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...

black wednesday

it had to come. today was it. i couldn't wouldn't didn't get out of bed. i didn't answer the phone. i won't eat or have tea. i hid under the covers till well past dark. in 6 months of all this getting worse and worse, then worse again, i haven't done this. so the cat and i stayed under the duvet.

the reality of being at last cut loose is making me feel so empty.

tomorrow will be here soon enough. i'll face it, only because i must. nobody else will, lol ! i'm really running out of gas here. it all seems so insurmountable.

ack.

one down...

nobody will understand this.

even though we never spent a holiday together, i always felt like the g.c. was very much a part of my holiday cheer. i often saw him the day before, or the day after, and knew that i was in his thoughts, even if not in his arms.

with his recent "elvis has left the building" act, i spun pretty far out the night before thanksgiving. i had promised to cook some things for the dinner i was attending, but once those were out of the way, i found myself keening around the place, aimlessly back and forth. sobbing. it's the most i've cried in a long time. slave cone of silence. locked down. so nobody could hear me either.

other than the hideous puffy eyes and swollen face, i sailed through the feast. it was a low-key affair, and no need for any kind of pc shroud on the talk, so it was fun. i also now know i never need to bother with the cumbersome nonsense of brining a turkey. all year, i look forward to crispy skin! ack.

friday post found me feeling strangely empty and brittle. my spirits are better today. no blood-sucking holiday hordes nipping at my heels makes the day a brighter place, for sure!

i'll go back to them eventually. but no rush. i like resting my bones and my mind.

one to go. there will be no presents. not in a box, not in my heart. only coal in my stocking this year.

pursuit of happiness

"certain unalienable rights... life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness." that last bit brings no end of trouble to the american psyche. parsed out, it doesn't offer entitlement to happiness, nobody owes it to you, and further, you can chase it all day, but you may not get it.

what makes people happy? should be simple, eh? family, friends, a place to live, a boss you don't hate, and a decent living so as not to end up in a maytag box under the el.

last year quite alot of decisions were made and choices encouraged to make my life "better". simpler. increase my net worth, upgrade my marketability, improve my access to a certain someone. it all looked so shiny! the job turned out to be wretched with measly wages; my turn as a real estate mogul bit the dust, the properties still yawing for money; my heart was soundly trounced -- access denied.

and yet...

as hard as it has been, (ack, still is...) as ugly are the warty spots that i now see, i don't feel "unhappy". uncertainty remains, but having not thrown down my gloves, i'm upright to fight for that which i can. some things are now out of my arena. painfully, the thing that mattered most is done. elvis indeed has left the building. (happily, the mental visual is good, because it was the sexy leather elvis, not the white jumpsuited puffy one.) but i no longer cry every day. eggs, beans and spaghetti taste just fine, cuz i'm not toiling away in a toxic waste dump of wage slavery. family, friends (even some i've never met) and colleagues all have reached out in some surprisingly touching ways. and i now have time to spend with them!

the gurus all preach happiness is a choice. they're right. i get up every morning, make the bed, and put on the game face. it's a start. bits of happy are ok too.

how the other half lives

so this is what regular people do. movies, museum exhibits, afternoon ambles in the park or evening strolls across the river, casual dinner at home with friends. i haven't had dinner guests on a saturday night in over a decade. possibly longer. it's been a freakishly prolonged indian summer, and i've greedily savored it these last days. no longer am i cooped up for 12 hours, never even seeing outside.

my budget is tight, but not terribly moreso than it's been these last months, and suddenly i have all this time! my head is no longer filled with dread about returning to my wretched job, nor is most of one free day squandered trying to recover from a long week filled with exhaustive hate.

yup. other than this nervous rash (all my life it attacks the same area. ack. take a wild testosterone-induced guess as to where, lol.) life is ok. i am definitely better off without them, and feel terrifically optimistic about what will turn up next. this lemonade is delicious!

14 months in career purgatory was plenty. how do people who hate their jobs do it for years on end? sheesh. no wonder so many folks watch "dancing with the stars" lol.

what, me worry?

i was hired under the premise that my job was a certain percentage of this and a certain bit of that -- allowing for the unpredictable nature of a day and night in a restaurant. time went on, and the reality of their blunderous hiring of an immature and incompetent child to complete our team became painfully clear. no matter how we tried, he was neither growing nor learning, instead just blindly and obstinately stumbling from one idiotic episode to the next. all the while responding with such a tone of condescension, i wanted to backhand him nearly everyday.

to compensate, they insisted i compress the aspects of my job i actually enjoyed, and stifle the expertise for which i was hired. i became a nanny and a cleaner, of the staff and of his messes. i also became the mouthpiece of the gm because, "you always say it better than i can." further, she was of the philosophy that "if you catch it, you own it." if i happened to take a call for something that really was in her job description, i was obliged to see it through, no matter how many days or weeks that took. this scatter-shot approach meant there could be no prioritizing, nor delegating, so there never was enough time in the day, no matter how extra early i arrived, or how late i stayed.

combine this frazzle of disorganization with my distrust and lack of respect for the owners, top it with my paltry income, and it was a sorry state indeed. at night, i would go to sleep thinking, "i can't wait to come home tomorrow." i also had no partner in crime. not once did i ever join anybody for a drink after work, or attend a holiday party.

but i've only got so much band-width. i could not find the rcg's or the take-the-world-by-the-horns-power-pumps. i'd hoped to get through this financial and legal tangle, and then blizzard the world with resumes. the thorny knot remains (he swears it's drawing to a close, although expeditious means something entirely else to bankers and lawyers than it does to me), but i'm already feeling a spiritual exhale.the hilarious irony is that my unemployment will be nearly as much as my most recent take-home. no longer burdened by late-night taxi fares, i think i'm actually a few dollars ahead! suddenly i've gotten an extra 65 hours a week to plot my future.

it's too soon to know if i'm not worried because i've gone completely round the bend. if bill gates or lee harvey oswald start conversing through my fillings, i'll reconsider. right now, i think i'll do some reading.

fiddle dee dee

i despise him.

it's impossible to hold respect for a boss whose hands are shaky from all the booze and whose nose is constantly runny from all the blow. to catch him walking out of the men's room or a storage area in mid-super-sniff. to see him at the bar on his days off, nearly incapable of speech. to see him the next day, eyes so glassy and face so blotched and puffy, i refuse to contemplate what and how much was ingested. to work for someone who takes it as a personal affront, and further as arrogant apathy, that i need an extra hour here or there to confront lawyers, bankers, irs agents or whichever snake of medusa's is slithering and hissing at me this month. (a few months back, he actually called me a drama queen. i happen to be in a period of shit storms, yes. but if i was at all royally pathetic, i'd be sobbing and under the covers more often than not, wouldn't i? not toiling away at slave wages, yet congenial to staff and guests, right?) to know he thinks i'm careless with his money, when frankly i'm more conscientious with his than mine most of the time. to constantly be eyed with suspicion, even though i behave scrupulously. (is he so paranoid that honesty actually confuses him?) to know he feels threatened by my experience working for chefs more talented and more famous than he ever will be. to know he feels secure only in the presence of toadies. to know he feels angry that the staff actually likes and respects me because, unlike him, i don't treat them like dogs, nor suffer from wild and unpredictable mood swings. to be told afterwards by salespeople that he chased them off and out with " get the fuck out if you don't have an appointment".

to be screwed time and again out of money owed.

recently i contacted our comptroller about my commission status, and he informed me i was owed several thousand. that certainly would come in handy right now. two days ago, i politely asked the gm to catch me up to date. like a compliant company gal, i volunteered that it could be paid in installments, since the chef has been on about cash flow. (even though he's just had his best month ever. EVER. is he just buying more blow with it then?)

although i'd made some half-assed forays, i had hoped to delay it until after the holidays. he decided no time like the present. he couldn't look me in the face, and immaturely refused to state a reason. he'd already packed my things, so i'm free.

it's sunny and warm outside, even though every forecast says clouds and showers all day. i'm going to lunch, and for today will do my best scarlett o'hara: "fiddle dee dee, i'll worry about it tomorrow."