Relationship Paranoia

As I mentioned before, in my previous (to marriage) dating life, any plan for a trip with a man was inevitably followed by a wring-out-myheart-like-a-soggy-sponge break-up. So I was nervous about the beach weekend. Also, it was more uninterrupted time than Guy and I had hitherto spent together. So I was nervous.

So, no break-up prior to the trip. During the trip, we spent a lot of time together and Guy kept pointing out things that would be fun for TigerGrrl or DestructoGirl, pointing out the safety of the beach, the kids' beach toys in the under-house storage bin, etc. Instead of rolling away as many men do after fun-in-the-sack, he would wrap himself around me and I'd wake up feeling warm and protected.*

This all makes me deeply suspicious, because it's my experience that non-incremental advances in intimacy are followed by regret or at least withdrawal. So we've talked about his kids' problems (failure to launch), my kids' futures, his mother's illness, the Second Mate's illness and my worries, the future, places we'd like to travel (Australia, top of both lists), and now we switch that intimacy off until next week.

And normally Guy calls back the minute he receives a call from me (within an hour). I called yesterday about some logistics next week. The call was around 9 a.m. It's 22 hours later and I haven't heard a word. Now, his mother could be ill. His kids could be in crisis. His business might be super-busy.

Maybe I'm just creating a self-fulfilling prophecy in my mind. But I'm seeing the old trip jinx at work. Or maybe it's just the whole one-step forward/two-steps back irrational progression of any journey toward closeness with another human being. Or maybe he learned something about me really unattractive this weekend, and needs to reassess. Or he's busy.

See why I don't like feeling the least little bit needy? I think shrinks call this "excessive rumination" and it's often depression linked. It doesn't really need outside stimulus at all. I've got to stop this train of thought.

*Not a common sensation in the last decade of my life.

Emotional Vulnerability

Here's the rub: Yes, things have been developing nicely with Guy. I like this man. I think he likes me, and I really, really want him to like me.

I've gotten used to being partially disengaged and not too vulnerable. I'm leaving that safe harbor, and I don't like it. I lived there before in the last years of my marriage with PdeFF, when he didn't give a flying fuck and I would have done just about anything (and almost did) to keep my marriage whole even while I was miserable. I don't trust my own instincts regarding feeling real connection with a man.

I trust desire. I'm as good at compartmentalizing as any Alpha-type emotionally disconnected man on the planet. I don't feel the need to fall in love with any man I desire. I know desire. I don't trust it as a gauge for a relationship (but I do trust it as a gauge for "this is going to be fun"), but I know it, and it doesn't make me give up any essential part of myself.

Caring, unfortunately doesn't work the same way. So everything seems good, or I think it does, but I'm nervous, and not liking the whole wanting more thing.

Okay, Now I'm Officially Suspicious -- Things Are Going Too Well

I'm just too used to disasters at this point. I keep looking over my shoulder, looking for bad news. There's no bad news to be had. Well, I need a crown, TigerGrrl needs braces, and my car needs about $1,000 in fairly essential work, but other than that . . .

I had a great time with Guy at the Eastern Shore. His beach house is really right on the beach. Right on an incredibly quiet and serene beach. Right on an incredibly quiet and serene beach which is, aside from other beach houses for about a mile, surrounded by a nature preserve with lots of birds and wildlife.

Even more amazing -- there were no moments, at least on my part, of thinking "too clingy" or "too bossy" or "too whatever". I'd wondered whether Guy would be a bit more high maintenance than I am, but he isn't: we both relaxed, reading on the deck. No TV (there's TV there, we just didn't watch it), just relaxing. I took lengthy walks on the beach every day and just hung out. Guy was attentive without being overwhelming, and seemed to clue in that I wanted my walk time alone at least once a day (he took the evening hike with me, but let me wander off on my own for the morning hike).

Birds I saw: a great blue heron (possibly two, but I think it was just one, twice), sandpipers, piping plovers, Canada geese, various ducks, several swallow-like terns, a cardinal or two, and a buoy that impersonated a loon for a brief period of time.

I had a great Memorial Day weekend.

Off to Where the Horizon Lies

And if you recognize that 70s musical reference, I'll give you some incredibly valuable prize (as determined by me) to be named later. Send guesses to Foilwoman at gmail, as always.

Guy will be here in an hour and we'll head off to the Eastern Shore. I'm actually a tad nervous. I could really annoy this man in 72 hours. He's never seen me for more than 8 hours at a stretch. This could be scary (for him).

Meanwhile, I have a great new stuffed chair. Now I can threaten irksome visitors (mostly Republicans) with the comfy chair.* This chair is courtesy of the ever-gracious Innana and a cute Scots dude named (felicitously) Scott. I'm not sure if that's his nickname for dumb people here, of if his mother in Glasgow thought: "Ah, my boy will be travelling far and wide and I want people to know for certain of his heritage." I want to tell her: I could tell the minute he called and asked where to deliver the chair. He's Scottish (that's the title of a great SNL sketch with Patrick Stewart, btw)! Maybe the brogue or whatever you call it gives him away.

Anyway, as Innana was calling to line up the delivery arrangements, I gave her strict instructions. "Flirt with this man! You need to keep in practice." Now, you may know (and if you don't, don't worry, I'm about to tell you) that Innana is a tad more introverted than I am. I am actually technically an introvert in that I gain my energy from time alone rather than other people, but I do find socializing and particularly flirting enjoyable rather than draining, at least in small quantities. Innana finds it draining. But she's an Anglophile and Scotland is close enough to England (bordering should count for something, no?) that having a Scots guy turn up at her door should give her some practice. She said: "He'll be 20 years younger than I am."** I said: "And your point is?" Basically, I told her that flirting is a social skill that takes practice and she needs to practice.

Did she flirt? No. Although she liked the man, he's her age, he's an adjunct professor who supplements his income as a handyman mover (kind of necessary as adjunct faculty earn jack shit). However, we've all got one another's phone numbers now, Scott the Scot will be keeping an eye out for giveaway furniture for me, and Innana will be keeping his number for future delivery, etc. needs. Yeah, I flirted with the man. Why not. As I towered over him (he's not a large man) I flirted. Just because I'm in a monogamous relationship doesn't mean I can't flirt.

And I have a great new (to me) chair that was always my favorite sitting spot in Innana's condo, so there you are. All good.

Guy will be here soon. No Internet access until Monday or Tuesday. Have a great weekend everyone. It's Memorial Day. Save a thought for those far away at our nation's behest and their families, and for those who are lost or not yet completely found although they have returned home.


*If you don't get that 70's British comedic reference, you won't get a prize, I'll have to shun and eschew you. Eschew you. That would make a great name for a bad, as Dave Barry used to say.

**A rather odd statement for a woman who claims to be 27 -- again.

The Book Hug & The Little Haunted Ghost

DestructoGirl has determined that the running hug, the running kiss, the skating hug, and the skating kiss are not sufficient for a goodbye embrace for her mother. What is needed as an additional embrace is the "book hug". Needless to say the book hug and book kiss are identical to each other and to the running hug, running kiss, skating hug, and skating kiss (except no skates are involved). Apparently, all that is needed for a "new" hug or kiss (which are identical -- there is no kiss without a hug, no hug without a kiss -- at least when DestructoGirl is involved in the hugging and kissing) is the declaration. An actual difference in technique (such as the wearing of roller-skates) is irrelevant and absolutely unnecessary. DestructoGirl simply adds another hug or kiss (which includes both a hug and a kiss whether it is named a hug or a kiss), give it another name, and has another excuse to hurtle her sturdy torso across the room, propelled by the chubby legs of doom, the tummy of terror leading the way, followed by the buttocks of bossiness, and throw herself into my arms with numerous smoochy sounds (sound effects are key here). Now, to leave in the morning, I have to have a running hug, a running kiss, a skating hug, a skating kiss, a book hug, and a book kiss -- all of which are absolutely identical.*

Now, you might think that TigerGrrl, being a big eight-year old and all, might not have any truck with these silly and childish running hugs and running kisses and their completely undistinguishable twins or cousins or best friends, the skating hugs and kisses and the book hugs and kisses. You would be wrong.

TigerGrrl stands 5' and weighs 80 lbs. A running hug or kiss (or skating or book hug or kiss) is a hug or kiss to take notice of (and knock you -- me -- over). Apparently this is good fun. And, of course, it is. Soon enough she'll be way to big and sophisticated for this nonsense. Until then, she can hurtle into me like a train.

Another incredibly mature (and endearing) thing that TigerGrrl and DestructoGirl do is the "Little Haunted Ghost" song. I have no idea how this got started (it's been going on for a month or two), but I suspect it has something to do with a Scooby Doo video that the girls have been watching. Apparently there are haunted bones, books, ghosts, whatever. Apparently, to be haunted is to be floating in the air or doing something silly. Apparently, this all sounds like good fun. So the girls tell stories. DestructoGirl tells the story of a haunted ghost that walks into the forest and says boo. Then the two girls started a song. Sing it in any sing-song tune you like, it goes like this:

Little haunted ghost
Little haunted ghost
Sister* haunted ghost
Sister haunted ghost

Repeat until mother is banging her head against the wall. Essential to song is the cute wiggle while singing. I can't get the tune out of my head either. Sung with a big smile, because a haunted ghost, whether little or sister, is obviously quite cheering.

Do you see why I don't need to spend money on cable?


*If it's DestructoGirl singing, it's "Sistah" -- how she got the New England accent here in PowerTown? It's a mystery. Maybe it's a haunted word.

*The requirement of actual wearing of skates for the skating hug or skating kiss is actually not that required, apparently.

Madison or Tiffany or Lianna or Something Like That

In case you can't tell from the dearth of posting lately, I've been busy, and I've been tired. One thing that has happened is that through a friend I've learned of a couple of cases of child-neglect, fortunately not kids who I actually know, but in discussing these kids, it has become clear that the children in question are invisible to all adults who should be caring about them.

These not-yet-teenagers are wandering around at all hours of the day and night, and visit (having walked through public park at 10 p.m.) neighbors and distant people in their fairly small town without (1) telling their parents, or (2) having their parents give a shit. These poor kids visit friends on a Friday under those circumstances and then don't go home until Sunday and their parents never know where the kids are or try to find them. Finally, the friend who was telling me about this asked me what to do. Actually, she didn't ask, but she said "I think I should do something, but I don't know what." We went through the outreach she could do (not much -- she's only in that town a few times a year), but then described the kid being gone for 48 hours and the parents not reacting at all (without notice that their kid was on a sleepover or anything) and refusing to come pick the kid up on Sunday night.

At this point, I said: call social services. This kid is invisible. Someone needs to actually see this child.

The other kid had her father kill her pet rat by leaving it on the porch without food while she was at her mother's so that when she returned home she returned home to a pet who had fallen victim to a predator. Yup.

Who are these people? Anyway, I've been extra cuddly and attentive with my girls, but realizing that we've got NiQ coming to town, and the limited resources I have available, my distance from these kids, the fact that I don't actually know these children -- just know them through another child of my acquaintance, my only hope is that the social worker in question is a Kira-style one. I know there are many worse situations, but kids really shouldn't be ignored by the people who are supposed to love and protect them. That sort of neglect is just fucking evil. And the pet-killing-by neglect thing (which really happened and isn't a blog fiction or exaggeration -- actually, I've actually minimized the incident to avoid identification)? That's just sadistic. Please, please, please: social worker in question -- these kids really need to be visible and important to someone and that someone apparently isn't their parents.

This whole thing makes me sick.

Summer Still Sings For Me (Even Though It's Not Here Yet)

Here is the U.S., Memorial Day weekend is the start of summer. Summer may officially start on June 21, but this weekend (shifting each year, not as much as Easter, but more like Thanksgiving) is the start of summer. After this, slaves to fashion can wear white shoes through Labor Day. And I'll have my first beach weekend in a while. Also, I'll be spending more than six or seven hours in Guy's company.

Yes, I've accepted an invitation to Chincoteague* and I'll be spending 60+ hours with a man I with whom I still purport to be not seriously involved. (Some self-deception? You tell me.)

What's that about? I have a history of big, blow-out breakups write after a trip has been planned. I had one guy, pre-marriage, who bought tickets for a week in Puerto Rico with me, and then broke up. I stalled on taking a trip with PdeFF for several years because I was afraid that would be then end of everything (back when I wanted PdeFF to last).

But now, it's easier. I understand that upping the ante from dates ranging in length from three to seven hours to a three day weekend really does give me a much greater chance to get to know Guy and to give him a much greater chance to get to know me. Heck, we'll find out if I snore post-throat surger, so that will be a learning experience. But we'll really both find out exactly how much we want to be in one another's company.

Guy has been a little nervous. Last night, he gave me a lengthy list of activities I can engage in while he does some boat work (don't get all excited, it's not a sailboat or a Boston Whaler, it's a little outboard runaround). I was pretty darn amused, in that being able to sit on a deck with glass of wine overlooking the ocean with no responsibilities will pretty much do it for me. I plan to take lengthy hikes upon rising with the dawn, and again at sunset, although not quite so lengthy. Since it's not the coast of Maine, I figure I'll be swimming. Even if I just stick to a sedate wade, I'm almost as much of a waterbaby as DestructoGirl, so fun will be had. I will have fun.

I begin to realize why Guy likes me. Apparently (I'm inferring this, even if he hasn't implied it -- he's never said anything unkind about his ex) his ex-wife was quite high maintenance. The windiness at the beach was a source of contention (I was warned about the windiness as though I'm not a woman with over forty years of experience of wind at the beach), and the necessity of shopping (why would one drive to an outlet when one can hike on the strand?) and other things. Since I've been invited, I've planned on bringing some good books, some good knitting, and a good attitude -- I'm planning on having a good time with my own resources rather than listing all the things Guy needs to do to give me a good time (although that list won't be a problem for him either as it will be a mutual benefit kind of good time). But I think it's rather sweet that he's trying to ensure that I'll have a good time doing something (hanging out at the beach) that is pretty much a guarantee of a good time, even including some bad weather.

I'm looking forward to a nice weekend.

*As previously noted, not really Chincoteague, but a beach town on the Eastern Shore. To those not in the U.S., you may well ask: what is the Eastern Shore? It's the entire peninsual to the east of the Chesapeake Bay, encompassing parts of Delaware, Maryland, and Virginia.

Time's Winged Chariot

Time may pass slowly up in the mountains, but it isn't passing slowly here in PowerTown. I may whine about money, but the resource I lack the most is time. And energy, of course. It's like I live on an energy- and time-sucking vortex called parenthood. That's probably what every parent experiences. Of course, when I close this laptop and go snuggle up with TigerGrrl, who has decided that she will sleep better in my bed tonight, I won't be feeling any lack.

Maybe tomorrow I'll actually have the energy to write. Part of the exhaustion has been due to Innana's absence -- she's been helping DOL and the NiQ out, and therefore, I've been left to my own devices. Her devices are much more effective. Fortunately, she's back in town and will visit tomorrow. Until then, off to Dreamland.

Cool Spring

It's almost like a New England spring this May. Normally the weather is much warmer by now. Soon enough it will be so hot and muggy it hurts to breathe, so I really wanted my May-in-Washington-Which-Is-The-Equivalent-of-July-in-Maine-or-Vermont weather. Also, I want the pool in my complex to open.

Weekends with the kids are much easier in the summertime when the pool is open. I just pack up the supply bag and we walk (all of 500 ft) to the pool and both girls cavort to their little hearts' delight. This weekend: cavorting without the pool. And without Innana. She's out of town. I am prepared to be absolutely exhausted. I'll probably have them do a baking project, we'll go to the Y's pool (a drive, and less relaxing, but they love to swim), and we'll probably go downtown to a museum. But I want moderately warmer (and dry!) weather so the kids can cavort outside.

Let Me Add That to the List

I had a wonderful birthday: Innana came by for breakfast, with doughnuts from Mancini's and a delicious super-duper chocolate cake from there as well a smart bracelets, the TigerGrrl had an athletic tournament, so I got to see both girls even though it was their weekend with their father, then Guy appeared with his present (jewelry* -- he noticed I wear pearl necklaces -- which are fake, fake, fake -- but never wear earrings to match, so he got me some real pearls to match my fake pearls. Now I'm all matchy-matchy).

Guy and I then headed to dinner with Innana, SNV, and Ex-Marine Fred and had a great time. On Sunday, the girls were with me, so I had an exhausting, if fun, Mother's Day.

I haven't gotten any thank you notes done, I need to do a whole bunch of bill-paying, financial organization, life-sorting, spring-cleaning, closet clean-up stuff and newsflash, it isn't happening before the second weekend in June. There just ins't time. Not to mention I need to get new tires and new struts on the car, braces for TigerGrrl, and a crown (tooth, not tiara) for me. No idea how (financially or timewise) any of this is going to happen. Really.

And even though I'm removed from the crises of PdeFF on a daily basis, it still infects my life through the girls. PdeFF bought a condo he couldn't afford in 2006 and it just got sold (with a lien on it from a creditor) in distress circumstances. Nonetheless, TigerGrrl showed me that her dad economized at Costco by buying the $70 sunglasses. This is the man who hasn't been able to commit $175 to TigerGrrl going to tennis day camp for a week this summer. God, I'm glad I'm divorced. So that means I'll get to cough up the $350 on my own (the crown can wait -- the temporary crown will hold up a few more months) so my daughter can play and enjoy tennis.

Yes, I'm not getting older, I'm getting better, but really, I just feel old.

*I liked the earrings and was a bit surprised to get a jewelry box -- not superexpensive, but still, real pearls. I've never been the person to whom people give real jewelry and I worry about an imbalance of power in the relationship, etc. Of course, I'm wearing the earrings as I type this. I didn't suffer from "I can't accept that" or "this is too much" -itis. I said thank you. Still, I'm feeling a smidge rushed. Not pressured or anything. But rushed. But thinking analytically (not, actually, my strong suit) I know that if I'd gotten a small box o' chocolates or something, I would have wondered. Jewelry was a very nice gift, and I like the jewelry he got me. So I'll shut up now.

Hirsute Men -- Normally That's Good, But This Is Just a Big Ugh

Now, I'm not a fan of the Queer Eye for the Straight Guy inspired chest- and back-waxing. I think that's just stupid. Body hair is a sign of sexual maturity, and I would think sexually mature people would want to look sexually mature rather than, say, prepubescent, but I have to rethink this proposition given some sights on the Metro lately.

Middle-aged men of the universe: if your ear-hair is copious enough so as to be accurately described as "tufty", please remember, you're a man, not a goat or a bear or bat. Depiliate. * Please. Thank you.

*How does one remove hair from the insides of the ear without shrieking in pain? Maybe this is the price modern men need to pay for their really "I'm-totally-a-pedophile" fixation with the whole no-pubic hair idea? Inquiring minds want to know. Do tell.

Weird Google Happenings

Well, I was trying to add some new blogs to the blogroll (Lonnie Bruner & the Great Wunelle) plus add a Foilwoman's Greatest Hits, and now Google, in it's infinite (and obviously masculine*) wisdom, thinks I'm some sort of spammer or other evil critter. Now, I'll never protest a lot of virtue, and least in the Judeo/Christian/Islamic tradition**, but I really don't go around screwing up anyone's blog but my own.***

The problem here is that I can't read my own blog. Much less the comments thereto. And I, um, like the comments. They make me feel all part of things (and popular, if I manage to get over 5 comments to a post), like I'm part of the larger world, not just some broke single mother struggling to get through each day.

I'm sure I'll straighten this out with the evil minions of the Antichrist+ sooner or later. Until then, my apologies for not replying to comments should I happen to get any. Trust me, until this is straightened out, I won't know.

*The whole jumping to conclusions thing.
**You know, the whole it's worse to boink somebody than kill someone scheme of morality.
***Although several months into doing DC Blogs Notes for Wednesday morning and I still can't get the right highlights for my blog tags. Sorry, Pat. I'm scum.
+Yes, Google, you are the Antichrist.++ And doing this on my birthday? That's just low.
++Still not as bad as the U.S. healthcare system, but other than the Spanish Inquisition? Few things are that bad.

We're Getting Into A Weird Area Here

I'm really not sure what to make of this. Guy and I are cruising along in that nice hormonally-addled early-relationship* state of relative bliss. In-the-sack "I love yous" have been exchanged**, we plan for the [next-three-months] future, he's never stood me up, I've never stood him up, I've never felt the inclination to bail like the ship is sinking (and I assume he feels the same without any worry or over-analysis), and heck, the man asked about what he should be planning for the FoilBirthday without a damn bit of prompting and signed up for the Ex-Marine-Fred faceoff without a single whine.

S0 what's got me feeling uncomfortable? Money. He has some amount. I really don't. When I lost my check card and found out that I had done so at a wine tasting, Guy purchased the wine I had selected and later seemed surprised that I wanted to pay him back. I insisted. I really don't worry about him treating me for dinner out or tickets or whatever (we're both pretty frugal and I don't run up a big bill) as I pack picnics and try to show my willingness to chip in in non-monetary ways that show I'm not a free-loader.+ So we had a talk: I'm not going to mind about him picking up the tab for tickets or dinner or whatever, but I am going to purchase all items I shop for -- and we'll select our events accordingly. We both feel fine about that.

Guy owns his own business and is trying to expand. I don't know how much money he makes (but I do know he lives within his means, whether that's a large amount or not), but I do know he's comfortable and has some real assets, like the beach house in Chincoteague. But now he's talking about his business expansion plans trying to get my opinion. I do not know how to adequately impress upon this man how non-entrepreneurial I am. Asking me my opinion of small business investment opportunities would be like asking Dick Cheney about personal growth seminars. It's just not my thing.

Nonetheless, I'm pleased as well as nonplussed by this development. I'm just trying to avoid saying anything that might lead to actual loss of money, assets, or dignity. My reaction? Get a safe job and save a portion of your income. I'm just not entrepreneurial at all, so my advice, thoughts, opinions, whatever are just worthless.

Also, it bespeaks truly long-range planning, and I don't really know what I think about that at all. Well, I'm pleased, aghast, nervous, and hoping that he has someone more knowledgeable and reliable (investment-wise) than me to advise him.

*Which could mean happily ever after or could mean we've got three weeks to go until we look at one another and say: "Aiiee! Why did I boink him! [or her!, in his case]"

**I don't mean to be cynical, but that means nothin'. Any thinking human being knows that an in-the-sack-I-love-you really means, well, "just a little bit more" or "don't stop" or "that's just perfect" and nothing more. It's a very immediate and ephemeral statement. You don't throw it at a fling, but it really just says: "I'm letting my guard down, here, so have some damn consideration and respect." Since the consideration and respect are there (both sides, I think), all is good with the world, at least in that department.***

***And let's be honest: that's a very important department for everything to be good in. Yessirree.

+I am very aware that in my past dating career I have free-loaded a bit, especially in the dark and financially early days of the divorce. But here's the rub: I actually like this man and don't want there to be an imbalance and I don't want him to feel taken advantage of.

Pre-Code Cinema, The Running Hug, and Guy-Torturing Events

Pre-Code Movies

Whilst I was recovering from throat cauterization (well, that's what it felt like) at Innana's, she had videotapes for me. The compleat PBS Jane Austen, minus Mansfield Park (Northanger Abbey was a delight) and a selection of pre-code movies that aired on TNT. Delights like Baby Face, Female, Night Nurse, and many others.

I do love me some Barbara Stanwyck, and Ruth Chatterton (who I had never heard of) was just delightful in Female. The best part of these pre-code movies is that the women aren't punished for being sexual. Their sexuality may be male-defined, but they own it, they flaunt it, and there is never any doubt that they enjoy it (compare that to most recent women's roles and you'll realize that we're still backsliding). I still have a few more movies to watch, and I am really looking forward to it.

The Running Hug (and Running Kiss, and Skating Hug, and Skating Kiss)

One of the best things about being the parent to pre-adolescents is the level of personal worship involved. My girls are very affectionate. I can't leave in the morning without a "running hug". This involves both girls running from the far (not very far, my place ain't big) corner of the living room to the entry way to hug me before I go to work. Starts me off in the right frame of mine. Then the running hug is followed by the running kiss, which is . . . identical to the running hug, but labelled differently so as to allow for repetition.

Innana got DestructoGirl roller skates (Dora the Explorer Roller Skates), so now the running hug is quadrupled. First, running hug. Then running kiss. Then skating hug (identical to running hug, except wearing roller skates). Then skating kiss (still identical).

Does anyone wonder at all why I don't get all bent out of shape on the whole "he loves me, he loves me not?" question?

Guy Torturing as an Olympic Event

So everyone should think sympathetic thoughts of Guy. He's scheduled for his Meet Ex-Marine Fred dinner out. Except these two men are so low-key, Innana, SNV and I will do all the talking. And we can't really top Innana asking the following questions* last time:

"What are your intentions toward my friend?
"Do you like my friend?"
And, best of all:
"What's my friend's favorite color?"

Guy thinks Innana is great.

*She really did. I shit you not.

The Proper Tone and State of Mind

As the crises in my life have diminished and my urgent need to write about the has waned, I have become deeply suspicious that even anonymously, I am deeply uncool for writing a private journal on the Internet and that this uncoolness is magnified by my tone and the fact that I am in my mid-to-late-forties.

Keeping with the Jane Austen theme running through my last few posts, I am very aware of the role assigned to a middle-aged woman in most novels and dramas and movies. We're secondary characters. We don't have crises of character. We don't change. We watch the young and lovely heroine either be rescued from her folly or be destroyed by it.

Obviously, more modern writing would seem to trend against it, but modern online discourse is pretty clear on this one. It's supposed to be a young woman's world and women who age "become invisible." Certainly most women in their mid-to-late-forties in this city are not out living the high life at night, being the next hot thing on stage (such as it is, here in PowerTown) or in an art gallery, or whatever. Maybe central in a law firm or a lobbying shop, on Capitol Hill, or K Street, maybe worrying about their children's college admission's prospects. But out there trying to figure things out and writing about it?

We're supposed to have everything figured out and painted over our conclusions with a coat of shiny varnish.

Except all these truisms of course, aren't true. At least not for me. I'm not out at night clubs or anything, so I have no idea how I would function in that environment,* but I do know that while things have settled down immensely since the Spring of 2005, my life is still in flux, and I definitely feel like things and I will be evolving and growing for some time to come. Not in the big, dramatic, get-divorced-from-my-InsaneEx evolving, but evolving in lots of ways.

I've actually gotten a job that I enjoy that allows work-life balance, which is a first. It doesn't pay as much as I would like, but I can pay the rent, put food on the table, and still have time to read Harry Potter** to TigerGrrl and Good Night, Gorilla to DestructoGirl. Eventually, I will need something more challenging, but while DestructoGirl is still small, I'm in a good place.

I'm actually, much to my surprise, happily involved with an apparrently good and kind man*** who thinks I am just fantastic (and understated -- *snerk*) who I like and am attracted to. Bonus points for the fact that he is a devoted father himself.

A new young lady (NiQ) will be, I believe, taking on a larger role in my life, especially this summer as she will be up visiting Innana and I'll be getting to know her better.

And I'm just trying to figure out how everything fits together, how to take care of the girls, myself, include Innana and SNV and Ex-Marine Fred and Guy and the Professor and everyone else, without getting too exhausted. I'm trying to plan for the future so that I can worry about college admissions with the best of them. I'm trying to plan for making my writing a larger and more coherent (and possibly publication-worthy) part of my life. I'm trying to do things with my eyes open so I don't end up, like I did in the summer of 2005, with Kira and Innana telling me I was the frog in the pot of heating water and me not realizing it until it was almost too late.

So, uncool, fine. But self-aware, and reasonably hopeful and happy, a place I really didn't expect to be by now when I started this blog over three years ago? Absolutely. And it's a beautiful day, and I have a one-mile walk to the Metro. I'll arrive at the station in a great mood and still be in that mood when I reach the office.



*But if it's anything like how I functioned in that environment in my twenties, I'd venture I'd be bored to tears -- you can't actually talk with anyone, everything is too noisy, and whatever drinks are served aren't very good.

**I'm going through the books with her for the second time. We're on about page 400 or Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, with TigerGrrl's 5' tall, 80-pound, 8-year old snuggled into my lap as I read this again for the second time to my tiny baby. No, I don't have any doubts about whether I'm a good mother, and don't worry at all about the alleged Mommy wars, which apparently have no bearing on my life.

***I've only known Guy for months at this point. I'm not jumping to any earth-shattering conclusions. We're still getting to know one another. That doesn't change the fact that I am, indeed, happy with him, as much as I know him so far.