she's just saying...

Never mind

Thank god for being over 50. You come to your senses fast. A moment of weakness, that's all.

So, what about those Phillies? Quite the soggy mess. Makes me glad I don't live back east any more. Sunny and brisk here today - it's a beautiful autumn.

I really appreciate you guys. Just saying...

Let's get back to our knitting.

The Definition of Insanity

Insanity: Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results - Albert Einstein

I can honestly say that I've only made one mistake in the last four years. However, I just keep making it over and over.

Maybe this time, it will be different.

Top 10: manly qualities edition

I recently read an article about how you can manifest your ideal man by identifying and writing down the 100 desired traits you're looking for. (This was not in a trashy magazine. Really.) 

Sounds like casting a spell with eye of newt and hair of dog, but less messy. So, here are:

Top 10 qualities I look for in a partner.

(If I list only 10, does that mean I'll get only 1/10th of a man?)

1. Intelligence. This is the deal-breaker. I've met a lot of nice friendly guys, but they just don't have it upstairs. I'm not talking about academic intelligence, but the ability to understand, challenge, and stimulate.
2. Sense of humor, of course. I remember saying: "Everything he says makes me laugh, even when it's stupid." My friend Hans replied that's what every guy hopes to hear. Maybe I'm just simple-minded.
3. Compassion. Kindness, caring, warmth, tolerance; however you put it, it's another deal-breaker, really. I could never date a man who's rude to a waiter, as a minor but telling example.
4. Chemistry. Since my mom occasionally reads my blog, I'll leave it at that. Crucial, but is occasionally misleading. I'm just saying.
5. The ability to dredge up a positive attitude, even in the face of discouraging situations.
6. Energy. Vim, vigor, drive, what have you. Not a slug.
7.  Self confidence. Not the in-your-face kind, but the ability to trust and like oneself.
8. Able to give and receive support -- it's the basis of a partnership.
9.Open to commitment. To me. (Well, that rules out the last eight guys I've been involved with. Hmmm, could that possibly be a pattern of some kind?)
10. Passion. Of all kinds, for all kinds of things.

Reading this over, I realize this quite accurately describes Neighbor X. With the notable exception of #9, of course. Am I asking too much?

That was quick.

My interest in dating, that is.

One evening spent making small talk with a stranger was all it took to remind me of how incredibly rare it is to find that special connection with someone. It wasn't that bad, really  -- it was similar to sitting next to a pleasant, but boring, person on the plane, chatting and not knowing how to end the conversation. I wish I had the balls moxy of Ellen Barkin in "Sea of Love:" "I don't feel it with you: I can tell like that" with a snap of the fingers, get up and leave and save us both from a boring hour or two.

Just think of the knitting I could have accomplished!

Oh well. Good to have done it, I suppose. Reminded me that it's not my thing.

Back to the Buddhist nun's existence.

The Big D

D is for Dating. Yikes.

I've jumped back into the pool, though into the shallow end (in more ways than one). I met someone for a drink last night, and am meeting another someone Saturday pm. I'm not looking for a relationship right now [well, maybe I am], just the opportunity to get out and mingle with people of the male persuasion. Oh, the horror!

It's not so bad. Gets me cleaned up and out of the house, and it's good to feel attractive again after that long slow rejection. It's definitely an investment of time, energy and makeup.

I'm guessing most of my readers are long past this silliness, and happy about it. Any encouraging words?

Thoughts on being single

It's not easy to be single in Bend, the ultimate family town. It's not so bad if you're in your twenties, as there are a lot of snowboarders/mountain bikers/climbers/beer bongers/computer geeks to hang out with. It's when you're in your 40's and 50's and with a younger child that things get really tough. Older single guys have already left a family behind in most cases, and just want to be footloose again, partying, traveling and "taking long walks on the beach." (It's only two hundred miles away...)

But lest I sound negative, there's a lot to be said for being a middle-aged single parent. (Whee - sounds like fun, doesn't it?) I cook for Henry and myself only, and if I don't feel like it, I don't. I'll eat cheese and crackers or nuke something and he'll be quite happy with mac and cheese from the box (plus broccoli, of course!). We do whatever we want on weekends, whether it's hanging out watching sports and cartoons or heading out for an adventure. Nobody's asking for my time and attention, other than cats and dogs and Henry, all of whom are easy to please. And I have the bathroom/closet/kitchen/TV/bed all to myself, to be as indulgent as I want. There's no negotiation, compromise, misunderstandings or power struggles. It's all about me, and Henry.

OK, on the down side, no cuddles of the adult kind, other parental type to take over when H has got me beat, someone to do the dishes while the other does the bedtime struggle, no one to fix the disposal or lift out the air conditioners. For the heavy lifting, I rely on neighbors; the rest I shoulder by myself. It can be a little isolating, but at least I know what I can count on.

Reading this, I realize it portrays a somewhat negative view of marriage as a state of struggle, disappointment and appeasement. Yeesh - no wonder I'm single. But finally, really, I'm getting to be okay with it, and even pretty comfortable. You know my mantra: You Can't Have Everything.

Therefore, it's important to ac-cen-tuate the positive, e-lim-inate the negative and pour yourself another glass of wine.

Feels so good...

...feeling good again. Two months seems to be the ticket. What once was a painful ache is now a pang of regret. Whadda ya know?  It really does take time. "Every day, in every way..."

These days, work, Henry, kittens, dead fish (yes, he seems to have succumbed), baseball, knitting, work events, flag football practice, homework and oh yes, work seem to be filling my plate. I'm very happy with the new job - it's just right. I'm energized by it and challenged, and feel I can contribute substantially while learning new things, all critical criteria for the easily-bored. It's good to learn once again that I actually do like working, after the slow painful wind-down of Edge and an aimless summer.

This is turning into a catch-up blog, what with all the self-referential links. So, to round things out, Oreo is going under the knife on Tuesday, then is moving in with some friends of ours, so we get to see him grow. Some regrets, but right now he's in the pouncing and biting phase, so it's a little easier. It's actually kind of scary to have a very fierce kitten, claws out, determined to jump on your face and bite you. Over and over. Everyone's a little nervous around him right now.

Can I be done? and other questions

 How long does it take to get over a broken heart?  I've been trying to follow the recommendation from a great self-help book, which is not to have contact with your ex for 60 days. I've done pretty well with that, aside from some tipsy hugs during the concerts last weekend and a few text messages about baseball. It's good advice, but really hard to follow when you live three doors away. It doesn't seem to have helped, anyway.

Why does it still hurt as much as it has the last eight times we broke up? Shouldn't I be getting used to this? The heart's capacity for hope, denial and forgiveness is amazing - I keep testing the limits and not finding them. Self-preservation does kick in finally, thankfully. But the fact that it's the right thing to do doesn't make it any easier to take.

How do I get past this?  The most random things trigger a pang: a song, a trip to the farmer's market, an article I've read, turning down the wrong street, hearing a baseball score. But as Kathi says, there are things that help. Meditation, pets, friends, children, projects, compelling work; all contribute to getting through the day, and I'd even say that overall I'm happy. But the tears of a clown, etc.

Does love ever come without pain? Based on the empirical evidence I've gathered from the last thirty years, I'd have to say no. Maybe in the next thirty . . .

To my lovely lurkers

Alright, you people. What's it going to take to get you to comment on this blog? Other than that Chatty Kathi, my bro, Amber and the occasional work/knitting bud, I never hear nothing from nobody. Are you all mute? (What's the computer equivalent of mute - keyboard-challenged?)

Sorry, just had to go off there. I do appreciate your readership, however silent. Seriously though, I'm getting a complex. Actually, yet another complex. And I already have plenty, what with only dating younger men who won't commit. But that's another post.

The absence of pain

Soaking in my hot tub tonight, I was thinking about all the times I had been there before, deeply in love and deeply in pain. I was struck with a realization. Sometimes, just a little, I miss the pain of breaking up.

I know that might disturb and perplex a few. You'll have to trust me when I say I'm not a masochist. I have a healthy sense of self-preservation and regard and (now and then) know what's best for me. Things are fine, everything's going alright, life is nice. I enjoy the simple pleasures of family, home and friends and spending time with myself: I enjoy my company. And I'm proud of myself for getting out of that destructive cycle of "make up to break up" (yes, I grew up in the 70's). But still . . .

Tonight I realized that that intense emotional state, be it love or pain, has left a sort of dullness now that it's gone.

Maybe this is what it's like to recover from addiction. Both the highs AND lows were somehow meaningful - the pleasure/pain receptors were firing and all that. Of course I don't wish for it to come back, and god forbid I ever go through that pain again. But I was feeling something deeply, and I guess I miss that intensity.

I may read this in disbelief tomorrow. But tonight, I just don't feel much of anything, and it's not just the wine.

Over it

The spell has broken. The hook has come out. The chain has snapped. Pick your metaphor: I'm over it.

It is my on and off, drama-filled, wonderful/miserable relationship with my neighbor down the street. We were best friends and soulmates, but one of us couldn't commit long-term (as in: more than six months). He is sixteen years younger, but that's no excuse.

Yes, yes, I know: how many times have I said "This time it's really over!"? I won't even say it this time - maybe it's a jinx to my efforts to get past it. But this time it really feels different (I know, I've said that too). Only time will prove me right or wrong. My heart is on the mend, though there's still a bruise where it's been broken.

Meanwhile I'm out to keep digging my way to China. Primal, muddy, exhausting, satisfying work!

How not to get over him

1. Keep his number on speed dial

2. Follow his baseball team, even though it's National League

3. Let your dog hang out with him

4. Ask him for help with your bird feeders

5. Calculate his time zone when he travels

6. Leave his photos on your screen saver

7. Picture the three freckles under his eyebrow

8. Take an afternoon nap together

9. Return his texts when he's out with his friends

10. Let him make you Sunday dinner

11. Wear your lucky skirt

12. Open a second bottle

    

Over time

This is one measure of how well I'm doing: the amount of time that passes after waking before I think about him. A few months ago, it was one and a half seconds. As soon as I opened my eyes in the morning, that crushing weight came down on me and stabbed me in the chest. To mix my painful metaphors.

Now, I go about 45 minutes. I get up, feed the dog and cats, let them out, make coffee, check email, go get the paper... oh. There's his house. Wonder what he's doing.

Yes, living three doors away would not be my recommended strategy for getting over someone. But no one is moving, so you deal with it. I always knew this part would be hard. When I lie on my son's bed at night singing a lullabye, I can see his doorbell light through the darkness. Out my window when I shower, when I'm in the garden. Seeing the blue light from the TV.  It's hard to avoid his house and therefore his presence, which stirs up my my memories and regrets.

I'm feeling happy and positive these days. Enjoying the simplicity of my life and the peace I've found. And I sing along with that Lucinda Williams song playing in my head:

"I guess one afternoon
You won't cross my mind
And I'll get over you
Over time."

Breakups...

suck.

Just when you think you're ok, you get blindsided out of nowhere by the realization that it's over. Of course, you somehow only remember the sweet moments and completely forget the misery of the bad.

Which would you rather have, the pain in the relationship or the pain of it being gone?

Moot point, as it is over, and is not coming back.

Which you know rationally is a good thing, but which means nothing when your heart is broken.

Labels: pov