Here it Comes Again...

This familiar feeling. The "I'm done with that," feeling.

My feeling rotates with this one - I remember going through it with him a year ago. He was fascinating and fun and all sorts of things until he wasn't, all of a sudden. All of a sudden, out of the blue, I was vaguely annoyed and did not trust it or thought there was no validity. I have been pushed too far, somehow.

And while it is nice to know that he will understand; or accept it, or whathaveyou... it is still a very disconcerting feeling. Perhaps I got wrapped up in all this, and (certainly) I jumped the gun - just a week ago I thought I had a crush. How did I jump to having a boyfriend who comes to parties and whatnot?

I suppose it is good to be reminded that we never grow out of this, of the feeling. I was never certain to begin with. It hasn't been certain here.


Here's another possibility: I'm integrating all the events that have transpired, and after last night and a strangely unfulfilling sexual experience... Maybe that's just a great big clue to me. I am, of course, concerned it was predetermined, based on my own fear of becoming my mother.

But the fear, of course, is that no matter what I do I will be her. Maybe that's true. How horrible would it be, really?

Ah ha!

I get it. I finally get it.

This feeling that happens every time I get involved is the feeling of getting involved too quickly; being roped into something before I am sure of it. It's taken me this long to figure it out.

I have that familiar feeling with P-. The "uh oh" feeling, the "what am I doing here?" feeling. The "get out as fast as you can" feeling. It's all related to jumping into something too quickly. My instinct says "this is going to fast, and you don't know what's happening."

We'll see if it's possible to go backwards. Shall be interesting.

In hindsight, I miss Gatsby terribly.

She's Baaack.

How delightful. Truly delightful and wonderful and fun to be herself again.

I just came back from another evening with P-... You may remember him from being out of alphabetical order nearly a year ago. After many months apart, and then back again working out at my gym, and a rekindled friendship, we have started training. Mixed martial arts training. Yes, the storied male-dominated sport that was made (in)famous on payperview in the late 90s. I decided it was time to stop being afraid and start being comfortable. An extra 20 pounds can only be protection, so I decided to take up a new kind of defense.

And somehow in the midst of this... a relationship has developed. We have spent time together, and I have rediscovered how well suited we are for each other - for whatever it is. We are truly friends, and have a great understanding of one another, and of other people and world view. And perhaps now I understand what that means too, and its importance.

Regardless after weeks of training, and rolling around with him between my legs (how was it NOT sexual?), he kissed me tonight. After admitting weeks ago he was not whole, I suppose I was waiting for him to be ready. And I am not certain of any of it, but he is so careful and kind with me. I suppose whatever happens will be well, and will be what it is.

Not to mention the fact that I dreamt of him last night; going to his house for a "training" session, which was a thinly veiled plot to kiss me and roll around the way men and women usually do. And tonight he got a hard on while we were training (!); and how lovely for us both to handle it so well, and what a surprise that it had not happened yet.


And after arriving home, and thinking of the Gatsby and all the other things -- A card! 3 postcards, in fact, from the Aran Islands. From the sweet young bartender who took a liking to me and what a darling he really was and ... how perfectly dear of him! 3 postcards!!

I have recovered now from hopping around the house like a giddy school girl, and settled down to let my faithful reader(s) know: She's back.

As soon as I heard "girlfriend," I checked out. Why IS that?

This is a guy I met for pseudo-business. I admire him, admire what he's doing, but I wasn't particularly attracted to him at first, and he's 23 (!) and there were all sorts of things that I was not interested in. But after a few drinks he seemed intriguing to me, as well as more like a peer than a 23 yearold...

And then "Girlfriend" who lives in another state. I just checked out of the whole conversation at that point. I was done.

I'm tired.

Creative household repair. Do you have a wet vac? What about a metal back scratcher?

What you learn when you travel

I just got back from Ireland, mostly Dublin. I spent 11 days galavanting about, doing anything I wanted, whenever I wanted. I continue to prefer traveling alone, since it allows so much freedom to really decompress and rest one's tired brain and heart.

I found I was always in good spirits, even cycling in the cold windy rain to end up at Dun Aengus - which was closed. Everything was an opportunity, and all was positive. I had a brilliant time... but I also didn't judge it. It was already fantastic before I started, which made for a really exceptional experience.

I wonder what makes it this way about traveling. Perhaps I am better when I am out of my routine - more kind, more positive, happier. I thought with S- we were always better when traveling. I suppose I thought it was because of him; now I'm realizing perhaps it was because of me. I was kinder, maybe. More patient. I had fewer (if any!) expectations, so everything was a pleasant surprise.

I am also struck by how much I missed The Gatsby. He got in my head before I left; admitting he was interviewing for job at Tulane. It made me revisit all the things I had put to rest before that. He left. He was gone from my life - and it was time to move on. And now... cliffhanger.

Had he discovered, after being away a few months, how much he missed New Orleans? Or that he missed me? Or is he simply continuing to allow life to float him along, and following the lead.

What I have discovered, in the wake of it, is that I miss him. I still miss him. I wished he was with me on countless occasions. Thought constantly of things he would enjoy. And am convinced I would have had a doubly fun time had he been there with me.

So the question lies: what do I do with that information?

Distractions

I am distracted at work today. I have been distracted for two days.

Or rather, I have had a hard time focusing on the things I need to do and doing them. I suppose that's the problem with working well under pressure and with threat of deadlines. Even deadlines a week away don't scare me.

My brother seemed to think this procrastination was a New Orleans thing, while I have always thought it was a family thing. He mentioned offhand that he was getting better about it after moving to California.

If I have to move to Los Angeles to get better at it, I'm not interested.


I am avoiding the conversation I am supposed to have with best friend J- who has been frustrating and angering and upsetting me of late. I have avoided it since he came back from his extended tour of the Cape. I have avoided him, really. I thought some time away would help. Instead I got mad at him for offering me a cookie the other day.

Let me be clear: I wasn't angry about the cookie. I was angry that he was telling me to do something other than what I had just told him I wanted to and Was Going To Do. I just wanted to shout: Stop telling me what to do! Stop telling me the things I want to do suck! Stop telling me all the things I'm doing wrong! Stop telling me the people I like are stupid! And MOST of all, stop telling me that the real problem is that I'm Not Nice to myself, and that I need to get a thicker skin, and you're just looking out for my best interests.

Because what you're doing THERE is telling me it's my fault I'm getting upset. Which is just shitty.

And ALL of it might be true, but damnit, with friends like that who needs enemies?


And why is a less-attractive, vaguely annoying girl I met only in passing but just saw on facebook married? And why am I not?

And why can't I just meet someone to crush on for a while because it would sure help?

And when will I stop telling myself to stop whining?

What I've Been Up To

I sent Gatsby an email with the following pictures (identity blocked to protect the innocents):











The title of the email was "What I've Been Up To." The Bathroom Demo, of course, speaks for itself. The other photo, however...

Harold Pinter once wrote a play called Betrayal. They made it into a movie in the 80s that I've never seen, but I did a lot of work on the play when I was getting my acting training. I will not give the whole thing away, but there is a very pregnant scene in which a man makes a pass at his best friend's wife.

About 3 weeks ago, before all the Gustav nonsense, and in the midst of some other craziness, I kissed one of my closest friend's husband. While she and the baby were asleep in the next room. Drunk though I was, I wouldn't have had to be drunk. He neither, from what I gather from other conversations and g-chats and whatnot. His wife has even referred to me as his "Second Spouse." She has one too.

And I let it go that far, and I let him kiss me and we kissed again. And it was great. That's the horrible thing. I have "borrowed" him and their daughter at least twice, and it's nice to live vicariously through someone else. It's nice to have a husband and baby and dog and house and life, if only for one night.

But before I could spiral downward into a self-centered blaze of shame, Little Baby got sick and went to the hospital. Thank heavens I'm not superstitious, so I didn't get the idea in my head that me kissing her father had made my little darling sick. But the thought did, obviously, cross my mind.

So then the hurrication, and my Second Spouse makes out with one of his wife's co-workers. She sweet, but young and oh so slightly awkward. After some prodding, and obvious admission, My Friend gets it out of him. And he feels guilty and so she in turn tells him she has kissed Her own Second Spouse AND her High School Ex-Boyfriend. And yet Husband doesn't mention me to her? No need to, I don't think. But all the same...

Drunk though I was, I went home that night and emailed him: "I cannot be alone with you until I have met someone else." I know part of it is having the attention and attraction of someone I find attractive. And it's also being able to live a fantasy in real life, and in a semi-safe place.

And that's the rub, I think. SS is safe - a way to try out all the things I want without having to commit to them and give anything up. Like my freedom.

But I would be lying if I didn't think sometimes that he and I are better practically suited and we both have acknowledged that, tacitly. Is it just my own need to be better than...? Do I really think I could do a better job than she is doing? Not really the way I want to be thinking about my friends. She is, after all, one of my closest friends. Right?

Post-Disaster Disaster

I forgot so many things about this.

Today, I am coming to terms with the post-evacuation depression. I need to remind myself this was not an actual vacation. I'm tired. I've come back home to a house that is a total disaster, even if it wasn't hit directly by our latest natural disaster.

After being relatively high on the anxiety of hurrication - what will happen, how long do I have to be gone, what will be there when I get back? - I'm back at home. And I'm so sad today. I can't explain what it is exactly, except again the general pointlessness of existence that comes.

Nowhere else is like New Orleans. Partially because this is my home. I have a home here, and friends, and a network and a Life. But also because nowhere else is like New Orleans. The people, the smells, the food, the sound, the music of life. And yet... this is part of New Orleans. Evacuation. Underlying dread that The Big One will come and level the whole place.

It's like loving someone who's in remission from brain cancer.

And it is Much Harder to do this alone. And I feel completely alone nowadays, and lack my usually energy to force myself to reach out. What would I say? Who would understand? All my friends have someone. Except J-, perhaps, but he's no help in times of stress.

I guess sitting on the sofa, drinking an Abita, and watching the Saints is about as good as I can do.

ReRouted

I was supposed to fly to Dublin at 9:50am on Friday August 29th.

Friday was the third anniversary of the big K. It wasn't entirely by accident that I let my departing flight fall on that day.

And then late Thursday night, I was on the phone with my dad, getting ready to start packing and getting ready. I pulled my passport out of its very safe place, and looked at it briefly and froze. It did not expire on my birthday - as drivers' licenses do - but 10 years from the date of issue. May 11th 2008.

After tearful conversations with my dad and poor J- (who called at the right moment to bear the brunt of my sobbing) and Continental, it became clear I was Not, in fact, leaving for this fantastic Hibernian trip the next day.

Instead, 48 hours later I packed everything up, and got everything at least three feet off ground level (thankfully just the front room), and drove outta town. Fleeing Gustav.

There are too many parts of this that are reminiscent and bring back memories and flashbacks and all that. I guess it's good that I am now a veteran evacuator. I know the pitfalls of being exiled from home. I have learned how Not to gain 15 pounds fearing the destruction of my city. Unfortunately, I have discovered that alcohol really does help, while chocolate does not.

After two days in Nashville, I have landed here in the middle-of-nowhere Ohio. Dad and Mi Madrasta are here, so at least I'm with family. Did I mention, however, I am in the middle of nowhere?

This week has run me through the gamut. I was genuinely afraid of what might happen again, and have tried to stay calm until I knew what was happening. No point being devastated over a possibility. And I have been anxious, and started working out the other day and unable to stop. I found the patience to get a manicure and pedicure in a bizarre resort in Opryland, and welcomed back that old familiar Katrina feeling: Guilt.

Because those of us who didn't lose anything, or lose much; we felt guilty. People sent us gifts, showed us great kindness and generosity, and we thought: No, I don't deserve this. There are thousands of others out there who need this more than I do. Send it to them.

And yet, I suppose this is how I got here in the first place. Best Friend J said to me, "If you had been planning this trip for someone else, you would have already checked the passport twice." And that is true. I have learned to do little things for myself, like have manicures and eat cheese and manhattan suppers, but I still feel like there's someone else who needs it Much, Much more than I do.

I wonder how many evacuations it will take me to get over that.

Another Long Distance Letter

"11 August 2008

The renovation marathon continues. The tile in the shower is gone. Sometimes I wonder if I do this to torture myself. I have bruises on my shins and nicks from flying porcelain everywhere. Here's hoping the shower pan is lead and not asbestos.

Dublin is calling - I'm torn between planning day trips to Galway & the Burren, Belfast & Giants' Causeway - or just Cork for their cheese - or just walking the street of Dublin sipping pints.

Clearly, now is a wise time to undertake a bathroom renovation.

Either way, I've gotten my wish to find a new positive past time. It distracts me from your absence. Am I allowed to admit that? And yet, a lightning storm woke me at 5:30 the other morning, and I laid in bed for an hour thinking of your kind embrace your tickling caress, mouth on me, hot breath in my ears - and the look in your eyes when I looked up at you from my knees that day --

I have met other folks, but none enough to distract me. Call when you get hired. I will need a current address, as well, when I go abroad.

xoxo
Veritas"

Dreams are Out of Control

Last night I dreamt, twice, about men telling me they were going back to their ex- girlfriends. Or trying to, at least. One was Gatsby, the other was a guy I had just met and hit it off with.

And then I dreamt that my brother and I realized there were homemade gallows in the chimneys of our house. Three chimneys, three makeshift gallows, three hanged. We decided it was a coverup from a hit and run, but... needless to say, disconcerting. More disconcerting was the fact that we couldn't call the police because we had hidden a the skull of someone we killed (is this a throwback to past dream?) in one of the chimneys.


The dreams are out of control, and I've met about 6 men in the last three nights while I was sleeping. I'm sure this is the sign of my psyche ready for it, however long it takes the universe to give it me.

Traveling

I dreamt last night an epic of a dream.


In the midst of the daily grind, I woke up one day and decided I was going to take off. Take a vacation. Get the hell out of dodge. I wasn't going to ask anybody. I was going to take my bike (or car, or something) and cross the country to Los Angeles. I started out on this trek on a bicycle - I would ride cross country. I came to a stop in the road very soon. There was some emergency drill (we thought?) of all the responders, including a boat, a helicopter and a huge tractor-trailer that was blocking traffic. (It was blocking a wedding in progress as well... the bride and father-of-the-bride looked on, frustrated. They were negotiating with the driver about getting out of the traffic).

I got out of my car (off the bike?) and walked in to explore the cluster. I walked into a huge container, like container ships carry but bigger, to discover a whole crew of folks - they apparently traveled with the cargo to transport it, but now their container was empty. I pleasantly informed them I was coming with. I left the bike/car behind and started making friends.

During the trek, I developed a relationship with one of the guys... he was sweet, lovely, and as soon as I got to Los Angeles he pretty much evaporated from the dream. Originally he was part of my plans for visiting, but he got lost somewhere along the way.

I bought a scooter as soon as we got to LA, but I only used it once. I met up with my brother, and my mom was there, and one more friend... and spent a good part of the end of the dream walking through confusing streets and finding my way back to them. I felt lost the whole time - the streets made no sense to me, they had no apparent layout (think San Francisco meets Boston), and I was disoriented time and time again. And I knew that it was a huge city, so I was afraid everything would be very far apart.

When I called my brother, he met us within 5 minutes, so I knew he lived close. I separated from the group to run an errand or something of that nature, and had rely on my own sense of direction to get back. I had no phone, no way to get in touch with them, no plan for when and where to meet. I walked through neighborhoods, including a park with a performance space (theater or opera house?), but realized that was the wrong direction... and ended up going through this huge entertainment center - like Dave and Busters but outside. It was almost like a Disney Theme park, and so crowded. Once I made it through that, suddenly around the corner the landscape flattened and it was almost swampy - I swear I remember seeing Spanish moss covered cypress. I turned a corner in what was now a quiet neighborhood - and a straight street! - and there was Judson, Mom and friend.

Needless to say, I was very proud of my sense of direction.

------

The dreams of travel are significant. I am going through some kind of trek lately, but the route and destination are hugely unknown.

I can't figure out why I still miss him.

He's been gone nearly a month. Perhaps a month this weekend.

And yet, tonight, driving home, I started reminiscing with myself about the first time I met him. It's been so long, now, that I don't really remember all the details - not all the silly things I first romanticized. But I do remember going home with him and its almost impossible for me to fathom doing that again with anyone else.

I'm sure it will happen again - I'm sure I will be attracted to other men again. I don't feel particularly attractive myself now, so that's part of it, perhaps.

I just want him to figure out whatever he's got to figure out and then figure out that he left one of the best things behind and come Do something about it. And he won't because he's not The One but if he was, that's what he'd do.

Next

Why is life a series? Why is there a first, next, and then, finally... We are taught from children about beginning-middle-end, and then here we are, in lives, waiting for the next step. The big conflict. The denoument.

I am sitting in my kitchen, eating chocolate cake, wondering what I will do next. This is an idea I have been batting around ever since Gatsby left. I need something new to focus on, some next Big Project.

1. I am fat. It would be good to be the next Ms. Universe. I am considering it. Although I don't enjoy every workout nearly as much as I should for a hobby to which I would consider devoting a significant percentage of waking hours.

2. I could revisit the plan to watch every Academy Award Best Picture-winning film. Hrm. It would require renewing my blockbuster subscription and replacing my DVD player.

3. Finishing the house. Which will never be done and will forever be an ongoing hobby, really. The joy of homeownership.

4. I have been invited to sit on the board of a local theatre company, which it seems I will end up doing. I don't want to commit to them before I really have the faith that I believe in what they are doing. Maybe that just means I should go see their show this weekend and figure out if they deserve my energy.

5. There is always My theatrical sidebar. The production of one-woman shows. The preparation of audition pieces. Taking of headshots. I'm not so good without deadlines.

6. Honestly, I have seriously considered taking up golf. I might enjoy it.

For christ's sake - here I am, desperately searching for something to do that has two major qualities: (A) it is new (and therefore, I can learn something, which I find very fulfilling) and (B) it is fun.

Why is this such a hard target?

I Slit His Throat With a Bread Knife

So that was disturbing.

Just had a flashback of last night's dream. I remember sleeping fitfully, as I've been sick. But the most striking part of the dream was about killing a man. Who it was, I don't remember. I don't think he was anyone, and yet he could have been anyone.

First, it was a nick. Then I slice a C-shape into his abdomen. It was totally effortless. Finally, I reach over and slit his throat. With a serrated bread knife. I watched as I made contact, but close my eyes when I hit the adam's apple - I couldn't watch that much.

What had he done?

Another Academic Dream

How many dreams do we all have of being back in school and realizing we are unprepared for an exam? Last night:

Not only am I unprepared, but I am behind in all my schoolwork. I have reenrolled in a university, getting a Master's, but still undecided in what. I am much more conscious of the Return on Investment, and am constantly aware of the ticking tab that I am running up. I am taking history and literature classes, and ones I don't really have much drive or interest in - but there I am, again, way behind, overwhelmed.

Add to that unsure what I'm doing or what I want to do. I think perhaps I should switch schools and do Psych services as I once considered years ago.

And then I was going to the coffeeshop, on the corner of my street, and got inside and there was a "green" fast food store that charged me $8.50 for a sweet potato glazed in white icing, and then got to the coffeeshop only for it to be a McDonald's. Ugh. And as I was leaving, there was a man in the parking lot who really intrigued me and did something and I tried to give him my card... but in an instant, he was gone.


As I was studying for, or preparing for, one of the many classes in which I was behind, I was laying in bed with a gay male friend of mine. There was some history there - because he was gay he was "safe," I had kissed him on occasion after being drunk or some such. But there we were laying in bed watching something or reading, and he asked if he could "hug me" and before I knew it he was putting the moves on me and in a more-than-pushy way and...

He was supposed to be safe. I trusted him, and even he took advantage of me.
-----------------

This dream has me so disturbed. I was sad and weepy all day today, which is linked to being sick and tired and not having the energy to do all the things I wanted. Or rather, all the things I Intended.

My life has grown very practical, very efficient. Didn't I learn from Gatsby how important Fun is? Even my Fun is weighed down by cooking for 20 people and working for days to clean the house. When will I allow myself something to do that is simply joyful.

I'm not sure I know what that is.

My Neighbors: the Grandfolks I Didn't Know

or, Why I love New Orleans.

My boss asked me to drop off a present at her fiance's cousin's house. It happens to be about 2 blocks from my house, so being kindly and respectful of said boss's hesitance to waste gas, I agreed to drop off said present.

After a long day of meetings and frustrations and Anger at Things Beyond My Control, I went to the gym, to discover my Pilates class was canceled (Grrr! I mean, Get well soon Pilates teacher!) and I had to go to spinning instead. There are worse things, actually, since the cardio was probably good for my mood. When I got home and returned bestfriend J-'s call, he reminded me to Eat Something. "Hey! When was the last time you ate, Low Blood Sugar? Go have dinner."

And then I walked down to My Neighbor's house. They live two blocks down the Avenue, and from the front porch it didn't even seem like anybody was there. I hung it on the door and rang the bell and considered leaving, but I was pretty sure that would be rude. And they'd wonder why Boss & Fiance didn't stop to say hi. So a woman came to the door, I explained who I was and what I was doing there, and she insisted I come inside.

No, really, I resisted. I just got back from the gym, I don't even have a bra on. Well, I omitted the last part, but you don't really want that to be the first time you meet anybody, right? You want to at least be confident you smell vaguely appealing.

Yes, really, she insisted. She leads me through two parlors, two kitchens, until we emerge into the hidden back dining room, where I come upon GrandPo and GrandMo and the woman's partner and they are just finishing dinner. This makes me feel much worse, but instantly GrandMo welcomes me, insists that if they had more wine they would make me drink it. They reminisce about how wonderful Boss's Fiance is (his gifts, fwiw, were terrifically thoughtful and kind considering GrandPo is having surgery tomorrow) - and GrandMo brings me to the kitchen to show me the mugs he gave her, and gets teary eyed thinking about Jazz Fest. She is slightly embarrassed, but not so much that she stops crying, and we both know its because her GrandHusband-Po of many many years is having surgery and we are all getting old and dying and why does that have to happen and yet people still love us and bring us incredibly thoughtful gifts.

She walks me out to the door, and thanks me again for coming, invites me back anytime, and tell me to thank Boss for choosing me to send as the messenger.

My two blocks home were totally different than my two blocks there. Maybe it was my blood sugar evening out, but I felt so grateful to live here and sorry for the folks who were gone or who weren't from here originally and didn't have our disease. Because I would have invited me in and offered me wine and told me a story. I will, in 50 years, when I am GrandMo's age.

I still think about him. I mean, on the one hand: Duh. He left a week ago. Of Course I still think about it. On the other hand: Hello! He left! He hasn't called! If he wanted to be with you he would be!

Now is the time to cut the ties, to let this one go, time to move on and make a life with yourself and without Him. And yet... I still keep coming back to it. I guess when I know for sure I'm not pregnant, I'll move right on. Except I'll still spend notes and expect to get one back or to hear from him or something.

I think it was the last time we had sex, he said aftwards "That was wonderful." It was. It was every time. I am much more prepared to let go of him than nearly any other man I've dated, and yet... he was the closest to best for me, right? But again, watch the movie til its over!

And it ain't over yet, and that's the weird thing.


In other news: I have cleaned the bedroom, kitchen, and much of the living room. Actually, the living room is probably less clean, but that's hard because there still so much Work to be done. I still haven't been inspired by the next Project. Joining a charter school board, or learning to play golf. I need to find a Project that's Fun. That might be harder than I think.

This morning I took a pregnancy test.

I'm not scheduled to start for at least 5 more days, but I feel fat and the girls are painfully swollen and I thought, Ha! Wouldn't that be ironic?

It was negative.



So that's good news, I guess. Even though, of course, I have made up the conversation with Gatsby at least three times. "Are you sitting down..?" or "Ha, so are you ready for the funny part? Right? I'm pregnant. No, really. That's hilarious, right?"

And it's not very likely that I'm pregnant at all. I've just put on 5-10# from the stupid concert series and the end of the stupid concert series and stupid Gatsby leaving and throwing stupid parties and generally not caring about myself at all. I guess throwing my back out didn't help, but I did finally see the Chiropractor yesterday and he put everything back in order and it's amazing because today my back is Completely Normal. One might argue it was on its way back to completely normal anyway, as the pain was subsiding day by day - but I like to thank my chiropractor.



And this morning I made a deal with myself that I would make my bed every morning. And I would dedicate one day to cleaning each room of my house. That way, when I got overwhelmed or distracted from one room to the next... well, I could say, "No, the living room isn't until Tuesday." I think the living room will be Sunday, actually.

Although it feels very hard to clean a room that's still not finished. And the living room isn't, with its half-installed crown moulding and weird closets with amateur mudding. It all begins to get very overwhelming, and then some days I decide I want a dishwasher so I take all the doors off the cabinets and measure and...

At least I put the doors back on the same day. There have definitely been periods of my life where I would have just stacked the cabinet doors against each other away from the refrigerator and the sink and the trash can and I wouldn't have done anything about it for weeks.


So this is all to say I have been very tired lately. Very tired. Sleeping 12 hours a night and having a hard time getting up. Last night I dreamt I drank from an antique champagne bowl my brother bought only to discover the glass was breaking out of the decorative pattern, and then it was too late when I realized it had finishing nails in it and I now had finishing nails stuck in my throat. And then I got furious at him for leaving the antique flatware (that was glass, maybe?) in the dishwasher with dishcloths over it because clearly it would mold or rust or something, and then I realized halfway through yelling at him that he had set the dishwasher to "soak" them and I was yelling for no reason. And then I just started bawling inconsolably.

Maybe I shouldn't mix gin with chocolate martinis and four-cheese fries.

Afternoon Entertainment

1. Send winks to really hideously ugly Match.com guys, to brighten their day. I can't decide if this is cruel or not.

2. Call 911 and make my coworker look for the cute Cop she just met.

Bye Bye Baby

I miss you.

That's it, mostly. I'm sad you could leave me, but I understand why.

I wonder how you really feel about me. I wonder if I made as much of an impact on you as vice versa. I wonder if there are real emotions under that nonchalant Gatsby exterior.

Because it would help me to see them now, and it would make it much harder. I don't know why I expect people to change after I've known them for a period of time.

Generous to a Fault

This thing I've been saying lately, and I think it might be entirely true for me: You only have as much as you can give away.

Last night in my yoga class I had a rewarding realization about my practice and my life. Open your heart but watch your back.

My lumbar spine is too flexible, which has caused all sorts of interesting injuries and aches in my hips and knees and back. Because of this, I have to be careful in back- and forward-bending postures to make sure I'm not overarching or extending that part of my spine. I have to conscious think to distribute the flexibility across my whole spine, into my hamstrings and hip flexors and so forth.

I'm going on at length about this to explore the parallel for myself. A primary goal of yoga is to "open your heart", both figuratively and literally. You do this by binding your hands behind your back in forward bend, and humble warrior, separating your interstitial spaces, and lengthening your pecs, biceps, traps, and the deep muscles underneath. Eventually the hope is to give your heart and lungs more room and support from their casing.

I'm rambling on about this just to say: Watch your back. Don't bend over backward trying to give your heart away and destroy your foundation. Stretch only as far as is safe For You. It is a balance. It doesn't mean you can't push yourself some days, to love more people, love greater, and give more than the day before. But those days must be balanced with the days when you are careful with yourself, and practice your life gently.

More often than both of these days, however: before you throw away your foundation trying to Love, make sure you've got the support. Keep breathing into that back body, with just as much awareness there as in all you have to give.

The Best Part

More than five months later, I still get butterflies in my stomach when he calls me. Or when I'm calling to listen to his message, or to leave him a message.

He STILL makes me nervous.

How does that Happen?

Letter to a Gatsby

"As if I would write you a note before you ever left New Orleans.

The other day I went back and read the "Secret Blog" entries I have written about you and this - perhaps one day I'll share them. Likely not. But I realized it was sort of sad I had written all this about you, and little to you. So I may write you little notes until I meet someone else or am convinced you will view them as some crazy woman you used to fuck.

You surprised me yesterday when you called - and thank you. I have spent a lot of time loving and hating the uncertainty of this, and every now and then you have given me little "gifts" of clarity.

You said the other night "I have nothing to offer," and it stuck in my head. All you will ever have to offer anyone is yourself. The other stuff is both fleeting and imaginary and relative. In a way, you "did right by me" by never really offering that - because it is the vulnerability we love in other people. So, very kindly, you never let me fall in love with you. Now: I am generous to a fault and I love you - but we both know the difference. You already have everything you can ever offer anyone.

xoxo, Veritas."

Part of what I like about little cards like this one is they restrict how much you can say - really, one or two thoughts, and then you run out of real estate. I could extrapolate about this topic for a while, but it forces me to streamline it into the above.

As Heard on NPR

"Everyone has fits of peak that get moralized in email."

That's how I heard it. As I read it now, it probably was "Memorialized", but I much prefer this one.

Read more at http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=91625695

The Last Weekend

I got gussied up on Friday. Had a new Party Dress that I got with intention to wear it to the Gemini birthday party. Went home for a nap after work, but was still up and ready far too early. Gussied. Complete with eyeliner.

I called Gatsby to let him know; "Should I go out and buy new shoes, or can we get a cocktail?" We had a lovely nosh at Delachaise (including an incredible Valdeon: Spanish blend bleu), then hit Tip's for Bingo. I was a little disappointed with the show, to be honest - it was sub subpar for them, but the venue and the crowd (damnable free shows) make it a little more forgivable.

I drove downtown to Blue Nile for Gemini's, which I should not have done. I thought I was a grownup, right? I managed to knock my first drink all over my Adorable Party Dress. Second drink I gave to Gatsby before he drove home. He has a bit of night vision, but there is No Way I would have gotten us home in one piece. Again, I thought I was a grown up?

We went home and had amazing sex. And again the next morning. I will miss that, our evening/morning pairing.

At noon, Gatsby says to me "Let's have breakfast at Elizabeth's." Nothing sounds better to me. We take showers (poor thing had to shower at my house. He once said of my bathroom: "Does a man live here?"), throw together some real world clothes, and head out for beautifully poached eggs and pecaned bacon and mimosas. We have breakfast with the devil, who eats fruit first and pays with a gold Amex. I leave a $6.66 tip, out of coincidence (our total was $33.34) and homage. Then the devil walks home in beautiful snakeskin boots.

We take a tour of the Pilot Houses, and on the drive back into the quarter Gatsby says, "This is an awesome place." Yes it is, my dear. Yes it is.




Then off to the quarter to start drinking. We wander around, have Pimm's cups at the Napoleon House, then take a tour of my gym. Have another drink in the bar there. Only in New Orleans, my friends, does a gym have a bar in it. A full bar. And they only make one kind of smoothie.

Dinner at Coops (or perhaps that was lunch?) It was 5ish, I guess... Next it's off to the Chart Room, where we watch Round Three of the U.S. Open as well as Trixie taking home her John, Gary and George taking a stop in their carriage tour, and Chip who was looking to talk to anybody with little luck since his shirt was tucked into his briefs. We just watched everybody and made up wonderful stories.

I forget what prompted us to go to Stella. We read the menu on the way back from Coop's I guess. It was so tempting then, I guess I suggested it on our way to get Purples at Lafitte's. Those famous last words will go down in history: "We'll just get a couple appetizers."

1. Foie Gras on toast with a berry compote and roasted bananas,
2. the Most Incredible (square cut) Gnocchi that Gatsby continued to rave about into the next day; with a lobster and shrimp cream sauce and fresh fava or baby limas and corn,
3. (raw) Spearfish salad with three pepper puree and baby chard,
4. "Squash puree" that we both thought would be a mash; it was a soup of a squash our waiter defined as somewhere between butternut and pumpkin with a savory chocolate garnish,
5. then we split veal with baby vegetables.

I started with a glass of champagne to clear the palate, Gastby had a manhattan with a "real bing cherry" - none of that maraschino nonsense. Then a glass of 1978 Sauternes, recommended to complement the foie gras. I don't think I've ever drunk something older than I am: out of this world. And the bottle of white burgundy that I could still taste the next day.

Oh, and dessert! Homemade ice cream (toasted almond, fresh blueberry and cinnamon) in an ice shell, which we both thought was sugar. And the most absurdly rich "grilled cheese" of triple cream cheese and chocolate granache in a boysenberry compote.



There is nothing more incredible than the endorphin rush you get from eating incredible food and drinking outstanding wine and laughing and loving the whole night. We didn't leave the restaurant until nearly one - we have a terrific habit of closing down restaurants that I will miss very much - and after a brief stop at Mimi's to dance with the 16 year-old hipsters (when did we get so old?) I was in bed by 2am, and slept, like a rock, for twelve hours.

I have never slept past Gatsby. I rarely sleep very well with someone else in bed with me until after I'm used to them. And for whatever reason, men always sleep better than I do, even though I have slept through fire alarms and transformers exploding overnight. Sunday morning I slept through a 7 inch flash flood that made my dad call me twice. On Father's Day.

I woke at 2pm, and the bed was empty. I considered going back to bed, until I realized that I had never done such a thing before: never woken up without him in his bed. He greeted me with his standard irony-laden "Good Morning!" when I peaked out of the bedroom door. He was watching the TV on mute, and reassured me he had only just woken up.

We read last Sunday's New York Times, and watched the US Open (exciting!) (No, really, it was.) and then ate tuna fish sandwiches. I tried to seduce him while he was dicing scallions, but he's a very devoted cook. When Tiger putted a birdie to TIE Rocco, he turned off the TV, turned on some solid oldschool, took my hand and led me to the bedroom.

"Great minds think alike," I said.

I fully intended to go to a Father's Day barbecue, but instead made a final stab at the crossword while we watched the Celtics lose to the Lakers (I called it!), and finally went home at 11ish.

"Thank you for a wonderful weekend," he said before I left. I had just been thinking the same thing. Thank you for the most wonderful 5-month weekend I've ever had.

The 100th Post

Today I am grateful.

And I am also 100% myself. I finally realized that was the secret with this Gatsby stuff. I have played by his rules this whole time... or at least, I've been learning his rules.

I adore him. And I am the most honest person - and its time to start saying this stuff. To him, instead of anyone else.

If you think about it, I've got nothing to lose now.

Penultimate Century

Gatsby is moving to Denver.

That may be all I have to say really. There's enough in that one sentence that I don't really have to parse it all out.

Doesn't Gatsby know he belongs in East Egg with all the other old money? West Egg is not the place for him. Although he says he has to return to his mountain roots. There is something to be said for natural beauty. And living near family.

And he Is Moving. End of the month, he told me yesterday. Which leaves me with one good weekend, really, since he's off for a wedding the 21st. I'm throwing a party on the 28th, which looks like it will be his going away party. Or Gone Away party. If he doesn't stay for that, he's ridiculous. I suppose I should ask him to come. What's an extra day, when your lease is up at the end of the month? Why not leave on Sunday instead of Saturday?

It all makes plenty of sense for him. I'm very empathetic about this. His family is there. He wants a job that will pay off his loans. His friends are all moved away. I'm here, yes, but so it the boozing and all that. And it's summer. That's a hard time to want to stay in New Orleans. And he's out of money. All of those things point West.

Back to the mountains, and away from me.

And yesterday I was sad and weepy and today I was angry and yelling. But not at him, at Best Friend J-, who was his usual un-sympathetic self. He usually says something to the effect of "I told you so." And yes, he did, and yes he's right, but damnit that's not what I want to hear right now.

So there it is. What to do next is kinda up in the air. Now I have a "friend" in Denver, but likely not. I am very fond of him, that's true, but I think he will have another girl on the hook within a matter of weeks. And yes, he'll never meet another Veritas, but... that is that.

That, as they says, is the Truth.

Learning

I'm slowly, slowly learning. Learning that time is the only thing that will keep me from getting too attached to someone before I'm ready. Or getting attached to ideas of him instead of him.

Yoga today is about Shiva. About the destructive energy of the universe, and Shiva as "veiled destruction". Shiva is a the cosmic dancer, the Lord of the Dance. Minus the clogs. A few things to remind myself: only with a stable base are you free to fly and dance. And stability comes from opposition, it comes from balance.

The strongest stance you have, whether it's in Virabradasa II or Forearm Stand, is the inherent opposition in your body. Your legs pulling towards each other without moving. Your tailbone weighing straight down to the ground, while your head floats high to the sky. One arm pulls forward and the other pulls back, one reaching into the future and the other caressing the past. Forearm stand is just as much about pushing your arms into the ground as the ground pushing back. About setting your humerus into your shoulder socket, and the energy of your muscles pushing the opposite way into the ground.

And even in stillness there is movement.

The other night, a guy I had never met before asked me if I was in a hurry. I said 'I don't know.' He said if I didn't know, I wasn't in a hurry. And then, he asked me Why I was in such a hurry? And that's the question, again. Why am I in such a hurry? What's wrong with the 50 year plan?

Dreaming: Tired and Overwhelmed

I don't think I am, or I certainly don't feel nearly as tired nor as overextended as I did two weeks ago, but my dreams say otherwise.

For two nights I have dreamt about being overcommitted. Last night, it was school and running late. Two nights ago, it was still school, although I had so many "extracurricular" commitments, I had to let some people down. I had bailed entirely on my schoolwork, having a typical anxiety dream about taking a final exam in a class I hadn't studied for or even attended in Months. This is a regular dream for me - showing up for class, or suddenly realizing that I am still enrolled in a class I mentally checked out of months before.

But also two nights ago I dreamt I was exhausted, the whole night. I went from one place to another, so tired - just how I felt weeks ago. Except then I remembered, in my dream, that I had been diagnosed and treated for some form of cancer (a kind of lymphoma, I think). No wonder I was tired! I was sick. And on top of being sick, I was in treatment which made me sicker and more tired and... Sweet J- was there, and was taking care of me, but mostly just encouraging me to keep doing, and disappearing when distracted the way only J- can.
--------------------

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little baffled by these two nights of recap. I was beginning to feel like I was getting better, both at not overcommitting myself AND and at adjusting to my current schedule. And obligations. Perhaps it was having my review on Tuesday -

Damnit, my boss is ridiculously demanding. She is almost absurdly demanding. I have never Not excelled, and I'm beginning to wonder if it isn't her as opposed to me. Her standards are so ridiculously high, I begin to wonder: if I can't meet them, who can? It's quite a conundrum. I also came from a work environment that was so laid back and accepting, that I wonder if I ever have been in an 'appropriate' situation. And, again, Boss says that she is hardest on me because she sees the most potential in me. And while I accept that I have room for improvement and all that, I wonder how "fair" that really is. Actually, I know it isn't fair. Perhaps its good to have someone believe so much in you - she is trying to groom me to take over for her while she's away. This is a bit of trial by fire in this year, and talk about a year of growth!

I always excelled in school, and perhaps this is why I keep dreaming about school. I am so used to doing so well, that in the times in my life when I have not done well it's such a blow to my identity and my ego that it feels like a little "failure" even when it isn't.

I am slowly learning to ask for what I need. I need the YLC to pay for my phone bill. I need a raise. And I need WATS to be over so I can focus on where my real strengths lie. Perhaps that's the rub - I was hired to do something that does not accentuate my true strengths. Or I was hired to do something without the support I need.
-------------

And then there's Gatsby. After a lovely Friday night/Saturday, I have not heard from him. And he's going out of town this weekend, and Damnit, this game is no fun anymore. I'm past this point of disinterest or waiting or whatever it is I'm supposed to be doing. Shit or get off the pot already. And while I know there are all sorts of extenuating circumstances... Tough. I'm too good to be ignored, or allowed to fall by the wayside. As Alton said in the coffeeshop, when I said I was seeing someone, He is a Lucky Man. And if he doesn't know that, shame on him. And if he knows and is unable to express it, double shame.

Some grand romantic gesture? Maybe not, but a phonecall or a thank you note would be great. Any gesture at all, really.

A Day of Rest

I've been resting all weekend, really. Watching tv, cleaning a little, but mostly just lazing about. I watched good will hunting yesterday, Men in Black today. Why is it that I only watch movies I've seen before?

Today has been a typical day when I didn't quite know what I wanted to do. The days have just flowed from between my fingers, and yet the weekend has seemed to last forever. All day Saturday with Gatsby doing a lot of nothing set the pace. It was pretty lovely to just lay on the sofa and nap while he read news. And eat egg salad sandwiches. I just wish we had spent more time having sex. But perhaps that's a part of having a relationship that's beyond sexual. I mean, twice should be enough, no?

I've spent the rest of the weekend having imaginary conversation with him, and getting advice from other people about what to say and what not to say. Or whether to say anything at all.

I am in love with him, I think. I don't know what to do with that information at all. I thought I was old enough to not fall in love with people who didn't love me back. And yet, this whole situation seems like more than I've ever had to handle before. Maybe it's that he's the first "equal" I've really dated. The first one who I really liked for who he was, rather than who I wanted him to be. He is not perfect. He is not the most moral or ethical person. And he is not as generous as I, or altruistic, or romantic as I might have otherwise hoped.

J- may be right, there is never a point of no return. Or the first point is the point of no return.

I'm not sure what it is that I want, though. That's what's fascinating. I don't care, really, if he's my "boyfriend". I want him to call. I want him to make the efforts as often as I do. I want him to make plans. I want him to prove to me that there's something bigger going on here. I wonder if, looking back on that first silly horoscope interpretation, it's not true - we need to not have any expectations of each other.

I want some great romantic gesture. It's amazing that just the kiss of my hand at dinner seems like almost enough.

Dreams of Flying

I keep having dreams that I'm going somewhere. Far away. Two nights ago I was going to DC for fun, but then forgot to book my return flight, then forgot I had plans with Gatsby so had to come back for the night. Then I was in the airport and had neither my itinerary nor my boarding pass. I had to go back for all of it, and then my whole family was going to Egypt or Marrakesh or somewhere far away, and the man at the currency exchange was the only one who knew anything. But he stepped in and helped me and got me straight and gave me cash and dinner.

Last night I was going to... Mexico via Canada? Who knows, I certainly didn't. I had to connect in NC and then the west coast, and I was on my way to Vancouver when I realized I didn't have my computer. So I just went home for a second; except home was my bedroom on Zimpel, just as it was before we moved out. I kept making connection after connection. But when we flew into Canada, just as you crossed the border, there were fields and fields of poppies. They were so beautiful.

Last night, I was going with the flow. I was okay that I didn't know quite what the next connection was, or when it left or if I was going to make it. I thought I'd just get bumped to the next flight. Two nights ago, I was freaked out.

I'm still not sure what this is about today. Maybe everything. I am on this path, lately. It's been very clear that I am in the midst of a journey, a growth - learning to balance and how to be. Without my medication, it gets much Much more complicated, and that's clear.

And some days I freak out because I don't know my current itinerary, or even trajectory. Then other days, like today, I am totally calm and cool with not having a plan or an agenda and just being, and enjoying it. I sat on the sofa with Gatsby today until 5pm, doing a lot of nothing. And it was lovely.

I am falling in love with him, and that's a trajectory but I haven't the faintest clue about the destination. Or even the itinerary.

The Conversation

I almost had The Conversation with Gatsby, but he shut me down. I called before my dinner plans on Tuesday night because I realized I didn't want to talk about it on Friday and ruin our dinner out. But I was also avoiding it and wasn't making time to have what was becoming an important Conversation. The "What is this, and where is it going?" Conversation.

I just wanted to get it out of the way, so I called and asked if he could get a quick drink. He just woke up from a nap, he said. So instead, I brought over a bottle of bourbon. We chatted, made small talk while he made a manhattan.

I finally just said "I want you to stay." Or Maybe it was "I don't want you to leave." Bless him, he led right into "Well, after this morning's interview, I may be next great shipping magnate of New Orleans."

He dodged. He totally dodged it. Which was brilliant, because I drove over there thinking "This is going to ruin the whole thing. All the fun will be gone when I know exactly what is happen. But I need to know...."

At the same time, he told me everything I needed to hear as other conversations progressed. In the course of all that:

"I'm the most passive aggressive person on the face of the planet"
"This isn't just a sexual relationship"

And when I said, as we were falling asleep (so much for dinner) "You're going to break my heart" he said:
"I don't really think so."
"Well, I do" I said.


J's explanation for this is that he sees me as Strong, so doesn't think such a thing is possible. My current take: he likes me. He'll keep me, for now. Which, ironically, is how I feel.

Maybe I'll care at some point that I tend to be the one to make plans. I tend to be the one who calls. I tend to make the effort. As J says, Free milk is Free milk.

Fears and Fantasy

After my bizarre dream the other day about Board President making strange advances and listening to me bitch about my project leaders, just got word from a friend that his wife speaks very highly of me. I've never even met her!

So that's good news.

I took a long tiring run, then worked in the garden, and am exhausted. The exhaustion is leading to sadness, unfortunately. I'm not as sad or overwhelmed as last week, but I'm also back on meds and halfway through my period.

Gatsby's parents have been in town. And he graduated from business school yesterday. And I have no idea what's going on now, except that (yet again) after a week of being ok with not seeing him, I really want to again. His mom is still here, although the rest of the gang left today, I believe.

After being pushed in all sorts of directions by so many people... I really like him. That's not news, really, but it makes itself more and more clear. I don't want him to leave New Orleans; I was, in fact, so excited by the prospect of him having an interview in New Orleans that when I told J- and he teased me by saying "You love him and you're going to marry him," I couldn't do anything but grin stupidly.

I have all sorts of fantasies about what the future holds with this thing. I don't want him to be a "boyfriend", because I fear that makes me complacent and expectant and I'll lose the excitement and fun we've had. But I want to see him more often, and I want him to want to see me more often.

It was the other night, sleeping with him, and suddenly understanding when an ex- said one night that he loved the way my breath smelled. I love the way Gatsby snores, and how his breath smells and how he cuddles the bottom of my feet with his. Love the way he always holds me when we're sleeping; if I roll over so does he. And I think he did genuinely like the handkerchiefs, although even if he didn't he faked it pretty well.


I'm trying not to let my fantasies of the future get too carried away. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't falling in love with him. I almost want him to leave New Orleans, or leave me, or tell me he doesn't want kids - just because I know its easier to walk away now than later. Not inviting me to meet his parents almost let me off the hook... and I guess I'm still afraid to put my foot down and ask the real questions and hold him to something. Ironically, I'm afraid if I do he'll reject me outright: much more frightening than the implicit rejection of not introducing me to his parents. I still don't trust him further than Brunch, and that's a problem. I don't know if it has anything to do with him, or if it's all me.

Since the last two men I've dated haven't wanted me when they got close. And yes, in hindsight, I don't want to be with them either. Looking back, I can't even imagine WHY I would have.

And maybe I'm still looking in the wrong places......

Anxiety Dream. Just Maybe?

I came home, and the fleas had led to caterpillars, spiders, roaches, and the occasional scorpion in my bed. They were behind the mattress, so I could theoretically sleep in it, but..... I went searching for bug spray. Everywhere. Didn't want to leave the house, and started searching. Married Young Mom E- came over, I asked her if she had any - I think I didn't want to buy any. Something.

In the midst of all this, the sun is coming up, and people are all over the neighborhood. They start just coming in the house, and I spend the next two hours keeping people out of the house. They sneak in anyway they can, including climbing under concrete to slip into the front room (different house, obviously). I stand on them, do anything I can. They are fearless and impossible to reason with.

---

So I guess I'm anxious. The bugs are thematic for me; just under the surface and I can't find a way to kill them. Not sure what all the people in my business are... except trying to serve too many masters. Perhaps Mom is right that I'm forgiving of everybody else without being forgiving of myself. And perhaps this is just what the next 6 weeks will be like. Almost 5 weeks. Patience.

Here she comes again...

So it's been one of those weekends. Haven't had it this bad in a while.

My body is scheduled to start the big P on Tuesday. Left the house yesterday only to workout with Sue, then returned to my pjs. This morning I successfully went to the grocery, and then came home. And am, again, back in pjs.

Stupid Gatsby called at nearly midnight last night in response to me "I want to spend all morning in bed with you" - and reported it was 'disappointing' that I had already gone to bed. Yes, dear, for both of us. I promptly had a dream about going to his house in the middle of the night in my nightgown. With drunk friends, including Jackie D-. How odd.

I don't know why laying in bed with another breathing human being would make me feel better, it just would. Or maybe it wouldn't, and I'm just setting up for more disappointment. I'm having a hard time getting excited for Jazzfest or anything, really.

This is it, folks. This is depression. It's not really all that fun.

So I've done half the dishes. And yesterday I halfway sanded the front door. Maybe I'll finish something today. Or maybe I'll just go back to bed. I have, indeed, started drinking already. So at least THAT's Healthy, right?

*sigh*

Cleaning House

I went to sleep at 10pm last night. At 3, I was awoken by a truly apocalyptic thunderstorm. Then I slept til 3pm.

I suppose the sleep did me good. Although I'm hoping it won't keep me up tonight. Gatsby told me he felt "wrecked" yesterday - but he seemed to be recovering quite well. Perhaps it was something we ate. Or drank. Or whatever it was.

Today I walked to get the car, saw some friends, and came home to clean up. I have a list 13 lines long of all the adult tasks I have to do, including my taxes and talking to my insurance agent. Ugh. I cleaned the house and drank champagne and watched The Godfather.

About an hour ago I laid on the couch, reading my grandmother's poetry and weeping. I put on Gatsby's shirt he lent me two days ago, and I wish he were here to sleep with me, curled up against my back all night. It will be days before I see him, for sure - and I am tired. I have 11 long weeks ahead of me, although I hope I get this all wrapped up very shortly. I at least hope I get it down to a science of sorts. Or at least, well-rehearsed. Perhaps mom is right, perhaps I have to stay all night.

I certainly need to visit the drug dealer, Dr. R. And get more rest. And workout again. Get new running shoes.

And weeping is probably good for me. Wearing his shirt. Knowing that I cannot trust him and might like to all the same.

Ah the irony!

My last serious boyfriend sold boxes. What went in the boxes? Amunition.

The guy I dated after him is now selling coffins.

Spring Cleaning

Happy Easter, everybody.

I am at the end of day 2 of a 3-day liquid fast. Fruit and vegetable juices, broths and all that. I just accidentally ate the pinenuts in my lebanese iced tea. So clearly, I'm quite hardcore about this.

I have spent a rather rejuvenating weekend cleaning things out. The closet. The garden. My colon. Well, not really, but.. that is the point of all of this after all.

I have not cleaned out my emotional nonsense, really. Except to realize and admit that I really do like Gatsby. Last I saw him, I broke a Baccarat tumbler. And I was perfectly happy to replace it. Its little Baccarat box is tied up with grosgrain ribbon.

And Okie (AKA TrainWreck) told me that his friends have said he is a different person this last month. She wants me to believe it's me. I think I want to believe it's me too.

I like him. I genuinely like him. He's been gone for a week and it feels like a month. And yet, I don't know him that well at all. I don't know him well enough to know where I stand. At all. The last night we spent together, the sex was amazing (again). But it was amazing in a new way; in the I'm About To Cry way. And I know what that means. That is the sign that I am falling for him, but through my vagina instead of my heart. Not really the best way of going about it.

The sex stopped being recreational. It started having consequences before he left for China. And I wonder if it will be different now? Now that he's been in China for two weeks. I suppose he's about to learn how he really feels about me, since I think I've realized something about him. I miss him. Well, no. Because a week is how long I usually go without seeing him. I simply want to see him. And I really don't want to have to wait for a week. More than a week, really, I'm afraid. I do not think he is coming to the party, and then it's the week and...

Couldn't he send a fucking postcard?

And yet... and yet. I love me. I love my friends. I have a very full life that will not be empty without him or anyone else. I guess I'm realizing that I just might be willing to make a little room for him, in this busy little calendar of mine.

2600 danneel @ 4pm every afternoon. They drag a table into the street and play great cards

All In The Timing

After fondly remembering my Gatsby date last Sunday all week, I woke up this morning thinking I was being had. He was using me, or playing me, or whatever other gerund you can find to describe this feeling. He's shagging at least one other girl, I think in my head. Why wouldn't he? What else would he fill his empty graduate school days with?

And I knew when I sent him my oh-so-clever thank you card it was to encourage a response from him. But I got it, and probably in short order...

Am I just in a hurry? I have always been in a hurry, that's clear. But is this no exception? I've been so proud of myself for just relaxing and taking it as it comes, and all of a sudden I realize:

I care. I care if he likes me. I kinda even care where it's going, although I have given up on trying to predict the future. I like him. I enjoy his company, and the sex is outstanding. I am not sure how I actually feel about Him... re: Using his powers for good or evil. But I still want to know that I'm not being used as some sex slave around for his enjoyment.

Although, I guess this runs both ways, right? I have been >this close< to calling him for a quickie in these last few days.

The jury is still out on this one. I did, however, have drinks with The Republican last night. And I think I am slowly getting better with all this. Each one seems an improvement on the last.. and I am editing out The Silver Man and all the duds.

Verdict for Saturday night? Rock out with the girls.

Mardi Gras 2008.2

So things just kept getting more interesting.

Sweet M, The Carpenter, did call me, was interested, but I told him my Not Dating story. Texted it to him, actually, which I know is very Lame on my part. But he proceeded to call me on pain killers at 2 o'clock in the morning. And has again, weeks later, started calling me again. Every time he calls he leaves marathon messages, the first inquiring if I had any work for him. My empathetic self would offer it if I did, but the sane part of me says Don't give this guy Any hint of interest.

Then there was The Great Gatsby (S-, previously mentioned). He continued to haunt me the week after I met him, until we exchanged poetically-inspired emails and he got my number.

Saturday was Endymion. And it was back in MidCity, which was thrilling. So I decided that I should have a party at my house - at 9:30 in the morning. We went through bottles of vodka and nigh on a case of champagne in the end, I think... And had omelets made to order. My new girlfriend, The Train Wreck, came and we ended up spending all day together. Made our way to parties closer to the route, and ended up dancing in the neutral ground on Orleans, but totally abandoned the Parade. After all that, it didn't really matter. Saw C- and his new Girl, and was happy to see them and they were confused, at best. C'est la vie. Then went to a party in an old converted gas station with TrainWreck, and we had a lovely time and I left early and she began her love affair with a 50 y/o artist. I think it's totally reasonable, but she's 30 and... well, you know.

Sunday. Sunday I made it to The Old Southern Family's yearly Thoth party, and had a grand ol' time. Prom Date came by, and we all hung out together, as we always do... but by the end of the parade the Married Darlings (S&A) were sleeping, so PromDate and I set out on our own. I had had a bit to drink at this point, and kept drinking and we made it, after one party stop, to my friend the Cyclist's house on St. Charles. I proceeded to get more drunk, and all of a sudden I'm making out with my Prom Date. It took 10 years. (!) I mean, really. Watched the superbowl, slept through the 3rd quarter, and eventually made it home.

So Monday was supposed to be a day of rest, right? This is what I had advised Great Gatsby, and why did I not take my own advice? Went to a "Masquerade" party at The King Pin with TrainWreck. I'm sitting at the bar, and can't figure out how I know this guy, and I ask after him and finally, as he's walking inside I just say "How do I know you?" This is a trick that Oldest Friend N- taught me, but I've never used it as a trick. Note to self: It works. He and I ended up chatting all night and then I want to the parade with him and he was a lovely guy with some interesting (read: strippers) but lovely friends. And I went home with him. *sigh* We eventually figured out we work out at the same gym. So Gym Guy at least listened when I said No sex, but that didn't keep him from coming on my stomach. Fair enough. No real damage done. I have seen him at the gym a couple times since... but still haven't mustered the courage to say hello. It's remarkable to me: I don't actually want to date him or get to know him, so saying anything seems pointless.

So then Tuesday rolls around. Whew. Tuesday. I dress up as Nancy Sinatra without realizing it, and head down for St. Ann's with enough rations of alcohol to get myself started. At Marcus's House I meet Silver Man, who makes me laugh and quizzes me about American History. I take a photo of him somewhere along the route and go on my way.

An Aside: I love doing Mardi Gras day this way. I loved being free to go where the wind took me, and to meet people or not. It gave me a freedom to walk around and talk
to all sorts of people and meet friends and end up on a balcony at the pontalba.

So the middle of the day is blurry - I think we went from there back to frenchmen street, and finally found the Krewe of St. Ann's, and there was Krewe du Jieux and all my other lovelies and favorites for the day. I was pretty pleased and satisfied at 2pm when I got a call from... none other than the Great Gatsby. At this point, my giddiness finally pops the last safety pin that has been keeping the back of this vintage dress that is older than I am together. I am changed immediately into a little puddle of sweet happy girlishness. He is coming down to the Quarter, he says. I should meet him. All of this sounds very good to me.

I hang tight til about 5. At this point, I'm with Oldest Friend and her boy and my de facto New Year's Eve date (sweet boy that he was, is now dressed in GREAT drag) - listening to crazy music at CheckPoint. Finally, I get the call from GG, although I have almost gone home about 20 minutes before. Thank heavens I stuck it out.

I walk down to Lafitte's, with a brief stop at R Bar to say hello to Pumpkin Boy, and settle in with GG and his un-costumed B-school friends. They are... boring, to be honest. I encourage the adorable wife of one of them to dance with me, my back hanging out... and we take lovely photos of the hilarious couple to our right. They are both 100+pounds overweight, he in drag, and she in a plus-size cheerleader costume. Apparently, they are divorced since he came out. Ha!

It doesn't take long for Gatsby and I to make our way through 2+ "purples" (frozen grain alcohol and sugar - UGH)... and then we go home. To my house, which is a disaster, but I didn't really care at that point. He skipped class the next day and I didn't make it to work until 3pm. I left him with a bj that deserved a standing ovation. I was very proud. We walked across town to my car, then I drove him home... all the way very cloudy-headed from all the drinking and dehydration.

It was a brilliant carnival time. Now, 2 weeks later, I am still loving the story of it, and pleased that I did only have sex with one of them. Dates with Silver Man have come and gone. He thinks we "really connect", I know it's not right. Prom Date finally tried to ask me out. I have to have that conversation with him. Gym Guy and I have parted ways permanently. Although it was fun. If either of us wanted to see each other again, we could. To be quite honest, he's just not smart enough.


And then there's Gatsby. We had another perfect night & day last weekend. He came for a Sazerac, and then we had brunch the next morning at Degas and walked on the bayou and spent all day at the Track betting on ponies. I lost a bet about Alligators being bigger than Crocodiles, and have promised him dinner at Patois. And I can't wait. The first week I was practically casual about it. I knew I'd see him again... and now my hormones are getting the best of me and I have come about 70% of the way to calling him after a cocktail for a quick one. And yet, both times, I've thought better of it.

There is something special about him - no, that's not right. There is something special about us together. We are both infectious, both have a sparkle and make each other vaguely intoxicated. I am truly curious to see how it will end, although I think I already know. I don't trust that anything real will come of it - and I have said as much to him. But in the meantime, I love spending time with him, love how much fun we have together, love how he touches me, and how great the sex is.

I just keep judging myself for having this purely casual relationship with someone who has the most potential to be absolutely perfect for me as anyone I've met, maybe ever. But maybe, just maybe, that's ok for now. That may be all I can handle right now.

Mardi Gras 2008.1

As this blog nears one year old, I am reminded of why I started writing it. At a post-MG party about a year ago, my friend S charged me with writing a blog of what it was like to be the sober one in our group of friends. Alas. How far we've come.

My friend B- had a party on Saturday, to celebrate the beginning of Mardi Gras. I intended to go for the day parades, go home, throw together a costume, and head off to a party at J & R's house: the artist. Instead, I stay at B-s all day... go out for night parades, because it's that time again. By the time we get back at the end of the parade, they're playing some raucous drinking game. Chandeliers, or something. It's some variant of quarters that doesn't require a whole lot of thought, but is remarkably fun (as opposed to the regular quarter, imho).

They ask where we're going next, and I say, Fat Harrys, because if we go anywhere else I have to drive, and if I'm driving I'm going home. I end up there with S-; when did we connect? I don't remember. At that point, I had been drinking for nearly 12 hours, so needless to say my short term memory was pretty nearly shot. After an hour at the bar, he leans in to kiss me, and shortly after we're on our way home.

We both say we won't sleep together. I lay down the rules about no clothes coming off, no Sex, no anything.

*sigh*

He wears me down.

And then, it was lovely, to be quite honest. We talked the next day, in between sessions of great sex. Smart and fun and funny.... and I begin to realize what I knew when I let him in: I've blown this. If I had wanted to see him again, I would have stood strong. Maybe next time I'll learn not to go "back to my place."

And here I am, 24 hours later, still regretting it a little but also trying to figure out if I'm really unhappy about it. I'm not sure what I would have done differently. I am learning things about myself; I have no desire to sleep with anyone only once. I could take a lover, but I'm not interested in one-night stands.

But then, after C-, I wonder if I could even handle that? I can't control how I feel about things, or about people; that's against the point, right? I've learned that I have these control issues, but when will I learn there's gotta be another way to do this?

Perhaps if I had gotten laid more recently? But isn't 2 months a healthy period? It is, I thought. It's the drinking; the alcohol is what does it. And now, looking back, oh so vaguely, at last carnival (wasn't that the 3 different men in 5 days?)... and I begin to realize why maybe I stopped drinking for 40 days.

Only time will tell. And patience. And a little less alcohol, maybe.

Or maybe....... just maybe... it's all just fun and games until someone loses an eye?

Carnival 2008

it's started again.

Against my best intentions, i have been out three nights in a row, staying busy, meeting people and being (perhaps?) the center of attention. Or maybe i'm just the center of my own attention.

Met m- last night. Nice guy, very smart, interesting interests (ha!), but am Not dating. I wonder how I'll explain that to him when he calls. Which he will.

There is a little fear that I might be missing something. What an interesting fear it is. What if I meet someone in the this time who is The One? Is that the fear? When will I realize that Time is part of what makes someone right. So far, the time hasn't been right with any of them.

Saw H last night - how wonderful! I adore her and she me and it is nice to occasionally reinforce that we are soul mates and will be 'together forever' as strange as that sounds, and ... how lovely. How just really lovely.

And despite "not dating" I am still reading CL, including personals (!). I don't know why I'm doing that. Am I just keeping the hope alive here? Keeping these little disney fantasies alive and awake in my head?

Anyway... there is more to clean and do and Be Productive. Hungover though I may be.

My Craigslist Missed Connection

I want to post it. Just don't have the balls.

"My Coffeeshop Boyfriend M4W - Poydras"

I come to see you almost everyday. You, along with the caffeine, give me an afternoon pick me up. I've all but fired my neighborhood coffeeshop because I like seeing you. We couldn't ever really date, could we? I love your attitude and how grownup you seem, even though I have no idea how old you are.

Thanks for brightening my days. I'm hoping the only reason you haven't made a move is because you'd be fired for hitting on a customer.

If I'm not crazy and you like me too, tell me what I drink.

Losing Friends

It's been an interesting (and busy) first two weeks of this year.

Started the new job, which has taken up a ton of my time, but I'm really enjoying it and I find myself looking forward to work in the morning. It's been a ridiculously long time since that's happened. I'm working hard to balance my time, but the prioritization is coming, if slowly. I keep having to remind myself of the difference between what I have to do and what I want to do. And to remind myself that sometimes I'll be late to the office and if that's my biggest flaw, then so be it. New boss A- put something in my personnel file this morning, which I fear was a note that I was late. But perhaps it was an email from Board Member A or M that I went above and beyond the call of duty this weekend.

But I still keep coming back to this thing that happened with J, now a solid month ago. Other friend J hurt her enough for her to really never talk to me again. Just realized she deleted me as a friend on facebook. The last time I did it, it was S-, who I have since readded.

I realize that I made a mistake, but the volume of her reaction is so huge.. I'm not sure how to process it. I hurt her feelings terribly, so much so that she has doubted the entire fabric of our friendship enough to sacrifice it entirely. It was as if I had made the remark. I don't know... is this me trying to control everybody? I told C, you can only treat people with respect, and let people feel how they'll feel. Am I really that much more forgiving? And isn't part of a friendship getting past the part you struggle with? I'm not Jewish, and that was part of what she appreciated, but now she's realizing that I don't understand a lot of what she goes through. Her Jewishness is more important than our friendship, I guess.

There's one line of her email that keeps ringing through to me, that makes it easier for me to let go, I guess... "His ignorant remark only made him look ridiculous and ignorant to an educated person like myself." This sounds... like high school to me? I kinda want to tell her to get over herself a little.

But I hate that it means I lost a friend.

Now, with time, C- I understand. We never really were friends. We spent some time, and shared moments or whatever, but weren't really friends. To me, one of the things that comes with friendship is working through things like this - I have gone over and over again to her side, trying to understand where she's coming from. As giving and generous and kind as she can be, I haven't seen her do that for me once. I don't see her trying to understand where I'm coming from.

And yet, I still find it hard to let her go. There were so many things that I loved sharing with her, and I miss that. This is not to say I will not have other friends, but it's the first time I've ever really been dumped by a friend. I guess it was bound to happen sometime. But it's hard to get used to.

Lower Nint' World

It doesn't get any easier.

Went to Brad Pitt's little pink village in the lower 9th world. Ward. World.

Driving across Claiborne on Forstall, and walking in past the Common Ground center, it does feel like the Lower 9th World. We're a 9th World Country. There are still make shift community centers with bottled water and hand-painted signs. It feels like it's no different than it was 2 years ago, walking through my childhood neighborhood and seeing uniformed soldiers walking in formation. With uzis.

Today walking past what used to be a neighborhood that is now an overrun field with the occasional concrete slab that has been dressed up with pepto pink pipe and drape... really? Is this supposed to make us feel better?

And does rebuilding the ninth ward make sense? There was one, no two, "real" families there today. One was in their house, working. It was brick, and like the third little pig's house, it's still standing. In the midst of devastation dressed up in magenta plastic. But as I was leaving, there they were, gathering up and going home, to where they really slept at night, and they were the only people there who felt real.

The rest of the neighborhood is abandoned. There are structures that are now falling down, after two years of weather on top of the Queen of all Weather. Walking through those streets, just another observer, witness, tourist, voyeur - all I could do was weep. There's a beautiful tombstone, brand new, carved in pure white marble, honoring a married couple who perished at "Sunset August 29, 2005."

I remembered today that I will tell my children that I lived through the greatest natural (or government-made) disaster in the history of this country. And I stayed. And half my family was proud, and the other half tried to talk me out of it. Out of love for me, they try to convince me to go to a "normal" place.

And today is Twelfth Night. Here we go again. Epiphany. The end of the holiday season and the beginning of Carnival. I missed the Phunny Phorty Phellows because I wasn't feeling very Phunny, phrankly. I made barbeque pork for sandwiches for the BCS championship game tomorrow, from the leftover suckling pig I roasted on New Year's Day.

Epiphany. I'm waiting.