I need one of those number machines like they have in delis.

The snow had fallen way more than I’d expected.  I slipped a bit as I walked out the front door because I was wearing ballet flats like an idiot.  Ballet flats with no socks.  You kept reminding me.

My eyes felt gritty and my cheeks were flushed as I cleared off my car.

I put my hand inside your pocket earlier and you twirled the fancy ice around in your glass.  I didn’t really think too much about the future (I’d learned my lesson well by now) but I felt good with you and so I’d hoped it would continue.

I’d felt so silly dodging your hand on our first date and worried that maybe it was too weird.  But you’d liked my gray sweatshirt that I’d worn even though I’d worried that “no one” wears a sweatshirt on a date.

I’d been compiling all these thoughts because sometimes blogger girls write cute posts about men in their lives.  And I immediately discarded it in my mind because I imagined I’d feel stupid when it went south.  But this wasn’t the first time I’ve written and I’m sure that it won’t be the last.

It’s a really short list of memories when you’d hoped for at least a few more.  I asked if I was just supposed to keep bandaging myself up like a triage nurse and throw myself out there YET AGAIN.  I was reminded that “of course you’ll forget it in a few months…you’ve done it four other times now.”  Four times.  Fuck that’s a lot of heartbreak.

I don’t feel any better about writing it all down and as even as I publish it, I’m waiting for the next post to push it down.  I feel like I’m always waiting for the next.

Whichever way the wind blows…

…alternatively titled: What the fuck is going on?

I have, what could be referred to charitably, as a complicated relationship with my father.  For many years he was typically a barrier.  Accomplishing things that involved him was a process.  He has been difficult to deal with for most of my life.  He is KNOWN for his mercurial demeanor.

That made for a really complicated adolescence & young adulthood.  I never knew how he was going to respond to things.  He could be stubborn as hell and completely unyielding on topics that weren’t in-line with what he thought.  Other times, he’d write things off as a forgone conclusion and OF COURSE anything that needed to be dealt with, just would be.

As a consequence of this, I am very sensitive of my independence from him.  I’m very cautious of things I come to him with, because I never know what direction he’ll take.  I have a very linear brain; many things follow a distinct pattern in my brain.  Point A to B and so on to point Z.

My father, is like the great, glass Wonkavator.  Sideways and slant ways and front ways and back ways.

This issue came up at one of my recent sessions with The Witz.  I’m usually a “do it myself” kind of girl.  Apt to manage everything on my own.  Because if I didn’t cover all my bases, it would never get done.  For every situation with my father, I would always need to make sure all my “I”s were dotted.

Turns out it’s hard to escape your childhood.  Now I find myself overcompensating in relationships because I’m so used to balls coming out of left field.  I’m familiar with knowing that no two things will happen the same way.  I’m so adept at managing everything because I’d never know the outcome.

So I’m working on this.  Ironically, “working on this” means STOP FUCKING WORKING SO HARD.  That’s a direct quote from my shrink.  Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Over your shoulder

“You’re the wittiest girl I’ve ever met.”

“You’re amazing.”

“You are so sexy.”

“I’m envious of your writing.”

Want to know what all of these things have in common? Other than them being true? They have all been said to me by men who are walking out of my life. I am all of these things, but that doesn’t really matter right now.

Please do not read this or take this to mean that I rely on men for validation. If you know me or have been reading long enough you’ll know that I have good self esteem and I believe that I am pretty much as good as it comes.

I am 31. I am a homeowner. I work (finally) in a job I love, and while it causes me to get stabby sometimes, for the most part it is great. I have INCREDIBLE friends. I got a second chance at life.

So what gives? I’m no longer the tomboy with hockey players for best friends who see me as their sister, not their girlfriend (which, if I’d wanted to date any of them, I’m sure I could have).

I have a heart that for better or worse tends to envelop everyone in my world. I care so deeply for my friends & my family that there are days where I do nothing but think of OTHER people.

Now, I’m working on that, because it’s ok to be selfish. I know that. I’ve gotten really good at it lately.

So, ok…I’m mildly neurotic but pretty fucking stable.

Honestly, I cannot think of why these men are seemingly walking out right as they walk in. Really. This isn’t some bullshit Daddy issue crap. I’ve worked really long hours on myself. I don’t think the “someone better comes along” theory is working anymore for me. I’ve had the great fortune of dating some truly great guys. I still talk to the most recent ones. Because I recognize that these men are worth having around.

I like being surrounded by smart, clever, funny people. I am a smart, clever, funny person.

Just not smart, clever or funny enough? Honestly, this isn’t a fishing for compliments expedition. I cannot, for the life of me, actually figure out why none of these men chose to remain with me.

I really just do not get it.

(And if you’re going to leave a bitchy comment or something, save your fucking typing fingers. I am as wonderful as I fucking think & say. I’m just curious as to why these men have no interest in being around that wonderful person.)

***Authoress’ note: I wrote this in the midst of…a something. So, yeah.***


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