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I am supposed to be in a funk, if you go by the calendar. It makes complete sense I spent the day cranky; filled with a listlessness. Not melancholy, no, because that would take too much energy and thus be too irritating.
At first I fibbed. I had errands to run. Not home. Sorry!
That was the old me, though; I disliked going back there, so the next time he hinted, I simply told him, "I'm tired and cranky. I just want to veg."
MUCH better. He expressed sympathy and stopped hinting that he'd like to visit.
How they blur together, these days, each coming on with increasing speed, and few distinguishing traits. Up, shower, work work work, home, slump, veg, bed, up, shower, work work work, faster and faster, one of those multi-colored tops you pumped and spun as a child.
It would be bearable, but for missing you. Wanting you to pepper my days with your amazingness. Wanting you to smile at me, so that I can, if I choose, press my lips against those teeth, clutching your hard lean body close to my soft one. Hear you whisper. Taste you. Smell you. Need.
A surprise; as you were thinking of her, missing her, she unexpectedly called, again with need.
I wish I could feel more charitably comfortable with her. Honestly, I do not know what about her caused this discomfort within me. From you, though, I've heard only sorrow or strain when you speak of her. You have spoken of her tears, her need, her clinging sadness. You have spoken of your own sorrow when it ended. What I have never sensed from you was any joy with her.
To me, then, she is a manipulative woman, seeking only to use your goodness.
I did not anticipate. Truly. My heart was not filled with dread, as it often is for these times. I was stressed, because what things with my project were not working out. So he got to interrupt that, yet I had warned him. I finished the critical piece, then set it aside.
He did what he does. He asked stupid questions and did not like my responses. That turned what should have been just fun and deep discussion into a Q&A, him growing sadder, me growing frustrated.
Oh, we moved on, but it could have been a finer time.
Excitement again! Sure, there are issues with tickets and many may not go. I'll be with a new group, most likely. But I am planning again, doing again. Creating and crafting. It begins to fill my thoughts.
I dreamed last night, a playa dream. I like those dreams because once again I can smell the dust and fill my senses with the electric extraness that pervades. The dream itself was unimportant. As with an orgasm, you simply surrender to the feelings, the tingling of your spirit.
Whatever comes, in August I'll be there again. And oh my heart so will you.
Work day started lousy. Miscommunication with the manager of the foreign guys, so I had 2 network engineers with nothing to do at my site.
At home tonight, reconciling the banking stuff, screwed up an import and made a mess. Five months of stuff to catch up on. Gotta have a do-over.
I was a bit tense, then, when each of the men in my life but one were being needy and clingy with me. The one that wasn't? He was perfect. A random loving nudge. A gentle kiss. No whining. Love it when we're aligned.
It's dating. That's all. The trouble with that slender blonde is she was in a dating site looking for a relationship. That was her focus. Okay, one of the troubles. These new blondes, though. Sometimes the last thing women of a certain age want is a "relationship." Until you get to know them, you won't know.
So be up front about it. You're dating. No plans to be exclusive. Don't hedge it with "who knows in the future" because that sends messages that there's a "if I'm good enough I can win him" and you don't want those messages now.
The main event is oversold, and too few who've long been accustomed to getting tickets in the past were left out in the cold. Talk of attending regional events ran high. Sure enough, the tickets for the regional nearest me are hot. First tier is gone, second tier is moving steadily. I told my friends, and one bookmarked the site, saying he'd get tickets.
Hope he and his boyfriend hurry. It'd be nice for them go. Thanks to foresight, my sweetie and I have our tickets. The list members are planning theme camps and parties. It'll be a blast.
Had they noticed her, wanted her, were too shy to talk to her, back then? She was often turned inward these days, pondering the surge of attention, their near greed upon finding her these days. Back then she'd felt invisible. She built herself a tower out of her feeling of isolation, and sat in its window, self-pity filling her. Back then.
She's older now, heavier, and more cynical. She's louder, too. And they come flocking. Is it her self-confidence? Is that all it would have taken, back then? To stride brashly, full of herself, through the crowds?
Of all the Geisel books I've read, the one I felt was the least worthy of him was his last official book. While most carried a carefree air of lyrical madness, magic and fun. His last felt contrived and forced.
Granted he was 87 when it was published. I remember when it came out, and I did indeed buy it, and dutifully read it to my children. They were not critical of it.
I suppose that if an adaptation of a Dr. Seuss book had to contribute to the wild BMan sales, it should be one I dislike.
When she looked into his eyes, she was certain she saw love shining there. He thought of her often, he said. At times he listened to a love song, thought especially of her, and sent her a copy of the song to tell her he liked that song. And once he was speaking about her and he said, "I love ... "; she was certain he stumbled over the word "you" but modified it to "the way your skin feels when I touch you."
He has said he is a big boy. His emotions belong to him. Still, it makes her uncomfortable.
If the man were a cookie, he'd be a Nilla Wafer. This is partly because he is blond, and pale, and seems a little round although he's not fluffy, no. He's one of those sorts that blend into the background, unnoticed.
He's pleasant. He has an upbeat attitude. I nearly expected him to burst into "Always Look On The Bright Side of Life."
I say this without meaning to denigrate. I enjoyed the two hours I spent conversing with him. I'd do that again. He'd make a great friend.
I hope he can find a girlfriend, too.
There have been a very few times when someone has looked at me, and said some simple thing that turned my heart into a rising sun that gilds both forest and sea. Or he simply looked at me, and my heart did that gilding thing. In fact, this has happened three times.
Once it was a glance.
A separate second time, different man, it was also a glance and then the third, with that same man, only he spoke. He said a simple thing.
"Yes, I do love you, I have loved you."
Those things. They're so powerful.
He spoke of the concept of "open family spaces," where closed doors are the exception, not the expectation. No expectation of privacy, but if there's a need, talk about it first.
I countered that when I cry, I need privacy NOW and there is no discussion. I go. Doors close. I return when I am able.
Another countered that when he works, he gets distracted. A closed door cuts that out. He had never been in a cube farm, see.
The first figured that would all be worked into the rules ahead of time.
Fuck rules, I said. Fuck 'em blind.
There is a current of unhappiness about. The rumors of another 500 to be let go don't help. The trap of working in a world where the skills you earned are not required, and the work required is mundane, drab, meaningless.
When I left my previous company, a similar feeling of gloom pervaded, but at least then, there, the work was real -- what little of it there was to be shared among the remaining people.
It's time to move on. The question isn't whether or not to. The question is where. The question is also how.
A final question: will I?
His daughter and I have been encouraging him to find social groups and a partner (or two) to share his interests, to get him back into the swing of things.
And I have enabled him, somewhat, to go to Burning Man, the final piece of a promise I made myself to make up to him what I had done to him.
I encourage his outreach to BMan groups and camps.
But why does he have to explore what I consider to be my world? He divorced me in part because of this, now he wants to share in it?
I do not quite know why I do the things I do. There's a streak of impulse that runs through me and it coils up tight, then springs loose at random times.
Like buying him a ticket. He's like a boy, anticipating Christmas. He'll be at the regional. He's already volunteered to be a greeter there.
Today I offered use of my rental to someone I don't know. A friend of someone else's friend, a "fellow Burner in need" whose GF dumped him with no way home so he's saving money and such while he figures this out.
Tomatillos are sticky. Don't rub your eyes after deveining and deseeding jaleps and poblanos. Pork cubes are slick and greasy.
Touchscreen phones that tend to get lots of text messages and phone calls as you make chile verde will get gooey.
Roast the peppers and some garlic cloves. Saute the pork in olive oil, salt & pepper. Deglaze, scraping, and then saute onions and chopped garlic in the meaty-fatty liquid. Blend the roasted peppers and garlic, some cilantro until finely chopped and well mixed.
Put it all together with chicken stock, fresh oregano, cloves.
Not everyone who signed up was there. A trio of the old guard was, though, and the transgender female took charge. She ran it like a corporate seminar, acting as though we were all clueless newbies. Several triads were there who had been practicing the lifestyle for years. Everyone had read all the books on it. That did not phase the trans. With her masculine voice she commanded the room, eliciting responses to her questions and we dutifully complied.
E came, although I had not told him about it. J was surprised and maybe nervous. I smiled around, hugging everyone.
Funny thing. A work meeting for a camp I may join during the weekend D1 will be visiting. Was going to take D1 and make him grit his teeth through it, because I want to get "in" with this camp, just in case.
F plans to go to same work meeting. Warned F about D1. F's stomach is twisting. I figure he can work his way through it emotionally well before. If not, then I have D1 drop me at meeting and go find things to photograph for a few hours.
We live in interesting times, we do.
Another meetup, this a part of a regular monthly thing started up by the New Order. The Old Guard did not previously go to these. They're on the radar now, though and the OG showed up last night. They behaved, but kept to a clique instead of participating.
This one was more enjoyable, but still onerous. Run like a support group. I can see value in it, but the value for me was just in meeting interesting new people. E showed up to this one and flirted with R. J and I got to chat a bit more, too.
Young, she rebuffed them, lying "I have a boyfriend." It seemed to work; they'd go away sad, but not feel rejected.
Maturing, she wondered. Now married, but lonely, she wished for the attention. They were gone, likely married themselves. Did they pay attention to their wives?
Now she was past the middle years and the journey to old age was a short one. She was single. Their marriages also over, they returned; she welcomed them. "I have two boyfriends but I like you. Let's go dancing."
A phase of life. What will old age bring her?
It's not that I am not a late night person. It's that I am an early morning person. I've arranged my work life so that I go to the gym, then get to the office early, ahead of others, get lots done. That makes me tired around the time most of the world is getting ready to do stuff.
I slept poorly last night, but got up anyway. I plan to be out very late tonight. I plan to work out and work tomorrow. I plan to go out tomorrow night, late.
This will prove challenging to my emotional stability.
Not waxing or anything, but a Carnaval type event in the downtown part of the smaller city where I live. Percussion, sexy ladies dressed in sparkles and feathers, hot men in fedoras dancing the samba, live music.
Loads of fun, especially the people watching. One extraordinarily beautiful, sexy woman with a ripe behind that would not stop wiggling in time to the complex beats, resplendent in silver and white, her cocoa skin glowing beneath the lights. Another equally beautiful, muscular woman, larger, taller, wearing loose flowing white pants, precise steps, ripe breasts bouncing. And the men, so hot!
It was supposed to be a day of preparation work, not actual work. Alas, a co-worker called, needing my help. Three hours of mind-numbing effort and all my plans for solar power equipment are set aside again.
I progressed no further on my costumes. Did no el-wiring for my jacket, nor hat. Housework and the one trip to the craft store were all I could manage.
Flocking job. Couldn't turn the guy down. Lord knows he'd rather not be working on his Saturday either.
Social outings are boundless! Invite to a yoga event next weekend. Yikes.
The final weekend to this month. Spring is here. Hot sunshine baked me as I hiked, a moderate climb/walk to near the top of a craggy range. A scooped out cave-like shelter proved the destination and we paused, admiring the view, sitting amidst buzzing bees that paid us no mind, watching tiny squirrels eyeing the dogs and people warily, hoping for food.
Next month will be here soon and I was put in mind this day of another Sunday, one in March, the sun just as caressing. Warm, exciting companionship then.
So much, so far. So wonderful. <3
She chose to open their marriage. She retracted it briefly when he got a serious girlfriend; he went along. She found a new love and opened it up again. He went along. Now he's found me and, dare I say it, is quite enamored. At first, she pushed him along; it meant more time with her new guy and less guilt I'm thinking. After our one outing, she is having second thoughts. Apparently he's more awash in excitement.
She talks a good story but I wonder if she has what it takes.
I'm intrigued; not certain I want to be amidst.
A down evening, in several respects. "Down" as in finally an evening where I could lump around by myself without interruption. "Down" as in feeling glum.
There is no correlation. They coexist. I was looking forward to not having a plan. And a quick look at the calendar tells me the glum feeling ought to be expected.
So I lumped. And reveled in the lumping. Indulged myself. A little mindless television. A long hot bath. A glass of wine. Some moping here and there. A tear or two.
Rational or not, sometimes it's good to indulge.
Just a tingle of energy. Is that so bad? Odd to have gone from nothing, through gradual warmth, to launch into the flash of energy.
The clinician in me catalogs the chemicals that are in motion. The manager in me lists the issues, the reasons it ought be nothing more than a brief flash. The romantic in me swoons a little, smiles a little.
The part of me that has a nearly perpetual longing, however, feels a snag of guilt, to enjoy this one, when what I want is you.
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