bait and switch

an enthusiastic caller responding to my resume. "we have something for which you'd be just perfect. let's meet asap." little black skirt, heels, etc. the mortgage purse. (i keep thinking i'm actually glad i bought this stuff *then* since i never could *now*.)

we cast and bob. i smile, i'm charming, i'm engaged.

lots of questions about my former celebrity chefs. i answer diplomatically about how tough they were, yet "gee, what a rewarding challenge," blah blah.

this last expedition was especially unsavory. a growing group with several new places in the works and clearly successful within a pretty narrow concept. could do it in my sleep kinda thing. there's a voice in my head, nagging though, because i've met 2 of the 3 partners over the years and know they're dicks. (add in unbearable princesses for wives.) but i have visions of eventually being the buyer for all the stores. perfect.

initial guy seems very nice. passionate about food and service. has been with them 2 years. we twirl around and around and i hear the same questions. it's common knowledge my previous employers are notorious assholes. why make me lie? at last we come to money. i say a number. we dance around some more. an hour ago i knew i'm overqualified for what they actually need, and the bait he dangled before doesn't exist.

"any other questions before i get the director of operations?" (the behind the scenes partner i've never met.) "am i in the ballpark with salary or not?" hems, haws, "uh, mr. x will discuss that with you." i was ready to leave then.

mr. x arrives promptly and... i instantly hate him. he tries to disparage my previous restaurants and wine lists. tacky. then admits to never having been to 2 of them when i corner him politely. rude. he jogs me for industry gossip. ruder still. i finally say, "look, can we talk about what you have to offer me?" he offers $20,000 LESS than i lobbed. high school drop-outs who start as entry level managers at fucking mcdonald's make more. i stare at him, and say that's not possible for me. "well, what if we pay 1/2 your insurance?" i nearly fall off the chair when i realize the miserly crumbs didn't even include benefits. all the while he has barely made eye-contact. he knows this is absurd, and is basically offensive. "to be honest, i'm looking to move forward, mr. x, and that would be a giant backward step, so if that's the best you can do..." "wait, wait, let me think if i know of anything else..." he's staring at my resume like a leprechaun with a pot of gold might leap out of it.

he tosses out, "well, so-and-so--" i cut him off, already knowing where that project is headed. "mr. x, i thank you for your time, but --" he tries yet again to make me stay and asks me more gossip. finally i stand up. it's done. if i stay i'll either start laughing or punch him. "thanks for your time, good luck, mr. x, blah, blah."

these aren't the first guys to do this. in such a relatively small town, with such a tightly incestuous industry, why are they calling me just to meet me? to see if i'll talk smack about guys everyone knows are jerks? to give them free advice, rather than paying a consultant? isn't it counterintuitive to look at my experience and offer me the equivalent of burger-flipping? oy vey. it's an industry that survives on very thin margins, however i am not being unreasonable in my expectations. i'm not leasing myself into serfdom.

finally i'm no longer naieve enough to take the bait and wind up with a mouthful of mud. i can wait.

words of others

i've tried. really i have. so many "trust in the power of the lord." or indulgences of children. (actually good they're trying to write --wonder if they ever get help to make it better?) or words that seem to be written by kids but instead by barely literate adults. some are from the perspective of a pet or an infant. undoubtedly charming to the owner of said cuddly creature, but not much to bring me back.

i don't delude myself i'm fascinating, and i know introspection isn't a big draw, lol. at least my navel-gazing has proper spelling and grammar, and i'm 100% certain i've never posted *anyways*, or *irregardless*.

months ago i stuck a cork in the wine sites. all those armchair parkers in love with hot heavy california fruit-bombs just made me wanna bang my head on the monitor. i'll no longer wonder why residual sugar increases every vintage and so many wines i can't get past a few sips.

so, my next expedition was for good food boards and blogs. the food sites are peopled mostly by folks who can barely make ice, and if something is finished with a cream sauce it's automatically elegant. at least once a week: "help! my chili is too spicy/salty/soupy!" or "can i freeze bread?" it's wonderful they want to learn, but i'm not. i do get a lot of "oh! i never would have thought of that!", so apparently i'm at least helpful. yes, i know i'm jaded because my palate hasn't been deranged by krispy kreme and olive garden gluttony, but there is that frustrating element of lacking common sense. they don't seem to know how to use google or even the internal search engines. the same 4 or 5 cookbooks are bibles, which is very tiresome. how many times do they need to talk about marcella hazan's lemon chicken? stop bitching about how annoying rachel ray is and turn off the tv. is emeril holding a gun to your head and making you watch the food network?

my frustration with blogs is the same. (food blog = flog? hmmm.) apparently there are new photo widgets that make publishing those easier, and i have seen some very appealing shots. i guess they're all used to eating dinner cold, lol. but they're very remedial cooks and all link circularly to the same handful of blogs. occasionally the ny times will reference one. i'm always shocked to find those littered with typos and crappy writing too. such lax standards, et tu, gray lady? i've yet to find one that's a keeper and i've visited dozens.

michelin sent me links to a few french food blogs. some have absolutely salacious gastro porn for pix. happily, my french is so lousy, i can't tell if the writing is good or bad, lol.

i just need less time on my hands.

early

it's early
it's quiet
it's cold
it's bright

i don't mind this kind of alone
so much

the heart to the sun

come to me and sing
of when we had wings
my heart's so broken
i'll believe anything

has the time come at last
to speak of those things?
fiery rings
cabbages and kings
is it all too far in the past?

do you see me flying?

may i?
should i?

can i?

whom do i ask?
i don't want to fly alone

doubting the noodle

it's been the elephant in the middle of the room that is my head. pain in other contexts is a desireable stimulus for me, but that from self-examination is certainly easier to avoid than inflict. however socrates ( i always hear the bill and ted pronunciation of that! lol) has been whispering persistently in my ear an awful lot lately, so, alright already!

the ho part? long ago integrated. so many women are conflicted by their inherent sexuality that it baffles me. if my liberated libido is too much for a man, he's not the right guy for me. it's primal, i like it, i want it. easy. i'm no longer willing to have love and a mediocre sex life. eventually i know things will wane as the machines start to slow, but the philosophy needs to be shared, so he doesn't fear or despise the wanton slut on his hands.

the toy part? fine with that as well. i've never needed a love connection to have sex or enjoy the company of a man. if he can keep up his end of the conversation, it's nice to be around the testosterone. i definitely prefer it to estrogen-scented evenings. he's just as much my barrel of monkeys as i am his.

the noodle part? ah. herein lies the doubt. granted the editor is the verbal equivalent of a rocket scientist, so that's shaken me a bit. as i've mentioned i keep up, but rarely best him. i don't like coming in 2nd place with quips and quotes! (waah-waah) but i've been thinking it's more macro than just him and his constantly cartwheeling brain.

i've always identified my *self* with what i *do*. those other personal connections that round out most people's lives either don't exist for me, or are tenuous at best. i'm not a mother. i'm not a wife. i'm not a sibling. my role as granddaughter and daughter is so conditional, so tortured, i act it out as infrequently as possible. (yes, more pain avoidance.) i am a friend, and i like to think a good one. although long-time friends lead much different lives, with exactly the kinds of tethers i don't have. obviously we relate differently than when we all were single and they were yet to have kids. more locally, i do have a few very close friends, and i am grateful for that.

it's long been my job that kept my noodle limber and engaged. delightful that sensuality and learning are both nearly equal parts of what i like and get paid to do. i spend time with incredibly passionate people and it's thrilling. i get to spread my excitement in an honest and true way. my wine fairy wand is getting dusty, and that's why i feel adrift.

my resume gets lots of "wow!", but i've yet to feel "wow" on the inside from anything so far offered. my fingers are in several stew pots, so it's not exactly a barren pantry. i'm just getting restless.

a conversation long ago with a friend who'd recently had a baby after many years of trying has been ringing in my head. she had decided to quit work and become a stay-at-home mom. she warned me not to let my work define my life. well, now that's all i've got.

nope

not tonight. no way.

my skin blotchy. my eyes so swollen and red it hurts to see. i can't bear the thought of an ice pack even though my face is so hot and puffy. the sadness has resurfaced in such a jagged and consistent way, just trying to type this the spigot opens anew. i can't be lively and fun and pretend i'm fine.

sometimes it's ok to skip a day. i only wish it had made me feel better.

i'll stay in and rest up for the other schmoozerama tomorrow. skirt, heels and champagne. i can do that. tomorrow. not today.

dinner at the club

finally. the editor will be out west mingling with futurists and ceos, so wanted to do something nice for me before leaving.

it was even prettier inside than i'd thought. lots of oil paintings of guys in wigs and their sons in cravats. plush, posh, velvetty and seats and tables with curvy legs. surprising buzz in the room. i'd expected it to be far more hushed. great fun eavesdropping: stravinsky, mesopatamia, elizabeth I. brains all around. i counted only 3 other women out of about 75 people, lol.

i've eaten all over the world, but it was my first time getting a "ladies' menu," which i found quite funny and yet charming. poor waiter was definitely harried and the manager looked grumpy. i liked the food, the wines were good, the single malt smoky and just sweet enough while he had some ice cream thingie. we were ensconced in a corner by the window which felt romantic and nicely intimate. really, it was a lovely evening, followed by some very good hitty stuff.

he had a very early flight.

i cried and cried on my bed.

changing the clocks

we did it early this year. my understanding is that the leisure industry, like guys who make bbq grills and own golf courses, will net a much bigger gain than any savings felt by the environment. expenditures of oil, gas and electric will simply be shifted to the morning hours when kids get ready for school and their parents head to work. no surprise the bushies caved to guys in ties and the earth is left in the dust.

my internal clock has always been better calibrated to the night-hours. my inclination to owlishness has always served me well in my profession. when most people are heading home to the evening news, my *day* is just starting. winding down afterwards can be hard, but i seem to do ok on just 6 or 7 hours, and try to maintain the discipline of not sleeping too late.

when i remembered saturday night that it was time to spring ahead, it was an ugly awakening that i'd basically been ghosting around the apartment, and it was now 4:30 in the morning. i realized i'd been creeping later and later, closer to dawn these last few weeks. it's so bright so early in here that most of my sleep had been interrupted and fruitless. ah, yes, no wonder i've been so cranky and edgy.

i set an early alarm and although groggy and fuzzy-headed, began the day. the vernal equinox is soon, so i'll reset the infernal clock within to enjoy the coming season.

in a parallel universe

recently read that 2 in 3 american white women "worry" about being homeless, but only 1 in 3 black women share that same doubt. this entry is not to ponder the why or the who. however, the threat of losing my home -- that equity, that work, that future -- has loomed very large for too long. (yeah, yeah other stuff too, stop digressing!)

leaving work tonight i detoured through chinatown. what drew my eye southwards to the alley, i'm not sure. i saw an unguarded shopping cart, piled high. on the top several bags from my formerly favorite shoe emporium. (been so long, don't even know...) the inner basket a jumble. the bottom? that part that often carries potting soil or kitty litter? 2 wooden crates: a 1997 far niente cabernet sauvignon and a 1989 mouton rothschild. just the crates, mind you, (full of who knows what) but i got instant gooseflesh wondering whence, why, who, wtf? both those unicorn wines sell for small fortunes and are critics' darlings. the cruel irony of seeing them as suitcases for a homeless guy was overwhelming.

i now know who to look for if everything i own winds up in a sack.

quotable

love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get — only what you are expecting to give — which is everything. what you will receive in return varies. but it really has no connection with what you give. you give because you love and cannot help giving.

~~katherine hepburn

i was born with an enormous need for affection, and a terrible need to give it.

~~audrey hepburn

i adore them both. i wonder if they knew how similar they sometimes seemed?

the view from here, cont'd.

the editor was on tv tonight. it's a monthly spot that he films in advance, but he seemed far more at ease this time than last. he was smart and wry and just the way i like him. the way he mostly is.a few nights ago i was out with a friend and i said: "i guess i could start using his name, rather than calling him *the editor*." my friend replied, "oh dear, well, he's very important!" which made me feel squirmy and weird, cuz he is. it's the first time in my life i've ever felt unsure of myself because of the man's position. he moves in the circles of international intellectual power. yet he thinks i'm smart too. can't i accept the opinion of a man whose brain is so esteemed?

he's yet to stump me, which has him both fascinated and frustrated, lol. it's funny because we both dive into the same pools of interest. the g.c. and i had some divergent mental pursuits, but the editor and i seem to travel the same thorny mental paths. i suppose i should feel flattered that i keep up. but all that harvard mingling and nyc intelligentsia hobnobbing winds around me like acrid smoke. i hold my own with him, and have no doubt i'd do just fine at cocktails. other than tolerating the pretense.

from whence comes the doubt?

the secret life of bees

last night boiling away, i pondered further on my accidental monogamy...

previously, when i was between being in love, i was quite promiscuous. the more the merrier, man to man, a busy bee gorging in the field. always had an apartment with a front door and a back door to allow for an unplanned hasty exit. (lol, never a conscious part of deciding to sign the lease, but a surprising constant, nonetheless.)

i remain in a state that even the most inadvertent of pokes can unexpectedly enrage the hornets within me and unleash something i can't control. so no need to be passing out all kinds of sticks.

finally i am comfortable enough that the sincere affirmation from one is sufficient. i had worried that confidence might have been an exclusive dynamic with the g.c., but now i know not. it helps that the editor seems too gentle to sting.

other folks

it's very hard to know what our friends and family truly think of us. they look one way, say something palliative, then we process what we like. we do know they probably want us to be happy and unhurt.

over dinner a dear friend expressed dire concern. shouldn't i be rutting all over town? why wasn't i busy jacking myself all over the city? frankly i hadn't thought of it consciously. without deliberate intent, i've slipped into essential monogamy with the editor. no declaration is forthcoming, but i'm ... content.

my friend was concerned i was too soon off devastating heartbreak to know what i was doing. he truly worried that by limiting myself to one guy, i might be more prone to be hurt. i assured him i'm fine. my wall is strong. as much affection, excitement and respect i feel for the editor, i know it's not yet love. it doesn't really matter why or why not, ya know?

i feel mostly happy most of the time.

my job hunt, though slow, feels positive too.

the editor likes me and i like him.

i'm mostly ok with these small steps.

i wouldn't run away from a lightning strike though.

to: the next one

a grieving man who'd lost his dear girl wondered what we'd all like the dying one to tell the next. clearly in a perfect world of no hurt and honest acceptance of the inevitable. not to mention loving another more than one's self.

someone whom i admire very much offered this (her husband committed suicide while she was pregnant):

As for me, I wish he could have told those to come, "Don't believe her when she says she's not a masochist. She is, and she'll hurt herself worse than you ever could."

it made me crumple and cry. awfully.

the resonance of how hard i am on myself; the wall i continue to erect, all the while aching for closeness; the abject loneliness of nights and mornings when i just want long arms and legs surrounding me; the stingy grasp i keep on my heart.

the mascara smeared sobs of fucking now.

the editor has been tender and cruel. offered me degradation and safety. he challenges me and makes me laugh. he accepts me and is amazed by me. he wants all of me but knows he can only have what i'll give.

i find myself wondering what i would do if he demanded more. i *think* i would feel relieved, and just give it. but i *know* he wouldn't dare. not yet.

i realize i still don't quite know how to do this.

epicaricacy, part two

happily taking the long route on a sunny day, i realized i wanted to avoid a particular street, it being where my most recent ex-chef lives. not wanting to tempt a dark cloud, i skipped it, then continued up and west. a couple blocks later, i glimpsed a beater of an old blue pick-up forcing its way into a spot still clogged with ice. window shopping and people watching so only partly aware, but i did notice the driver was now on foot, unsteady and troubled by the frozen mounds covering the curb.in the split second it took him to fall, i realized who he was. i watched him struggle like an overturned beached walrus. i can only hope the wretched old bastard broke his hip.

market value

when she asked my price a few weeks back, her eyes popped out and she cried with glee, "we thought we could never afford you!" DOH! it was too late to up the ante. upon reflection, although they seemed nice, the job wasn't enough of what i want. so good practice and a quick lesson in worth.

i've been told i'm overqualified and also offered jobs i don't want because they assume that's where i must be headed. in fact not. my time off and self-evaluation were worth having. it indeed was them, not me. i'm very good at what i do, and they caused the crises of faith through toxicity. the poison is purged and i'm ready. i have a special skill set and a passion to match. not everybody wants to use it. that's ok too. i can and will hold out for the right fit, and be far more clear about understanding philosophies and expectations. these last guys turned my boat completely around 6 months later. i can't tolerate that again.

yesterday's meet went great and i think this is the *one* for me. next week i talk to the money people so have the weekend to determine my price. i can always ask, doesn't mean i'll get. but i know now to start much higher than i thought. that feels good.

when i grow up...

i wanna be a ... what?

• long ago lost my "change the world" cherry
• lately, the right stuff has definitely been rubbed off astronaut
• i can carry a tune, but britney's meltdown is getting all the press
  
• too old to sleep my way to starlet status
  
• too smart for trophy wife (plus i think you hafta live with the guy then)
• already broken more bones and sustained more concussions than a rodeo clown (ack, that last head ding last month still ain't good n' right)
• retain a shred of dignity, so reality tv is a no-go
• don't like numbers, so forget bookie
  
• not mean enough for metermaid...

the timing of my firing was just right to afford me some, but not too much, time off. the holidays, followed by a mental inventory, then a nasty head bang. i needed it. (well, not that last thing.) i felt so truly conflicted because i'd felt so negative and beaten for so damned long. everyday, i dreaded going to work. knowing i'd see the chef made it that much worse.

was it me? after time to reflect, talking with industry people and some practice interviews (they thought i was for real) i now am sure it was him. them. i hated what he wanted me to do, and hated doing anything for him. the money-fuck and its subsequent poverty didn't help. the suspicion, distrust, paranoia and lack of positive feedback didn't help either. it had nothing to do with me. the nail in that c.v. coffin was when a potential boss last week remarked, "shit, you've worked for the biggest assholes in the city." what the hell is the right answer there? lol.

astonishing that men so successful could be so miserable. i've written previously about the special genetic mutation that makes celebrity chefs. your business rakes in dough, and you are the toast of the town for the thing you've dreamed about since you were a kid, YET you're still a miserable dick...? i know i can never wander down that path again. as much as i admire their genius for food (not so much these last 2, ick ~~ when in doubt add pork or butter... better yet, both!), they are sociopaths. i will never subject myself to that again. however, i am unwilling to surrender the thing i love, the thing at which i excel, and the thing with which i identify most passionately. yet i almost did. i cannot allow myself to get sucked down in a mire of self-doubt ever again.

i will not move backwards or sideways. not financially or jobwise. i am too old to take ANY more reverse steps. now i know better than to accept promises of "better things to come" if, when, maybe. unless offered a written stake, in this business it's code for "haha, fuck you, you'll never see that money". i will not be undersold, lol.

the market is brisk, and i'm getting great responses. it really IS a good time to be looking, and it's nice to know i'm marketable, not damaged. funny feeling of power to have already rejected several offers. i've never felt like i *could* before, except in those cases of the most egregious turn-arounds or offense. weird feeling. self-determination. weirder still that nobody is helping, or mentoring. another bit of hidden strength. :)

the ice storm

ice, snow, sleet, savage wind, more ice. our first blizzard of the season was a doozy. it had been predicted for days, so i was all stocked up, waiting and warm.

i didn't foresee the late night storm that would blow through me though.

editor was early, and very disappointed the flowers were late; they arrived after he did! but they were a lovely unexpected indulgence and look charming on the table in the sun today. my favorite, tulips-- a promise of spring, endearing considering the weather. he had ordered roses, though, lol, so was a bit miffed! dinner was a triumph and the wine paired nicely. very delicate conversation about personal boundaries, and our individual methods for protecting them. he had, of course guessed some of mine, but to be generous, i offered some other nuances. it was scary, i think for us both, but good. and better. our repair upstairs was terrific and more ouchy than ever.

he drifted off easily as men seem always to do, and i cleaned up the last remnants of duck and dessert.

then it hit. i fled to the bathroom, shut the door and turned on the faucet. i burst into tears. on the floor, i sobbed and sobbed, the cat wending his way through my arms and my tears. my sadness was so urgent, i couldn't find or name its source. so i simply gave into it. i felt drained and empty and hurt. and foolish. at last i washed my face, had a bit more wine and joined him in bed.

sleep came quickly, so my personal squall was hard, but fast.

the day after, the sun is extra bright and bounces off the still clean snow, making the day seem to start just a bit earlier than usual. the same goes for me. plenty of job prospecting going on, dinner with the editor at one of my favorite spots, and another night of ouchies in the offing.

outside is frozen and covered with slippery dangerous and potentially vengeful ice. i know i'm not that way inside.

no woman, no cry, i guess, eh?

cupid's broken arrow

valentine's day.

yes, i'm jaded. roses triple in price and tons of candy gets bought. tiffany's and shreve's put on the screws too. restaurants gouge with overpriced prix-fixe, then overbook because of the deluge of penny-pinching deuces who don't meet a normal check average. too long watching too many couples feeling forced to make a "big night out" of it. too many men awkward in dress-up clothes, across tables from too many women with expectations too high. we'd often run pools betting on tears and/or break-ups.

the romance of it was sucked out even long before college, so this never was a meaningful day for me. later, definitely not one that mattered to the g.c. in regards to me. if conscious on his part, i don't know. i do know there were gifts and cards for the wife, and he's not unromantic. but that certainly wasn't my place. i didn't struggle with it, because it wasn't important to me.

so why is he heavy on my mind today? is it the simmering duck confit that's warming and scenting the loft? is it the mournful howling wind and jagged sleet outside? is it the smart charming funny man racing to see me, the one whom i cannot yet allow *in*?

when will come the day that i finally realize it's been *awhile* since i've thought of him? what's awhile anyway? i have yet to go more than a few hours. letting go, getting over... if i could only just put aside, that might help. i still can't reckon if i don't want to, or truly cannot.

ebullience and emotions

he's effusive. he's thrilled to see me and be with me. not in a suffocating kind of way, but in a charmingly sincere way. i think i'm finally past secretly thinking he's like that with everybody. he's been very honest about women in his past who ranged from very good to terrible fits. including his wife --who went from one to the other over their long marriage. how could they have slept side-by-side all those years and not had sex?

unaccustomed to such open displays it makes me... what? uncomfortable? insecure? cold? racking my brain, i know i've been with few men like that. with as much force as i could muster, i shoved most away. my reflex was a simmering soup of not *liking* him nearly as much, and honestly just feeling squirmy and embarrassed with such uninhibited displays of affection. my family doesn't really hug, ya know? of course too, there was the underlying foundation of not believing i was worth it. that is where some of my hesitation and doubt lies now. clearly, he sees value in me. i've gotten much better at relaxing into his casual easy gestures of fondness. yet i still feel an inner reserve. i know i'm holding back. i also know it's too soon for me to think of any man in terms of longer than a few days from now. his schedule is so packed though that weeks in advance he's carving out possible evenings.

he hasn't pressed too much for details, and i do worry that his perceptions of my former dynamic with the g.c. might be erroneous. i have corrected him on occasion, but i also worry that some things perhaps don't warrant discussion. perhaps just too private, in the past, or not relevant. i've explained i'm still finding my footing, both within myself, and within parameters of equal partnership. he's responded only with tenderness and fairness. he's no dummy and does see my hesitancy. he's also admitted having a tendency to push for something he wants very much and does not want to send me fleeing.

he's judging an essay contest in nyc, so won't return in time for dinner out. he's zipping back on the acela, blizzard be damned, to be with me tonight for valentine's day. it matters to him, and i respect that. he was still itching to take me out, but i finally convinced him we're better off staying in, warm and dry, instead of battling the nor'easter. hey! i got my way!!

i'm proud of myself for holding fast to myself. my heart remains mine and my responsibility. protecting it, letting it heal is a very big job. it will only be fixed when i no longer think of it as needing repair, lol.

tiny dancer

the board which was the shared forum for the g.c. and me had more than its share of smart cookies. ok, plenty of dummies too, and lots of folks with whom i disagreed. but a handful that "got it", and really made me think. i was always especially grateful for the sharp thinking outside my own head. it was a support network for some very thorny questions, and an outlet for my writing.

for months after the rent, i searched the web for stimulating fora. quelle surprise, much like real-life, perhaps even moreso, the internet is full of folks who shouldn't be allowed access to a keyboard, never mind the world wide web. food, wine, travel, books, writing... no matter my interest, i grew quickly bored with the generally remedial level of discourse.

the siren song of it called me back, and i dared to log on. i remain afraid of the spying crazy eye. as i suspected, she's still watching, and was on there recently. i will not post anything too specifically personal. yet i was missed by some very savvy insightful folks, whose brains i like. i missed them too. who has friends with whom you can discuss this stuff? while i tip-toe through relationship switzerland and kyoto re: the editor, i will keep the high road of discretion, but give myself a writing loophole.

the music remains at a low volume, and i realize i still am only taking the smallest of steps whilst reclaiming myself.

can i look in there?

spontaneous and wonderful dinner at the home of a couple i'm starting to get to know better. great pate and moroccan stew. lots of wine and laughing. wonderful time.

exiting the train and approaching the building, i looked up to my darkened windows. it was late enough that mostly everybody's apartment was dark anyway. but that lack of light meant... empty. suddenly i was filled with such despair. it was awful. it wasn't from being in the presence of spouses. there was nothing overtly romantic, or even tender, about them. more that "like an old slipper" energy. it wasn't a "reaction", i don't think, that caused the swaff over me. it felt so deeply internal.

i wanted so badly to be in someone's arms, just held. lie in bed, breathing softly together. not fucking, (well, jbf'ed, maybe.) maybe talking. or not. i cannot recall the last time i wanted companionship so badly. missing and wanting the g.c. was different, because it was specific to him. this was a genuine pang of lonely. these last weeks i have been overly solitary. even for me. overtly may be more precise there, having several times decided just to stay in, uncertain i could conjure up my life-of-party self.

so what then? it was such a decidedly physical sensation, perhaps i'm content to chalk it up to hormones. as my body starts to change, i'm thinking that "time of the month" may become more apparent, whereas in the past it's always been just another day. my emotions mostly held on an even keel.

today i feel better, and will spend the next several hours with a dear friend. the editor will be on a plane tomorrow, so i'm assured of both tender company and lots of bruising soon.

as i ponder my conclusion here, i can't help but wonder if i'm allowing myself to acknowledge my "self"? my wants, needs, desires. "my", "mine", "me".

me. hmph. fancy that.

warming and cooling trends

long overdue but now diligent, winter has finally settled in, with air so sharp and dry, you feel every breath. single digits and wind chills well past zero, my curious residential weather pocket still has some snow from the other day's brief squall. so finally it LOOKS like winter, even from inside.persistently, now stubbornly, i've yet to turn on my heat. yeah, concrete walls, residual therms from more profligate neighbors, and an occasional stew of something on the stove have kept the place above 66 so far. the leaky windows and gaping doorframes of the albatross made even that temp a near impossible dream. drafts and duvets the order of the day there. so now my goal is to go all winter without clicking on the thermostat. i feel a brief pang when i have a guest, but they all seem to be sufficiently active and don't notice. most say they're too hot, lol. men's motors are faster anyhow, right?

so where are they now?

teacher has gone back to his barbells and books. i knew even that mild version of me was more than he could handle. like nigel, my dial goes up to 11. on my amp, we were about a 3. but i could see the alarms go off for him when i said the word "cock". ffs, his was in me. what should i have called it? no worries. he was solid, but our worlds too different. pilot made a pit stop, which was yummy good. mr. minnesota and i are touching new ground via e-mail, which will expedite things on his next visit, and has made us both overly aroused all week, lol. for the longest time, way back when, i had a very fulfilling relationship with a guy who was in the merchant marine academy when we met, did some subsequent seafaring duty, then traveled for an oil company. i am best with guys who aren't around all the time, lol. our liason lasted many years, and was stress-free.

and then the editor...

he's practically melting what little snow is at davos, over-consumed with desire and wanting to have at me. again he's pressing to take me to his "club" for valentine's dinner. i fobbed it off when he mentioned it the first few times. but it matters to him. he wants to take me. he thinks that day/night/dinner is romantic and special. can i knock the bitch out of myself for a few minutes and accept that? the menu looks truly lovely, and he really wants to do something nice. my jadedness about the day can be left at the door, right? it's a private affair, set menu, well-heeled guests. so, you brittle bitch, put on a nice dress and go. sheesh.

hell, i can manage a fork nearly anytime, so i know it's not the "dinner", nor the "appearance" that's at issue. it's that he feels romantic about me and wants to show me. "show" me. make a point of it. prove to me i matter to him. involve me in his life with his colleagues. even to me, a rareified group of some of the country's most important heads (men...). he wants to share me with these people, and these people with me, and add me to his life.

i'm nearly crying typing this.

ok, now crying.

i've told him i'll go, and i'm weirdly looking forward. it will be the 1st time in a million years i don't work that day. i'll be very surprised if i can eat a thing.

it's been a very long time since i felt like a man put me first. more importantly, one who's acting in relation to something he "thought" i might like. that's undeniably sweet. i don't care about the food, i'm sure the wine will be lovely, so there.

meanwhile...

several time zones away...

masters of the universe convene...

the editor is in europe and in high guru mode. speeches/conferences in milan and venice, then capped this coming week with his annual uber-guru appearance at the world economic forum in davos. attendees? the bills -- both clinton and gates, tony blair, hrh of jordan, prince charles, the former president of iran, various oil and banking ministers and assorted kings; mega-ceos like those of goldman sachs, google, forbes, credit suisse, novartis... and the man i'm curently fucking. (qualify here with "most frequently", i guess.) he's "in the club" -- an irrefutable member of that exclusive group of the world's most influential thinkers and powerful movers.

a few weeks ago he texted me from a party where he and phillip roth were wearing the same tweed (he claimed to have a better tailor, lol) and the host, a pulitzer-prize winning author, was playing show tunes on his piano. he has published/edited several of the books on my shelves and many others i've read but no longer own. he has logged millions of miles and makes regular appearances both in print and on the tube.

his mind is lightning quick and he has amazing recall of snippets written and sung. spontaneous sonnets, limericks and quatrains roll off his tongue. our brains work in the same way: the progression internally obvious (to us) but too fast and broad to articulate to others. others to whom it seems haphazard or that we're not paying attention. thankfully, i recognized this right away, lol. he also knows the import of self-deprecation.

he's clearly smitten. i get dozens of rat-a-tat-tat e-mails and texts daily. he feels "romantically desperate" in venice without me. such an evocative phrase and in the past i've felt it too ...

he tells me i'm incredibly smart and funny... and sexy. he pines when we're apart, and he's ravenous when we're together. 15 years my senior, yet he recovers with little or no refractory period, claiming only one prior instance of that EVER. he relishes the whore in me and indulges the submissive masochist in me. when in boston, he wrestles his schedule to the ground to be with me.

he showers me with praise and affection, yet i am unsure of my personal footing. it took me weeks to inflate my cojones sufficiently to say i feel like he talks so much that i can't get a word in edgewise. he was quiet and reflective for a few, then shyly admitted he knows he does that and "by all means talk right over me!!" so i do, and it works, lol. i also see him making a very real effort to ask questions and listen. he actually confessed that he wanted me to be impressed with his position so i'd "like him"! a scared 16-year-old nerd remains trapped and anxious in a very grown-up and astonishingly successful man's slim body.

so, question to self: how much of this is him, and how much is me? for years, i was consciously (and sometimes forcibly) deferential to the g.c. at times i took a savage beating having forgotten my place. then i gratefully crawled back, vibrating with love and awe, and mindful not to repeat my mistake.

am i that different, or merely insecure because of "who" the editor is? he and i are brand-new. he remarked the other day how strife-free everything has been. i helpfully offered to manufacture some drama! i shall tread carefully and quietly. already i'm immensely pleased with myself for neither sabotaging nor avoiding what seems to be working.

i know i'm changed. here's just hoping it's for the better.

out on a limb

we'd exchanged witty banter both via e-mail and phone. his body was of heavenly doom. he looked boyishly handsome, was clearly quite smart and quickly funny. he seemed genuinely excited to meet me. what was stopping me?

it was all i could do to dress and drag myself there. kept repeating in my head, "but i don't feel like it." waah-waah-waah. it had been a dispiriting day with a disappointing job interview, and similar bad news for a friend whose sure-fire promotion seems to have gone pfft. we were having some wine, i was home, comfy in sweats, outside was bitterly cold, and i just didn't feel like i had much fake nice in me. sometimes just dredging up a little bit of faux frivolity can help me switch gears, and i knew that. whenever i felt cranky or grumpy on a day i was to see the g.c. i'd shove it away, because the last thing i wanted was to waste moments with him grousing or moping. shouldn't i give myself that same turn of respect? last year i had more than enough sad nights (and days) home alone. so i bucked up, put on a fail-proof outfit and lipstick, and braved the night.

i click-clacked in and he of course was already there, a veritable granite mountain of man. he sheepishly confessed having come to town early, because he was too excited and restless at home. he kept peeking down my blouse and had an easy smile and a very cute twinkle in his eye. within minutes i was glad i'd come. weird moment of another's alcohol-induced inappropriateness when a rather inebriated and unattractive woman seemed to be hitting on him. he thought it hilarious that all i could do was laugh. and also funny that i offered him to deck her to put an end to it, lol.

he was a slower mover than i, and certainly than the last few men with whom i've been. with them, the eventual fucking had been a given. he seemed sincerely caught off guard and kept saying he didn't "expect this". suddenly i was a teenage girl again, worried that i was being fast, and maybe i was blowing it with him. that conflict of, "sure, he'll fuck me but then decide i'm too loose to date." my brain decided just as swiftly that if he is that conservative, he's not right for me anyway.

he's a decent down-to-earth guy. recently divorced out of a 15-year but at last dead marriage. he shares custody of their kids. he switched to a much less lucrative career to be with them, instead of always on the road. he lives less than 20 minutes away. he's grounded and doesn't talk smack about his ex. his physical attributes aside, i could continue a very long list of why other women would kill to date him. other women. women with normal emotional wiring. so i can't help but wonder if that was the true cause of yesterday's foot-dragging. a good guy. yeah. me. with a good guy. can i do it? historically, i've always been the frightened angry villager, chasing them off with flaming sticks and pitchforks.

i've not been blogging much, because i'm still afraid to poke too deeply. but i'm beginning to think that my 4-year exercise in being proven worthless may be the catalyst for a very serious lesson in personal value.

that one tree...

that can't be seen for the forest.

he's in town for 2 nights for meetings. not exotic, nor foreign, just a couple of hours away. went to college here, same bands, same clubs. he's cute on-line and very entertaining on the phone. sure, he's in sales!

he
is
not
the
guy
in
the
picture.

it was only a backshot. nicely lit, shadows making the most of the carved manly angles. yeah, sure, shirt and tie. don't care. not him. he was attractive enough, but... if i'd seen "him"? nope, never. yeah, sure, shallow. how is that different from singling out a guy in a club or judging somebody by a real photo. i'm astonished that i didn't call him on it. nobody else will get that shot, lol.

then he said, "gosh, you're so awesome. i can't believe no guy has scooped you up and married you."

i nearly spat my drink.

he was 200 miles from home, cheating on his wife and kids, ignoring the safety of his country home, yet failed to see the irony in expressing astonishment on my singledom.

i had another cocktail, and offered him the chance to live up to his various boasts. it was fine enough. the sheets were nice. i came home. i will not see him again.

x marks the spot

often times there are things we want but can't afford. that budgeting isn't always financial.

i kept seeing it there. it was small, but important. like a gorgeous italian leather bag, it kept calling and calling till i finally went into the showroom. i looked at it numerous times, and finally got brave enough to hold it for a second. it felt hefty but not cumbersome. the time was not quite right, so i quickly returned it to the shelf. i hurried away, down the block.then it just came out. "my ex". the sky didn't rain scorpions, the rivers didn't run red with blood. the g.c. didn't come galloping in on horseback to proclaim it heresy and sweep me into his arms. so now i own it. it's mine.

the word had held so much weight, was fraught with so much painful finality that for all these months i simply could not utter it. couldn't even write it. my difficulty began at its very base-- he was never "my" anything, i was "his". gradually i've realized none of the dalliances give a damn why, or even if, he's the ex, as long as progress to their conquest isn't impeded. the editor is too constrained by midwestern methodist reticence to dare to ask. most he'll do is gently tease out a tidbit here and there, and i can see the wheels spinning in his huge brain -- trying to reconcile his perception of me with his image of "that". still i know he feels quite intrusive asking anything too specific. just as well. there can be no succinct nor quippy explanation. it was too different than what most consider love or even "right".

i'm still on the fence as to whether i'm richer or poorer with this acquisition. i do know it's a good long-range investment.

a personal census

making up the guest list for this sunday's soiree, i once again see how different my life is than most women, er, most people, my age. not that i'm unaware, but sometimes such clear enumeration makes me ponder. i've invited 4 gay men. 2 women of questionable sexuality -- both claim hetero, but sheesh, knock me down with a golf club, ok? 2 single straight women. both attractive and successful. one also just out of a messy relationship with a married man, and the other recently relocated 2000 miles and works 10 trillion hours as a restaurant gm. i did manage to butch it up a bit with 4 hetero men, but all are 1/2 of a married couple. of all these people, only one couple has kids, and lol, they are rock singers. hardly joe-and-jane minivan.

i've no doubt the editor would be delighted to come, although his habit is to spend fri-sun in nyc. i kinda want to show him off, international guru and all, (what's bill gates/george soros/phillip roth/davos really like, guru?) but truly i'd rather not have the bother of an appendage. (are you having fun, guru? need some more bubbly, guru?) so it's easier just to brag about bagging him, kinda like a 14-pt buck still at the taxidermy shop.

truly statistically amazing that of 17 people hovering around 40, only 1 couple has progeny concerns. nobody else has to scramble for sitters, come late because of soccer, or leave early for gymnastics. or *gasp!* ruin the day and actually bring their damn kids. only 2 people have been divorced. 1 because he is actually gay.

less than 14% of american women my age have never married. my long-term girlfriends, all of whom live far away now, are mostly stay-at home moms. a lucky fall-out of income bracket, accorded by judicious husband selections. on the phone the other day, i admitted that it's clear my clock never ticked loudly enough, and my ovaries are now superfluous. (did i even get a clock? or just extra boobage?) the g/f on the other end asked if i regretted never having children. to my ears a strange question, since both her littles were conceived carelessly, and she detests being a "mother". when i was a kid, people would ask if i minded not having siblings. obviously, as an only child, my dearth of replicas was beyond my control, and i had no other frame of reference. i never knew what to reply. naturally, i wanted to be polite, but even when i was quite young it sounded like such a stoopid question.

so now i was being asked the mature equivalent.

i'm so fiercely protective (and spoiled by) of my solitude, what would it be like to not ever have a moment to myself? on the toilet, in the tub, cutting up chicken, and always hearing, "MOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!" hell, i was one kid, and my mother got sick of hearing that! to have my days consumed with carpools and cookies, control issues, and mean kids and meaner desperate housewives. my social circle defined by pta and mommy-and-me.

i don't have a life partner. into what suffocating box would my choices have been wedged if i was a single parent? my current career would be impossible, and my planned next one equally so. as briefly as my mom was single, it was horribly hard for us both. even when a teen, i knew my carved-in-stone-order was man 1st, baby 2nd. dummy me, sucked at choosing men though.

so, yes, some of my outcomes have been determined simply by not choosing. but some of the big ones, like no children and not marrying inappropriately, are the real and good result of choosing "no."

do i regret not having kids? no.

i'm not one who looks back wistfully at mighta-kinda-coulda-been. it's the present and the future. my life will not be defined by absence, but by promise.

the criteria for my guest list was to be exceptionally funny.

not one person will talk about vaccinations, peanut allergies or "percentiles". let the bubbles flow.

don't uncage my heart

the editor is enthralled and mr. minnesota is practically mouthbreathing anticipating our next encounter. i'd decided for these next weeks just to cultivate these two, having successfully avoided the long-shot, albeit permanently local, guy. then it hit me. both guys are charming, witty, intelligent and sexually charged, (and both unbelievably receptive to my masochism -- yessss!!) but neither of them can demand much of my time, being here only part-time. i've no desire to churn through a million dates. besides, having done so well with my first forays, oddsmakers would agree i'm way overdue for a chump. so, for now, rather than clutter my calendar, i'll spend the holidays with friends, get projects done here, and begin my job search with the new year.

my heart definitely is not healed, so needs to remain safe. that's my responsibility and it's a big one. although initially i didn't see it, there can be no mistake my subconscious had a protectionist agenda. if either of them were more available, i might not mind, then again, who knows? i could run screaming into the night at the possibility of the big "r".

i'm still very conscious of avoiding being submissive, which is more of a struggle than i anticipated. far harder than the sexual readjustment -- although if i'd allowed myself much introspection, i'd likely have known that. i turn cartwheels to not be overly-accomodating. when the editor invited me to his apartment to dinner for tonight, i had to practically gag myself to avoid offering my services as cook. he's offering to do it, so clearly wants to... (but he's working all day, has a meeting afterwards, it'd be so nice if i...) so fucking let him do something for me. good lord, it shouldn't be that hard. yet still it is. i'll bring a nice bottle of wine, which is what a dinner guest does, lol. right? lol.

my mother would be pleased to know both men seem more smitten on their end. i'm just happy to have some company now and again. i didn't realize quite how deeply i'd missed being in the arms of a man. especially a man who is thrilled, not threatened, by my unbridled sexuality. i wonder if it's a pleasant factor of their age? i did deliberately skew older. could just be dumb luck. either way, i'll take it. sex while in like is quite fine for now.

speedy relief

when mired mentally, emotionally and spiritually one forgets so much of what life was like before.

for months, the burden of my sadness and stress, my absolute unmooring from anything sure, dogged me. it compromised and compressed me. there were days i felt physically constricted and had trouble getting enough oxygen. it took a conscious effort to sort of untwist, upwardly wind and breathe deeply. i wavered through each day, a hollow-eyed ghost dragging both a past and present of immeasurable weight. getting out of bed seemed a herculean effort, and often the most conflicted moment of my day. i felt little. not numb -- that implies a certain low-level buzzing. but empty. a papery husk easily blown apart or away, unlike my more perceived nature as a walking bundle of the sunday funnies. more than once, i had zero recollections of incidents and conversations in which i'd been supposedly involved. it was peculiar, (and no doubt very alarming to others) but i felt too detached to worry about it as much as i probably should have. in hindsight i may have been licking the edges of a fugue state.

beginning in the days right before sending the albatross out to the winds, i couldn't/wouldn't/didn't sleep. that i chalked up to simply wanting to avoid oversleeping and missing early obligations that required adherence to an unfriendly train schedule. after the final paper was signed and i was free, i felt inexplicably bound by gravity -- feet on the ground, yes, but more like i was sailing in the air, light, light, lighter than the finest kite.

down to bed at "normal people" hours, yet more or less i was simply impatient between the sheets, waiting to get up at "normal person" time. perfectly alert at 2:00 or 4:00 a.m., i'd still rest a bit more before rising.

thankfully, my energy level has down-shifted to less manic, but i'm still amazed at how little sleep i seem to need. without the one-two sledgehammer whack of too much after-work wine and the previous unbearable heaviness of my being, i'm a little dynamo, lol.

all those little things i didn't/couldn't do, or even see, are all getting resolved, one at a time.

my mind and my spirit feel so keen and clean. i know it's time, and i'm truly thankful i am at last able to put so much to right.

in a fickle pickle

in many (most?) ways, my brain doesn't seem to function like a woman's. in regards to matters of lust and love anyway. when looking for sex, i was always more mercenary than missionary. i'd spot him, circle him and get him. it wasn't often i'd need or want to see him again, and they frequently got a quick boot out the door after services had been rendered. dismissal combined with my refusal to pass out my number or make even the vaguest of future plans weren't balms to ego, but hey, that wasn't my responsibility now was it? so many of them got befuddled having long spent their mornings foisting off girls for whom they'd simply had a hard-on. more challenging was the guy who really didn't get laid all that much, so thought i "liked" him. eesh.

lust could nearly always trump the "need" to like. then again, i'm sufficiently intuitive to know a total asshole after a few verbal volleys. if the energy and reception were good, i assuredly was not picturing him painting my picket fences 5 years hence. mr. right now served a valuable immediate function, yet also one unknowable and intangible to him, because he allowed me to remain unhurt and keep the privacy i so fiercely need. and you know what? men are fun. the flirting, the sexual tension, the spark in his eyes when you both know you've got a live one? it's juicy and delicious.

parsing men and sex with my friends, i've long known i'm different. even in college, while they were once again waiting for last week's rugger or frat boy to call, i was already peeking around the corner. one-night stands never made me feel confused or guilty. i was using them, so placed no further expectations. quite simple.right now, my formerly predictable brain is doing a funny thing. a chick thing i think!

as mentioned yesterday, i've chosen two men as starters. both are attractive, wildly intelligent, witty and determinedly pursuant. lots of notes and texts and calls. remembering details and offering endearments. so what's wrong with me? one makes me grin every time his name pops up on some electronic i.d. while he was in japan, i crawled out of bed at all hours to communicate across 10 time zones. he's gotten me gifts from the london and tokyo trips that have delayed our meeting. i've gotten him a little token -- something that speaks much of my mind. dinner tomorrow cannot come soon enough. the other fellow? i feel like he's pestering me! when he calls i answer reluctantly and so not to seem rude. i postponed our today date, feigning exhaustion. truthfully? i'm choosing pristine presentation for the editor tomorrow.

since neither of them have pressed the flesh, shouldn't i have them both on equal footing? how does this work? it's not my usual backward dread of someone actually liking me. clearly both seem to, yet i'm firmly focused on the one. essentially, they've had equal opportunity to impress, yet i worry i'm judging through shallow criteria. however, in my real face-to-face daily life, i do know instantly when people are worth my time. my career has offered a sufficiently protracted and painful lab study of human behavior, so i feel no conflict about snap judgements.

for now we'll call him the long shot, since the editor has taken such an early and impressive lead. in one of our 1st conversations, he quickly dove into a lengthy pedantic lecture on organic farming. the rapid descent and failure to come up for air were truly off-putting. generously, i chalked it up to nerves. it happened again in another chat. i cut through the wind, explaining my experience with some men of a certain level of intelligence. they (i judiciously avoided using "arrogantly" here) assume they're smarter than most, so feel an overtly oppressive need to explain their ideas. being as sharp as i am, i find this immediately tiring, and moreso offensive. he was, lol, taken quite far aback. he admitted it was a weakness of his, (ok, impressive, that) and he was astounded i recognized it so easily.

eureka!!

ok, phew, i'm getting this i think. if we'd met the old-fashioned way, long shot wouldn't get a 2nd shot. i'd fuck him and forget him. i'd silence the windbagging, get him in bed and be done with it. yet he insists on courting me, so it feels already like it's gone on too long. looks like i have made up my mind about him after all!! BINGO! should i have sex with him anyway? when we meet and i'm racing in conversational circles, will he be able to play and ride the cyclone with me? i never was one to string men along, so feel a small pang of heartlessness if i drop this guy without even a cup of coffee. when i began this thing, i determined i would not be the notorious disappearing internet girl. i just don't know if i still want to play by my old rules, or am i writing a new playbook?

oh, i like living again. :)

the starting line

i had to start somewhere, right?

there aren't enough hours in the day to wend through all the notes, so clearly those who got in the gate early have an edge. coherence increases their odds. as does humor. unlike when i was younger i don't feel the need nor the desire to overcrowd the field and have a different date for each night of the week. (although it would be easily possible... maybe after the holidays, lol.) i've winnowed it to two. i'll meet them both this upcoming week. it's sweet and it's exciting. the calls, the notes, the new. that girlish flutter i haven't felt in so long.

seemed prudent to have a practice run. a man with whom i could flirt and fuck and not be committed further. but the truth was i needed something a bit more. that 16-year-old girl in my head was worrying, "will he like me?" i needed affirmation that i am attractive. that after all this time, other men might/could/do/will want me. not one for half measures, i took the deep plunge. it needed not to be overthought. it needed to be the modern equivalent of spotting a man across a crowded club and deciding he was mr. right now. he'd written several times. he travels here for business, so stays in a hotel. the picture of his chiseled abs was the clincher.

first i went to a hilarious performance with a good and very funny friend, thus was in great spirits. the "date" had a presentation for work anyway, so it was fine that neither of us was available till 10ish. in the cab over to our meeting place, i was grinning uncontrollably. there was a bit of worry, because i'd not seen his face, just the 6-pack. a speck of doubt, blown easily away.

clever fellow, and clearly not on his first hook-up, he'd hidden himself out of the way to spy me. but he walked right over, visibly pleased and smiling, and gave me a friendly kiss on the cheek. i can only imagine the relief on my face must have been obvious too. not my usual type being very fair, but undeniably and ruggedly handsome, with the astonishingly defined outline of his athletic body visible even under his loose-fitting turtleneck.

it turned out to be easy! he's funny and smart and i now know someone who knows yanni. more valuably, someone who appreciates the camp factor of knowing yanni.

conversation was brisk and amusing, with enough touching of arms and knees to know all was well. when at last i asked, "what time is it?" he deftly replied, "time to go."

it wasn't at all awkward or clumsy or strange. after so many years of being trained and used in a particular way, i definitely worried that my wiring had been irrevocably altered, that i was damaged or broken. my doubts have been allayed. i'm fine. he seemed to think so too. being with him again would be delicious, and both his morning demeanor and subsequent notes have said the same. having heard plenty of horror stories about these sorts of things, i can't believe my luck.

monday is dinner with the editor.

without jinxing myself, i'm almost beginning to believe the tides may have shifted and good things are coming my way.

fingers crossed, folks.

radio free, um, factory

iraq, iraq, iraq. baker, bush. obama. mitt and maccain. death tolls, dead spies and daniel shorr. ack. it was an unconscious flip of the dial. just like that, i powered up the i-tunes trove (one thing i have left from the g.c. anyway) and madness, michelle and melissa were bouncing off these old walls, and making my closet re-do seem like a breeze.

i was twang-a-langing along with "the grass is always greener", when i realized. it hit me like a piano on the head falling out of buster keaton's 12th floor window. it has been months since i've played anything but the saddest of songs here. and even those soundtracks remained mostly quiet.

declan will still have to wait, but seems like just about everybody else can croon in my ear now.

and once again... begin

spooky old town, and a watchful witch allowed the sun to crack the clouds yesterday just as my shark and i were concluding our business.

the removal of the detritus from that house, (stuff i'd never wanted anyway -- accruals from so many lifetimes ago -- but my mother insist i take and keep) was so cleansing. the acuity of my shark a joy to watch, and an astonishing relief to be on the protective shoreline, out of his reach. he said, "jump," and they just kept leaping higher and harder.

i grew lighter with each piece tossed into the rubbish truck, with each swirl of my initials on yet another document, till i nearly felt too excited to be confined by gravity and felt i might nearly crack apart with happiness. one forgets how one used to feel, and how easily joy used to come. smiles at strangers and warmth watching little kids stiffly bundled against the cold gamely playing tag despite the clumsiness of goretexed little sausage arms.

at last released from the slim tether that the g.c. had selfishly and duplicitously held all these months (and i in my weakness allowed to remain around my neck); liberated from another toxic chef; freed from the unbearable weight of the albatross; at last able to breathe unconcerned that even my very exhales would be collected to pay something off; lots of flirty e-mails and calls to brighten my days and bring intrigue to my nights all add up to truly a new beginning.

little that is here was with me before. i am not burdened by anyone's misperceptions about whom or what i want. i am elated at the openness and the challenge of whom i will become.

maybe there is a santa

so, i gave myself the emotional equivalent of a pbj on wonderbread. yes, it was indulgent and selfish that i hid from the world for a day, but all that slowed was my breathing. outside everything clipped along. it's been the strangest sensation of being on a hurtling train at the same time as treading water. everything that has happened has been so far out of my control, all i could do was worry and feel trapped. uncertain. transient. inadequate. defeated.

the call finally came and my shark has won. the waters around him are clean as a whistle and it's once again safe for me to go swimming. it will be over in days, which after nearly 14 months will be but a blink. i finally feel like this place is mine, and will stay that way. after 12 months here, i'll at last unfinish packing and paint. no snow-shovelling or grass-mowing in my future.

i've got an in-box full of suitors (most not worth a second thought, for sure) but it still makes me feel better. too much time in that neighborhood made me forget how many straight men are actually out in the rest of the world. my nights and weekends are free for now, so why not spend them with someone? or some-two or-three ;)

better. getting better...