, and the prince

In the course of 11 months, I’ve met a dozen men, and kissed most of them (all but two).  Shhh, there were even a couple of one night stands in the mix.  Not my thing, not my intention, but it is what it is, or, more accurately, it was what it was.  Not a whole helluva lot.  Ho hum.  Live and learn. And for all the men I’ve met, there were dozens more that I didn’t meet.

It’s not that they are fish, frogs, or toads, really.  Most of them are genuinely great guys, and it’s heartening to know that there are so many truly nice men out there.  We just don’t fit.  Misfits.  Except the prince, that is.  We fit.

• the gangster trucker (fun, controlling, alpha male, but still friends, after all)
• the electrician boat enthusiast (a sweet man, truly, but scattered; it seemed like we connected, but didn’t, if that makes any sense)
• the industrial maintenance guy with the permanently attached bluetooth headset (moody, controlling, and WTH is up with the headset?)
• the Irish road crew guy (such a funny and sweet man)
• the executive fish monger (more show than go, a disappointment, all told)
• the geek sailor (an inexplicable friend)
• the metrosexual designer (sweet, funny, kind)
• the geek viking body builder (fun, nice, thoughtful, kind)
• the musician (sweet, caring, good)
• the taco restaurateur (nice, sweet, fun, good)
• the resonant nerd.  MY resonant nerd.  He would be the prince of the lot.

I’ve kissed as many men in one year as I have in my whole life combined.  It kind of messes with my head a bit.  I think time will take care of the sorting, and I am so relieved I have one, just one, to focus on completely.

In many ways I am a simple person.  I am blessed to have a toolbox filled with many assorted items, but I am master of none.  Sometimes Oftentimes  I yearn to manifest excellence.  I’m not selling myself short.  I have very high standards, and am a perfectionist at that, so the realization of excellence is no small thing.  I can say that I am very good at many things, but excellent?  Alas, no.  (I do have a book that I plan to work through, called How to Do More Great Work, and hopefully it will help propel me, or at least inspire me.)

Where am I going with this?  I have no idea.

Oh.

Something I say in my online dating profile is that “I am inspired by good conversation, warmth, sharp wit and an animated spirit. I am thrilled by excellence in any form. I thrive on creativity.”

Recently I’ve been blessed with some amazing conversation that does, in fact, reflect all of those attributes.  Warmth.  Sharp wit.  Animated spirit.  And it has been thrilling, to say the least.  Inspiring, even.  The most marked manifestation happens when conversing via instant messenger chat.  Words are flying as fast as the fingers can type.  And the curious thing is, when they arrive, often they are the same words (not verbatim, but the same concepts, in each others’ speech style), so the thoughts being expressed have this sweet synchronicity.  It’s like a sensation of deja vu, when the words appear on screen.  You know that the person on the other side couldn’t possibly have read your words, then formulated and typed a response in so short a time.  We are left scratching our heads in wonder and bewilderment.  Then I realize I have a silly grin planted firmly on my face.

It’s a very sweet thing, this sense of synchronicity.  It’s like looking in the other person’s face and seeing oneself.  Knowing that other person sees inside and knows what and who they see.  A peaceful feeling descends.  A feeling of being home.

That alone is enough to make me think, “pinch me, I must be dreaming, this can’t be real.”

And then.

There is the dimension of touch.  A simple touch, the most innocent contact, and warmth emanates where fingers meet face or hand meets shoulder.  Eyes close.  Peace descends.  Tranquility surrounds.

Again, I shake my head, tousle my hair, and think, “pinch me, I must be dreaming, this can’t be real.”

But it is.

It’s real.

I’m awake.

I’m not dreaming.

I am humbled.

And profoundly blessed.

~*~*~*~

The saga unfolds. Unexpected, but most truly welcome.  What shall the future hold? There has been Gadget. There has been Skills. Now, there is Spock.  And hopefully much more to come.

Fascinating is a word I use for the unexpected.
— Spock, “The Squire of Gothos”, stardate 2124.5

Change We Must

… Spock, “Let That Be Your Last Battlefield,” stardate 5730.2 …

Stupid stupid stupidy server that keeps choking, how am I supposed to blog with you being so fickle?

Gadget’s MO is to play his passive aggressive games and not give me the courtesy of any advance notice with regard to when he will take the boys. While it appears there may be a light at the end of this tunnel, since he’s expressed interest in synchronizing the visitation with his new woman’s visitation schedule such that all children can be together for the same weekend, there is no guarantee that he will follow through with any level of consistency.

Anyhow. He called at 8 a.m. Saturday morning and said he’d take the kids, and to meet him at 9 a.m. Nice. Does this give me time to make any sort of weekend plans?

I prefer to be able to make plans. I still sort of fall apart when the boys aren’t here. As much as I yearn for some down time or me time, I still haven’t learned how not to fall apart when they’re not here. A cloud of anguish descends — the grief that we aren’t a family, and I so, so, so want to be a family. Not with Gadget. That ship has sailed. It’s just grief that we aren’t a family, or rather, I’m not a family when my boys are gone. So I fall apart. Because, truly, that’s all I want. Family. Sigh. Therefore, knowing this is how things tend to go, I like to be able to book up my alone time so that I don’t have much time to fall under the spell of that cloud that so deftly and swiftly descends upon me.

Luckily, I’ve been able to schedule very short notice massage appointments each time I’ve come upon a free weekend. If nothing else, this indulgence does much to improve my overall well being. Man hands on me, this time for two full hours, working deep, deep, deep into the bound up muscles of my body. Wow, that almost sounds saucy. I could put a little more effort into that prose and come up with something racy! Massage doesn’t have to be man-hands. I’ve been trying different practitioners, but lately am pleased with this particular therapist. He’s got a little familiarity now with what I need, and because we went for two hours yesterday, he really made some progress and was able to loosen up the upper back and shoulders. I’ve been having chronic headaches, so this is a step in the right direction. And besides, I’ll take two hours of man hands on me any day, even if I have to pay for it!

So this free time can become very expensive. Shopping is one thing that gets me out of the house and that can be done on the spur of the moment. And what struck my fancy this weekend? I stumbled upon this iPod speaker contraption called an iHome, that claims to produce excellent sound. It’s kind of odd looking, and more expensive than the other options, but I figured, what the heck. I can return it if I don’t like it. Oh, I love Costco. Love. Costco is my crack. There, I said it.

Of course I can rationalize any mad spending. See, a speaker solution for the iPod allows me to listen to music without having to wear headphones and carry the iPod around. I seldom have pockets, so have to stuff the thing in my bra. And if I’m dancing around, well, it gets sweaty. Gross! Not to mention potentially limiting the lifespan of my iPod. Electronics and moisture don’t play well together. That’s just plain irresponsible, and we can’t have that!  And singing and dancing to music, reliving memories and experiences that the music evokes, is very therapeutic. Therefore it’s good for my soul. Good for my well being. And something that is good for my well being is worth spending mad money on. Yes? Yes!

I’m good. What can I say.

I tried to wrangle together a date or two within my minuscule window, but it’s just as well that I wasn’t successful. I could get myself into trouble if I acted on spontaneity like that! Instead, I stayed in, drank some wine, bombarded everyone’s FaceBook walls, and cyber flirted. So entertaining. This week I’ve had a sugar daddy offer, a few boy toy prospects, a heap of not-at-all-my-type-please-leave-me-alone pursuers, messages from a small handful of actually nice sounding men, including one or two I might agree to actually meet in person. Maybe. Or maybe not.

It’s fun, but wearying. I don’t really want to look around, troll about, or anything like that. I just want Mister Right-For-Me to show up in front of me, and I want to recognize him, say, “Hello there cutie pie, how are you, where have you been all my life?”, to which he says, “Looking for you, Sweetheart”, and that’s that. We live happily ever after. We don’t have to figure out if we’re ready to meet or even be with someone. We don’t have to figure out if we’re compatible. We don’t have to figure out if we’ll get along until we’re a hundred and one. We don’t have to wonder if the love and honor and respect and compassion and communication and understanding and interest and attraction and affection and everything or anything else will ever fade. We don’t have to wonder if the other will help raise our kids the way we want them to be raised. We don’t have to wonder if they’ll be true and honest. We don’t have to wonder if they’ll always have our back.  We don’t have to wonder if they’ll be responsible and trustworthy. We just jump into forever together.

I know. I’m bat crazy.

hello cutie pie, it's me, bat-girl

I don’t want that sugar daddy, though. That much I do know.

Oh, and that iHome thingy?  Sounds pretty darn good.  Whodathunkit?