The Definition of Insanity….

…is repeatedly doing the same thing and expecting the outcome to be different.

The scene: I have avoided not just the place where he works, but the entire town, for 6 weeks. Yesterday, I went there, with my MOM. He is, of course, there, on the sidewalk. He wears lime-green tie-dyed overalls with no shirt. I hate tie dye. On him, it’s hot. I laugh. “Someone should just take a picture of you every day,” I call. He comes over, takes my hand, kisses it, looks directly into my eyes. “I’m R___” he says.

“I’m Nuria,” say I. “And this is my Mom.”

He takes her hand and kisses it, too. Turns back to me. “I am straight,” he says. “And I am married. To ___. We have an open relationship.” He gives me a rather hard look. “I was a little put off that you only wanted to date me if I was single.” My mom is goggle-eyed.

“It’s easier,” I say. What else can I say? He is holding my hand. I am melting.

He nods. “I would love to hang out with you and get to know you.”

“Yes,” I say. My eyes slide down his skin to where it disappears under his clothes. He is tan, and lean, wiry, strong. I want to eat his entire body.

“I’ll call you,” he says.

“Yes,” I say. He gives me another kleig-light megawatt soul gaze and we part company.

My Mom and I continue up the street. “Forget you heard that,” I say. And she is just old enough that she will, thank God.

So, part of me is like, hahahaha, HE SAID YES!!!

The other half is like, fuckety fuck fuck.

Because, here’s the insanity part:

I have dated (more than) my share of married men. Somehow, there is always drama involved with that. You go in with the calmest intentions, you make sensible agreements, and lo, in about 15 minutes, people are freaking out and keying your car. This man is married. Excuse me while I scream hysterically.

All I want is someone to enjoy sex with, to feel beautiful with, to touch and cuddle and get off with on an occasional, sustainable basis. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

Then there is this Don’t Ask; Don’t Tell thing. Frankly, it makes me feel like I’m keeping secrets. I hate that feeling. And if this guy would have a convo like that in front of my mother,  he obviously has no sense of shame. People will talk. I’m more worried about other people spilling the beans (on FB, for example), than I am about myself.

But I am also worried about myself. I am worried about my own sense of guilt, because that’s a real danger here. If I feel guilty about what I’m doing, there is a MUCH higher chance of something going nastily wrong. One can easily create misery and drama where none need be.

And I’m worried about my sanity. I want my life to be fun and engaging, a creative adventure. Period. And I love my man. I want him to be happy.

I just can’t stand the loneliness, the isolation, the sense of futility.

So how can I remove the conditions that create feelings of guilt? How must I conduct myself in this upcoming affair? Because, let’s face it, I am unlikely to walk away from this. I want him. I do not meet a lot of people whom I find attractive. Like none. So finding a way into this that is ethically and morally clean is of the utmost importance.

A talk must be had with R. I’d like to know just how this so-called “open relationship” works, its history. And I am going to visit my man next week for a couple of days.

I will know when I get back.

Whose control issue is this, anyway?

So I’m trying to work this out.

My boyfriend lives far away. In our relationship, he generally calls me. Of course, I call him, too, but usually, he initiates. I like it like that. He used to call me almost every day. Now he almost never calls. When I call him, his phone is usually off. I fucking hate that. Sometimes he calls back. When I do get him, he is always pleased to hear from me.

We also email a lot. Or we used to. I still email a couple times a week. Occasionally I get a spate of emails in return.

The last time I heard from him was 10 days ago. We had a lovely conversation, talked for an hour. Unfortunately, this call was in response to the email I sent him saying that I felt like I didn’t have a boyfriend.

The facts: I have asked, begged, and threatened for more consistent communication. He is genuinely surprised when he hears we haven’t spoken for two weeks. But it doesn’t improve.

The facts: he is broke (like, odd jobs, no rent broke). The local free wifi connection has become unstable. His cell phone costs 10¢ a minute, and his credit cards are long gone. So communication is genuinely difficult for him. But still…

I am pretty sure he doesn’t have anyone else. I am pretty sure he is still interested in me, though I could be wrong about that. I know he loves me, but that doesn’t always equal interest, if you know what I mean. One can drop on the scale from hot lover to cherished old friend and never see it coming.

I do believe he is deeply bound up in his own world. The question is, What the fuck problem of that is mine?

When you are in a relationship, you have to think of more people than just yourself, right? Not that you subordinate your life to theirs, not at all. But especially when you are in a long-distance relationship, you have to keep the smoke gathered, as Walter Mosley would say, lest it go cold and drift away from inattention.

I am going cold and drifting away.

Are my expectations too high for guy who is currently way down on his luck and hitting his second Saturn return? Has he decided I’ll probably leave him anyway and this is the easy way out?

The facts: I have been over-helpful in the past and have pulled way back. I want a man, not a baby. He wants a lover, not a mother.

Is my wanting him to call just more manipulation? Do what I say? Show me you need me? Or am I just a woman who is lonely for her lover?

Is his refusal a way of gaining space and autonomy? Or is he just too self-involved to bother?

I have this idea that the problem is in me, in some way that I see, or refuse to see, this situation. I just don’t know what that is. Yet.

It’s like, if you want to keep me, I need more attention. On the other hand, why debase myself? Why put up with a man who can’t be there for me? Maybe I need to just let go, quietly and without fanfare. At what point am I breaking up with the guy, and at what point am I just giving him space (a whole lotta space)?

I don’t want to break up with the guy. He is delicious. His hands are magic. His voice melts me. His skin is smooth and silky, and he’s easy to be around. But he’s thousands of miles away. I haven’t seen him in months, and as far as I can see, I won’t be seeing him for another half a year, b/c he’s too broke to visit.

But I’m lonely. I want a lover. And the pickings are fucking slim, let me tell you, b/c there just aren’t that many people around whom I find attractive. So any casual sexual encounter runs the risk of turning into something not so casual.

I love flirting. I love the beginnings of relationships, when it’s all rosy and hot. I love feeling beautiful and desirable. I’ve been in my share of long-term things. I’m not the love ’em and leave ’em type. But maybe I could be more relaxed about the whole thing.

I want my love life to be easy and delicious. I am way past drama. But something in me is paranoid, hiding, anxious that there will be some. That fear of exposure, so recently activated, is not gone. Where does it originate? How do I get rid of it?

Drift again

She is indeed his confidante. How totally random is that? And she’s completely trustworthy. So it’s all good.

What’s better is that I got to deal with the fear, coming to the Oh Well stage all on my own: Oh well, whatever he said, it can’t really hurt me, and if he really is a jerk, I never have to speak to him again. But it’s nice to know the guy is okay after all.

Drift: There is another possibility…

And that is this: I told one person what I did–someone I knew could keep their mouth shut, who lives far away, and was not going to judge me. Maybe the friend who FBed me was his one person. Because frankly, if he is involved with someone, he’d have to be an idiot to go around advertising the fact that he got this proposition. So I will sit tight until I hear from her again and sort this out.

Drift: the update

So I get a wall post on FB today, from someone who lives far enough away I never see her: “I hear you met my friend …” and a ❤ heart at the end.

And I am, like, shit. Too bad your friend is a total blabbermouth. What did he do, go to a July 4th party and tell everyone there I hit on him, showing my card the whole while?  How else would this totally random connection occur?

What the hell is wrong with people? Why do I even try? Silence is the best policy. This whole state is one small town. No wonder I don’t have any friends.

On the other hand, at least I know the guy’s name now. Oh, and he’s a musician–hence the flash. But he’s not on my happy list at the moment.


Between us, who is innocent?

We orbit endlessly, twin suns,  resenting each the other’s gravity,

Yet drawn, despite our best intentions, to the fire.

What bliss, to hurtle, finally, unencumbered, into the heart of flame.

Alas, it brings destruction.

From the safety of our distance, we cajole, advance, retreat,

Tease and threaten, snipe, attack, defend, and lick our wounds.


And again,

And again.

Why don’t I…

What is it with resistance? What is it with talent wasted? Why, if I am good at something, value that thing, and want to expand it, am I so helpless in the face of my own — inertia is not the right word, or maybe it is. Inertia is the tendency of a body at rest to remain at rest, and one in motion to remain in motion. I remain at rest. Terminally. Maybe it’s ADD. When I suggested to my therapist that maybe I had, like, shadow ADD, she laughed at me (seriously – she laughed). Shadow? she chortled. Honey, you have full-blown ADD. You are the poster child for ADD!

Well, fuck. She thought I should get tested and get medicated. She insists there are very high-level medications now that target specific areas of the brain. She says some areas do not grow up, do not develop at the same rate as others. Children have a lot of success with the new meds; once they “get it” about how it feels to be in sync, the adjust, and they re-integrate, and the are OK (or at least that’s what I think she said).

So why are all the ADD kids I know drug addicts? Maybe she has a special line to the hot and new in the medical world. She treats kids more, but she’s an art therapist, so I like her. (As soon as I have insurance again, I will go back.) My homeopath laughed at getting tested. What do you need a diagnosis for? he said. So they can give you Ritalin? Clearly, he is on the same newsfeed as I am. Maybe I do want Ritalin (I know I don’t; just sayin’), maybe I do. I remember speed, back inthe drug days of the 70’s. I loved speed. Unfortunately, Speed Kills is not just a bumper sticker; it is a harsh and vicious reality. No, speed is deadly. But something about that experience feels perfect.On the other hand, i cannot do any kind of sedatives. I hate them. I feel like I am underwater.

Most of the time I am so tired I can’t do anything, so I just watch as the crap piles up and falls over and think, wow, that’s falling over. Maybe I will sort of stack up the pile a little better. But that’s about it.

So, dancing? Ha. Writing? Well, arguably, yes, I am writing now, and I am doing nanowrimo, so I am better off than I have been, but still: Ha. This blog is my free space, where I can say whatever the fuck I want because it is not connected to me. My name is not on here, so fuck you, you don’t know me and if you don’t like it, don’t read it.

There. I wish I had the courage to put my name on here, and sooner or later i will, because face it, I am a big showoff, but for now, I can experiment in peace. And I like it being on this blog, where other people can read it and find it it they need to, so it is public, but private, because no one knows me, or my family, or my friends. I don’t have to worry that so and so will take offense at something I say. They will never read it, and if they do, they can’t prove I said it, so HA!

Even in my fiction i worry. I can’t talk about what i really want, what’s on my mind, because those people who are on my mind might be hurt by things I say.

So anyway, back to my problems, because hey, this is all about ME now, isn’t it. Or maybe it’s about you, maybe you have this problem too; in that case it’s about us.

So maybe all my problems would be solved by medication. I like that idea; it’s easy. No work on my part. The homeopath and acupuncturists have actually improved my situation with medication, but there is a crucial difference. I Dislike the the thought of taking something every day, a symptomatic remedy as opposed to a cure. My acupuncturists and homeopath, they are making me truly more well through transformative medicine. I am all for this. And I used to be worse. This is better (I am writing, am I not?). But there is still so far to go.

And dance, what I really want to improve, is moldering. Time is not on my side. Time is a sword in my side. Dance has a short shelf life. Indecision cripples me, inaction cripples me (literally). Illness cripples me and I can’t seem to shake it. It’s getting harder. The voices say, just give it up. You never practice. You suck. But I don’t suck, and I know that. I don’t practice either. I know that, too. What a vicious circle. Would ADD medication help this? If so, give me some. If not, give me something.